Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(7)

“Will do,” he said, standing up. “But right now I need shut-eye. Tiny said Eva’s old room is up for grabs?”

Preacher nodded. “Only for family,” he said. “And that means you, kid.”

Preacher reached to the right of him and Cage heard a desk drawer being opened, then closed.

“Heads up,” he said, and tossed a key chain over his desk. Cage caught it one-handed. It was a single silver key on a Harley wings key chain. In the circular center of the wings, Eva had been inscribed.

Thanking him, Cage took his leave and wandered back out into the hallway feeling more at home in an MC all the way across the country than he did in his own. Eva was lucky, having a father like Preacher.

Real f*cking lucky.

She was also the best thing that had ever happened to his family, not that his father deserved her. That man could make good on a million promises from now until the day he finally kicked it, and it still wouldn’t make up for all the shit he’d put her through.

But whatever, that shit wasn’t his business.

About to head into the brownstone’s stairwell, a curvy blonde came out of a nearby bathroom, smiling as she passed by him, purposely brushing up against him. His arm shot out and his hand gripped her wrist. Yanking her back around to his front, he gave her a quick once-over.

Natural blonde, early twenties, cute face, killer rack, hips he could get a good hold on. She was a little meatier than he liked his women, and he was usually pretty liberal, preferring his women soft, liking watching their shit shake like f*cking Jell-O while he slammed into them. But f*ck it, those tits were calling his name.

“You family?” he growled, yanking her flush against him.

She shook her head.

“Anyone layin’ claim?”

She shrugged. “Preacher has me most nights,” she said. That made sense. Preacher liked his bitches curvier than most; the more to grab, the better, the man had always said.

But if she wasn’t claimed, that was all he needed to know.

“Upstairs,” he ordered, turning her toward the stairwell and slapping her hard on her juicy-as-f*ck ass.

When they reached Eva’s bedroom door, Cage grabbed her again, pushed her up against the wall just outside Eva’s old room, and shoved her too-tight T-shirt up over those two big bad boys, already half hanging out over the scrap of purple lace she was passing off as a bra. Thrusting her chest outward, she helped them the rest of the way out and he watched, growing hard as the soft flesh piled over. Bringing her small hands to her chest, she cupped both breasts, squeezing and kneading, spilling through her spread fingers.

“You like?” she whispered, smiling up at him.

He stared down at her. She might be young but she knew what was up, and he had to wonder how many times she’d been passed around the club already and to how many brothers.

Fuck it. Why did he even bother to wonder? He’d f*cked so many club whores and random sluts, women he knew had been passed from brother to brother and back again. Hell, there’d been so many he’d lost count a long time ago.

Yeah. He was a whore. A man whore. He knew it; hell, everyone knew it. He’d been sleeping with every * that came his way since he’d lost his virginity, courtesy of Mick and Tap, at the age of twelve to a club whore seven years older than him. After that, after a few more sexual encounters, it just seemed like it was…his thing.

The girls flocked to him. They thought he was hot as hell and didn’t give two f*cks if he f*cked them once and then tossed them aside because, really, all they wanted was to say they’d f*cked him.

But like he said, it was his thing. It was almost expected of him to act like a slut. That was all anyone ever thought about when they looked at him. And that was cool, whatever, sex was fun as hell, he loved it.

Until he didn’t love it anymore.

Now it was just…sex. And now, every time he came, if he even remembered it, he was starting to feel more and more like shit. He wasn’t even sure why he felt like shit. What dude feels like shit after getting laid? Sometimes multiple times in one night.

This dude.

Suddenly he didn’t want to touch this bitch. He definitely didn’t want his mouth where he knew countless other mouths had been and…

A vision of Preacher came to mind; the old guy sucking on her fat tits, jerking his hips back and forth between her thick thighs.

Feeling…off, Cage backed away, all the way into the opposite wall, ready to tell her to take a hike, when suddenly she dropped to her knees and yanked his leathers open. The bitch had his cock out and in her mouth, sucking his shit like a starving leech, faster than he’d ever freed that motherf*cker before.

Holy f*ck. His head fell back against the wall, his hands found her hair, grabbing handfuls, fisting, and his eyes closed. This bitch wasn’t a leech, she was a goddamn circus clown, the kind that blew up balloon after balloon, turning those f*ckers into ridiculously detailed balloon animals.

Holding tighter to her hair, he punched his hips forward, forcing her to take all of him. Jesus, f*ck, that felt good.

He expected her to protest, to gag, something, but Jesus, she was so damn into it, sucking and licking his shit, moaning and purring like a fat kid with a f*cking ice cream cone.

Groaning, he came quickly, more than likely a straight shot into her stomach considering she’d been champion deep-throating him like a sword-swallowing porn star.