Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(32)

So I’d thrown caution to the wind. Silently, I’d climbed on behind him and allowed him to take me home with him.

He led me through the small, dark house, up the stairs and into his room where’d he’d stripped naked, letting me see exactly what I’d never been able to stop thinking about over the years.

He was bigger now, taller, his arms and thighs thickly muscled and his face, his squared features more defined with age and, God, he was beautiful. He was so f*cking, unfairly beautiful. He always had been, and I’d always been—

I felt suddenly awkward, uncomfortable in my own skin, and embarrassed by what I lacked in physical beauty. I felt not good enough; I’d never been good enough for Cage.

“It ain’t like that for me, baby.”

From across the room I watched him light up a blunt, flop belly-down on his bed, take two quick drags of the roll before extending his arm and offering it to me.

Without thinking, I stepped forward, reaching for it, but Cage snatched his hand away and his other arm shot out, grabbing my wrist and pulling me forward. The roll pressed between his lips, he jumped to his knees and yanked me onto the bed.

Then it was me being stripped naked and Cage was taking long, leisurely looks up and down my body. Pulling the blunt from his mouth, he brought it to my lips and I took a long drag. As I exhaled, he took another drag, then he stubbed it out on his nightstand, placed his mouth over mine, and blew the smoke into me.

Then he was inside of me again, rolling us over, bringing me on top and telling me again to “take it.”

I forgot all about my insecurities and my anger and I took him, rode him hard and fast, watching with indescribable satisfaction as he fell victim…to me. Every groan I elicited, every eye-closing, head-thrusting, body-jerking jolt of pleasure I caused, every growled syllable of my name, every desperate stare, his hooded eyes begging me to finish him off. All of it had only increased my own pleasure. I’d never come so hard before in my life.

Then, sexually sated and emotionally exhausted, I fell asleep in his arms.

Now he was taking it, and I was loving it.

As his hips continued their leisurely slide, he gripped my chin, turning my head as far as my neck would allow, and plunged his tongue into my mouth. Slow, sloppy, lip-sucking, tongue-plunging kisses, out of sync with his hip thrusts. And yet, slower still, deliberately prolonging every long, wet stroke.

His mouth was bigger than mine, taking my mouth inside his, pulling on my lips, biting softly, engulfing my lips…my chin…my neck.

Oh God. Nothing, no one had ever kissed me like this. No one had ever f*cked me like this.

I reached around me, grabbing hold of his head, crushing him to me, and I kissed him harder, fiercer, needing, wanting, oh God, wanting.

My belly seized, a shiver tore down my spine, and I came hard, crying out against his mouth, shaking beneath him.

“One more, babe,” he muttered. “Gimme one more.”

I cried out again, more so in frustration than from my immediate second release. I cried out because Cage wasn’t just f*cking me, he was f*cking me.

Because I’d just had an orgasm just by kissing. And then another just because the motherf*cker had told me to.

“Fuck you,” I said, half moaning into his mouth as I ground my backside into his groin. “Fuck…you.”

Cursing, Cage pulled quickly out of me and wet warmth shot up over my back as he groaned through his own release. Breathing hard, he rolled onto his back, bringing me with him, settling me on my side into the crook of his arm. I slid my arm over his rippled stomach and curled my left leg over top of his, then laid my cheek down upon his tattooed chest.

“Fuck you, too,” he rasped and kissed the top of my head. “You mouthy little shit.”

I snorted, my lips curving into a smile, and I found myself holding Cage tighter.

“You’re stayin’ all weekend, right?” he asked as he reached to his right, fumbling around with the contents of his nightstand.

My smile fell away as reality began to permeate my lust-addled brain. Why the f*ck was he asking me that?

“Teacup?” I heard the flick of a lighter followed by the scent of freshly lit green.

“What?” I whispered, refusing to look at him.

“I asked how long you’re stayin’, babe.”

“I’m not sure.” Which was a lie. I was due to leave on Monday, but I could stay longer if I wanted. I had vacation time at work and if I…

FUCK.

No. No way was I going down this road again, no way was I going to get trapped inside feelings that could never amount to anything but more self-loathing. So I kept my eyes shut and tried to remember every female I’d ever seen Cage slutting it up with. Groping them, kissing them. I forced myself to relive that awful night so many years ago at the clubhouse.

I had to get out of here. Away from Cage. And then I had to get very drunk, very, very drunk and forget this ever happened, because if I didn’t, if I allowed what just happened to sink too deep within me…

Teacup. I would be Teacup again.

So I told myself that, in no uncertain terms, Cage West was a whore, that this was what he did, and that if he hadn’t changed his MO not once in his entire lifetime, he never would.

“’Cause I’m thinkin’,” he wheezed, blowing out a mouthful of smoke, “that if you’re stayin’ for the whole weekend, we could keep this shit goin’ ’til you head out.”