Unattainable (Undeniable, #3)(8)
After licking him clean, she shot to her feet, her tits nearly hitting her in the face as they bounced with her swift movement, and curled her body around his. “My turn,” she purred, grabbing his hand and helping him down the waistband of her jeans.
Eh. Whatever. Fair was fair. Circling her clit he went clockwise, counterclockwise, then slid a finger inside her and began pumping slowly. All of two seconds passed and he was bored out of his f*cking mind. He needed this over with, like, yesterday.
Grabbing her throat, he squeezed until she gasped, then swung her around and shoved her up against the wall.
“Come on, bitch,” he growled, cutting off all her air supply as he continued working between her thighs. “Give it here.”
Eyes wide, eyelids fluttering, the girl went stiff, shuddering silently through what was probably the best orgasm she’d ever have. Cage silently thanked Bucket for telling him, years ago, how to pull that shit off as quickly as possible. Although, whereas Bucket used the trick to keep the bitches coming back for more, Cage used it to get rid of them as quickly as possible.
Releasing her throat, he backed away from her and buttoned up his leathers.
“You wanna f*ck?” she called out, her voice breathless.
God, f*cking, no. That bitch was a straight-up whore. Barely twenty and already a f*cking champ. Her * would be swinging wide open by thirty. Fuck that.
“Nope,” he said evenly, pushing past her. Pulling out Eva’s key from his pocket, he proceeded to unlock the door.
“Asshole,” he heard come from behind him.
Uncaring what the bitch thought of him, he stepped inside and slammed Eva’s door closed behind him.
Falling back against the door, he took several deep breaths. What the f*ck was wrong with him? Since when did he give a f*ck who else was f*cking who he was f*cking? Aside from club whores, he almost never f*cked a bitch twice for that reason, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes, or to ensure the bitch didn’t get emotionally attached to him.
Maybe he was getting a cold? Maybe he swallowed a bug on the ride up here and he was now dying of West Nile virus?
Or maybe he was just sick of f*cking whores?
“Whatever,” he muttered as he scrubbed his hands over the stubble on his cheek and jaw.
A quick survey of the room showed him a bed, a dresser complete with an ancient stereo system, and a rack of CDs beside it. An old, ripped bean bag chair sat on the floor, and the yellowed-white walls were lined with posters: Led Zeppelin, Janis Joplin, Johnny Cash, Hendrix…and Billie Holiday? Huh.
Eva and her random, usually crappy, borderline-obsessive taste in music would never fail to amaze him.
Moving on, he found photos of a very young Eva sitting on the back of Preacher’s Harley, holding tight to her old man. Then one of Eva and Kami, they couldn’t have been older than five or six, and the photos that followed were of them growing up together as kids, teenagers, and women.
More photos of Demons barbecues and out-of-state runs, photos of Eva and the boys as she grew up within the club.
Eva’s high school graduation, her college graduation, Kami’s first wedding to some douchebag lawyer, and the birth of her first son, Devin (who looked nothing like that lawyer and a whole lot like Cox).
Cage started laughing until he came to another photo, and he stopped laughing.
Eva and Frankie’s wedding picture.
Cage stared at the maniacal face of Franklin “Crazy” Deluva, Eva’s first husband, the madman who’d ganked Ripper on a run and slashed his face and body to shit; the * who’d murdered Kami’s first husband in some sick serial-killer-fetish fashion; the f*cker who’d broken into the Horsemen’s clubhouse, cuffed Deuce to a radiator, and made him watch while he raped Eva.
The man who’d then taken Eva, who probably would have killed her if she hadn’t killed him first. The man who, because of all that, had f*cked his already f*cked-up family even more.
Noticing something strange about the photo, he stepped closer and studied it. Yeah, the bottom left corner was pushed out. Lifting the picture off the wall, he turned the frame over in his hands and flipped open the clasps holding it together. After tossing aside the backing, he found what was making the bulge in the photo. An old envelope, folded in half.
Setting aside everything else, he unfolded the envelope and looked inside.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
It was Eva, sitting at the bar next to Blue, her elbows propped up on the countertop, her chin resting on the palms of her hands, grinning at the camera. And she was young, real f*cking young, like…
He looked around and locked on a photo of her at her college graduation, wearing her cap and gown. She was college young. Which meant…
He counted back the years and…
Yeah, his parents had still been together. Just barely.
Cage looked back at the photos. He knew there was some hard-core history between his old man and her; he’d heard some of the boys tease Eva about it on occasion, but he hadn’t known the whole story. The most he’d ever gotten out of his old man was after he’d first brought Eva back to Montana with him.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“She the reason you’re pissed off all the time?”
“Yeah.”
“She the reason you left Mom?”
“Yeah.”
“You love her?”