Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(2)
He pulled back. And slammed back into me.
“Shit, Teacup,” he muttered, increasing his pace. “I can feel everything. Your * is a motherf*ckin’ vice.”
Which, judging from his tone, was obviously a good thing.
And stupidly led me into further believing Cage would want me past tonight.
“So good, babe,” he breathed against my skin, his body repeatedly meeting mine, his movements growing faster and faster. I held my breath against the onslaught of what was happening inside me, both physically and emotionally.
Cage was everywhere now. He was inside of me, inside my body and my heart. It was awkward and uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing but it didn’t really matter. Because it was Cage and it was me and I’d wanted this for so long, wanted him for as long as I could remember, and so awkward and uncomfortable were small prices to pay for finally having what I’d always wanted.
And then, almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. Cage was groaning, having pulled out of me and I felt him finishing, felt the moisture on my belly as his body jerked above me.
It took all of a minute for him to roll off me, to turn on his side, to breathe in deeply and breathe out heavily.
And then he was snoring.
“Cage?” I whispered.
I lay there unmoving for several heart-pounding minutes, not knowing what to do until what he’d left on my stomach had begun drying, making the tiny hairs on my body feel stiff and pulled.
Rolling out of bed, wincing as I did, sore, feeling my pulse pounding between my legs, I walked stiffly to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Swallowing hard, I glanced down at myself.
Gross.
Not only was I covered from breast to pelvis in half-dried semen, but my own blood was smeared across my inner thighs.
It was then I realized he’d never kissed me.
Which, in the end, killed the girl I’d once been. It left me broken, stuck, unable to move forward. And no matter how many years had passed, I was unable to let go.
When it came to Cage West, my mistakes were plenty and my regrets were numerous. If my past were a person, I would grab the throat of that motherf*cker, drag her ass down Re-do Street, and once I’d beaten the ever-loving shit out of her, I’d stand over her beaten-down, broken body and say:
“You stupid bitch. You ignorant, stupid bitch. Love isn’t a f*cking answer. It hurts more than it doesn’t, it’s harder than it is easy, it takes work, guts, and perseverance.”
Most importantly—what I would stress the very most—is that love doesn’t solve a goddamn thing. Love doesn’t erase a broken heart, and it sure as f*ck doesn’t change people.
But no matter how old, how flimsy, how frayed the rope of love is, it does keep you tethered to the people you love.
And I was forever tied to Cage.
Would I change it if I could? Hell f*cking yes, I would.
But we don’t get to pick our families or choose who we fall in love with. And we all have our crosses to bear: our stories, our loves, and our losses.
And this is mine.
Well, ours actually.
CHAPTER ONE
“Either you answer that f*ckin’ thing or I’m throwin’ it out the window, Tegen.”
Blinking sleepily, I focused on the angry face mere inches from mine, wondering what the f*ck he was talking about.
“Piss off,” I muttered, turning my face into my pillow. “It’s not morning yet.”
This time when my phone started both ringing and vibrating from its place on my nightstand, I heard it loud and clear.
“Tegen! That’s the fourth call in a f*ckin’ row!”
“Shit!” I yelled into my pillow. “Stop bitching and just answer it!”
“I can’t!” he yelled back. “It’s your f*ckin’ mom!”
The phone stopped ringing and I heard him let out an angry sigh.
Almost instantly, it started ringing again.
“TEGEN, ANS—”
Cursing, I jumped up, grabbed my pillow and swung it up in the air, then slapped it down over his face.
“Shut. Up,” I hissed, already reaching for my phone.
Pressing Answer, I lifted the phone to my ear. “Hello,” I snapped.
“Tegen?”
“Mom.” I sighed, instantly feeling bad. “Is everything okay? It’s not even light out.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s just…I wanted to catch you before you made plans for the long weekend. I thought maybe you could come home for a few days.”
Reaching up, I rubbed the heel of my palm over my eyes and sighed.
“Hawk’s coming home, isn’t he?”
James “Hawk” Young, lifer in the Hell’s Horsemen Motorcycle Club, was the father of my half brother, Christopher Kelley. Christopher was four years old and nearly two decades younger than me. Despite his dark red hair, green eyes, and freckles—traits our very Irish mother had given us both—he looked just like his extremely good-looking dad. Right down to his brooding eyes and the hard line of his mouth.
“He is,” she said softly. “And I’m just not ready. I just…I have enough to deal with, with Jase. Please come home, Tegen.”
Herein lay the problem. Despite how good-looking Hawk was, my mother wanted nothing to do with him. She couldn’t bear even the brief encounter to hand over Christopher for a few days. One might think that my traveling all the way from San Francisco, California, to Miles City, Montana, just to hand my half brother over to his father and comfort my mother in his absence, was a little extreme…it actually wasn’t. Not after what my mother had gone through.