Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 19

  A wicked grin tugged at his top lip. “You’re so fucking beautiful . . . so innocent. I could come just watching you look at me as I touch you.”

  His hand dropped to the flat of her stomach, and her breasts rose and fell with her breaths. She watched as his fingers trailed down her narrow waist to the pale-blonde curls between her thighs. “I love this,” he confessed, swiping his thumb over the strip of hair. “You’re bare everywhere but here.”

  Then his fingers dipped lower, and she sucked in a sharp breath, both at the pleasure of his touch and the vulnerability of being opened before him. She couldn’t look away if she wanted to, so mesmerized she was at the sight of them together like this.

  “You’re my girl, Willow.” The raw huskiness of his voice sent a shiver of desire right into the place she needed him to touch the most. “You always have been and you always will be, no matter what.”

  He entered her with two fingers. She gasped at the invasion and arched up to her tiptoes, arms reaching up to lock behind his neck as he broke their stare and kissed her throat. Watching him touch her, his fingers disappearing inside her was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  He quickly drove her to the edge of release. There was no holding back, just the swift crashing waves of her orgasm breaking around him. His name left her lips on a broken cry. Her knees gave out, and Regan held her tight against him, whispering words of adoration into her ear that resonated deep within her soul, and she knew she would never love this man more than she did at this moment.

  As Willow’s strength returned to her legs, Regan loosened his grip on her. He could feel his heartbeat pounding a rapid staccato in the base of his cock, the ache in his balls warning him just how close he was to going off. No woman had ever affected him the way Willow did. No woman had so effortlessly brought him to the brink of his control. It frightened him how lost he could get in her—how totally intoxicated from the taste of her, high from the scent of her. She was his own personal drug, and he was completely addicted.

  Willow opened her eyes and focused those vibrant blues on him through the mirror, giving him a sated smile. Turning in his arms, she laid her palms against his chest. The top of her head came to just below his chin as she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the divot of muscle between his pecs. She kissed him once, twice, and then moved to run her tongue over the flat disc of his nipple. He hissed in a sharp breath through tightly clenched teeth at the sizzle of pleasure arrowing south.

  Her gaze shot up to his, and he was surprised to find uncertainty reflected there. She looked like she was going to say something, but then thought better of it, dipping her head to kiss him again. He caught her chin, tipping her face back up to his.

  “Willow?”

  After a few heartbeats passed, she sighed. “I . . . I want to please you, Regan.”

  He laughed. Probably not the most appropriate response, but was she for fucking real?

  Willow scowled.

  “Sweetheart, are you kidding me? You do please me. Why would you say that? I’m so fucking hot for you I can hardly stand it. What’s this all about?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to do—with you. And the pleasure you give me . . . I want to be able to do that for you.”

  Holy shit! Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

  “Teach me, Regan. I want to command your body as easily as you do mine.” With a shy smile, she pressed a kiss over his jackhammering heart and then began to trace the map of muscles on his stomach with her tongue.

  His cock eagerly jerked at her play, begging to join the game. But she was a new player to a game of which she didn’t know all the rules, and he had the home court advantage here. He was going to have to let her do this her way, at her pace, even if it killed him—which might be a likely possibility.

  Willow took her time, licking, nipping, and teasing her way south. She paid close attention to his responses—his sharp hisses of breath, the tensing of his muscles strung ripcord tight, and the deep throaty groans of his flagging restraint. She was discovering his body as he had done hers, and holy hell was she a quick learner. She didn’t need him to teach her anything; she was doing just fine all on her own.

  When she dropped to her knees, he knew a moment of true panic. Perhaps she didn’t realize what she was getting herself into. If she put her mouth on him right now, he was going to come, and there wasn’t going to be a damn thing he could do to stop it.

  “Willow . . .” His voice sounded as coarse as sandpaper. Fisting his hands into her silky hair, he stopped her before her lips could touch his glistening head. And that was when he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d lost his mind for this woman, because the old Regan would never have stopped her. “Baby, wait.”

  She looked up at him from her kneeling position, and it was the most erotic sight of his life. She was so damn beautiful it made his heart ache. His shaft burned with the pressure building inside it.

  “What’s the matter?” Her delicately arched brows drew tight in an adorable little frown.

  “Sweetheart, now might not be the best time for this. You’ve got me so worked up; the moment that hot mouth of yours wraps around my cock, I’m gonna blow.” She smiled triumphantly, and his chest constricted. He never knew it was possible to love another person this much.

  “That’s kinda the point. Isn’t it?”

  “Well, yeah . . . sometimes. But trust me. This isn’t the experience you’re gonna want for your first time.”

  “I know what I want, Regan. I just need you to show me what you want.”

  Oh, he wanted it. He wanted it so fucking bad he was about to lose his mind. How many times had he imagined this moment? How many times had he come by his own hand, wishing it was Willow’s gorgeous mouth wrapped around him instead of his fist?

  She was close enough he could feel her breath teasing his shaft. As he stared down at her, another bead of pre-cum rose to the surface. Without taking her eyes off him, her tongue slipped out and slowly swiped over his crown. Pleasure rocketed through him, his sharp curse echoing off the shower walls.

  She seemed to enjoy his reaction because her smile grew bold and there was that dangerously wicked light in her eyes she often got when she was about to do something that was going to get her into trouble. As his heart hammered inside his chest, the only thing he could think of was how badly he wanted to feel the back of her throat.

  His grip on her hair tightened, hands fisting on their own accord, pulling her closer, closing those last few scant inches. Her lips parted to accept him as her tongue swiped up to greet him. Her hands wrapped around his thighs, encouraging him closer, deeper. He barely resisted the urge to push in. She didn’t know what she was asking, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her. She was going to have to figure this out for herself, find her threshold, and pace her breathing. The only thing he could worry about right now was not coming—and it was taking all his concentration.

  When he didn’t move, she did, taking him a little deeper with each bob of her head. Fuck him—her mouth was like paradise. Closing his eyes, he tipped his head back and exhaled a long groan of pure bliss. He took one of her hands from his leg and brought it to the exposed length of his shaft and helped her find the rhythm with her mouth. Just a few minutes . . . Then he would stop her, he vowed, giving himself over to the pleasure she offered, tired of fighting this losing battle with his body.

  The tension coiling in the base of his spine warned him he might not last that long. The mounting pressure sent the first tremors of his release tingling up his shaft. “Willow,” he rasped between ragged, panting breaths. “I’m going to come.” The warning was meant to alert her so she’d stop. When she didn’t, he used his grip on her hair to pull her off his cock, but she wouldn’t let go. Instead, she dug her nails into the back of his thigh and increased the suction of her mouth. The combination of the sharp sting in his leg and the pull in her mouth ripped
his orgasm from him in a torrent of “Oh, fuck!”

  Every muscle in his body seized up except for the one pulsing inside her mouth. Now he was holding her against him as wave after euphoric wave shot out of him. Never in his life had his release ever been torn from him; he’d been helpless to stop it. Willow had said she wanted to command his body, and that was exactly what she’d done. She owned him—body, mind, and soul.

  Chapter 20

  You weren’t kidding. You really did get me something for my birthday?”

  “Of course I did. What kind of a tool gives his girl his dick for her birthday?”

  Willow laughed. “Well, it was a pretty good present. Who doesn’t love the gift that keeps on giving and giving and giving and giving?”

  Regan’s throaty laughter joined hers. He slung his arm around her neck, pulling her to his side, and placed a quick kiss on the top of her head as they walked down the sidewalk.

  Spending the night with Regan had been nothing short of amazing. All day, she’d been distracted by images of their night together replaying through her mind. She’d found it hard to concentrate on anything other than the next time she would see him. After the day they’d both had, being together and connecting on that soul-deep level seemed to be what they both needed to re-center—reenergize.

  Between dealing with Regan’s father and Campoli’s looming parole hearing, they both had a lot to deal with. She’d tried to inquire about Regan’s dad when he’d picked her up this evening, but since their brief conversation in the car last night, he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it anymore. If only it were that simple. As someone who’d experienced grief, she knew it would only stay buried for so long. It was called denial. But if that was what Regan needed to process his father’s impending death, then who was she to interfere? When he needed her—and he would, just as she’d needed him once she’d emotionally crashed and burned—she’d be here waiting for him.

  Willow had returned home from class today to find a letter in the mail from the Las Vegas Department of Correction informing her that a parole hearing date was finally going to be set and her submission for petition had been granted. She would be allowed to attend this closed court hearing and during that time, she would be provided the opportunity to appeal. Mr. Campoli must have known this was going to happen. Why else would he have sent his man to warn her off? If that bastard thought she’d scare that easily, then he had another think coming.

  “So where are we going?”

  “Can’t tell you. It’s part of the surprise.”

  He flashed her a sexy grin that warmed her all the way to her toes.

  “I can’t possibly imagine what you could have gotten me.”

  As they rounded the corner, they came to a stop in front of a building that looked like it had seen better days. The mortar between the brick was cracked and crumbling, the black paint on the picture window was peeling, but she could still read the sign. Visual Addiction.

  What the hell was Visual Addiction? “Regan, what is this place?” If he’d taken her to some kinky sex shop under the guise of getting her a birthday present . . .

  “Come in and find out.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the door. Her steps were slow and reluctant as he led her inside. Once she entered the waiting room and saw the guy standing at the counter, sleeved in ink and wearing more metal in his face than Aiden, she figured out pretty quick where they were.

  “A tattoo shop?” she laughed. “Regan, you’re taking me to a tattoo shop for my birthday?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, this is pretty freaking awesome. You’re scoring some major boyfriend points here. When I saw the name above the door, I thought you were taking me to a sex shop.”

  He broke out laughing and pulled her into his arms, giving her a quick kiss against her temple. “Maybe later.”

  “Hi, you must be Willow,” the guy behind the counter greeted her. “My name’s Eugene, but my friends call me Nickel. You ready to see your ink?”

  She shot Regan a questioning look as Nickel headed toward the desk in the back.

  “I had a tattoo designed for you. You don’t have to get it if you don’t want it. You can pick something else—”

  “I’m sure I’m going to love it. I just can’t believe you did this. Regan, that’s so romantic. I can’t wait to see the design.”

  “I hope you like it. Nickel does all Disco’s ink and piercings. He’s known for his line work and gray shading.”

  Nickel returned from the back with his tablet in hand. After flipping the cover open, he turned the screen toward her and asked, “Well, what do you think?”

  Willow read the words in the elegant script, and tears began to prick her eyes.

  “If you don’t like it—”

  “Regan, it’s beautiful. I love it.”

  “It’s how I see you.”

  And though she be but little, she is fierce . . .

  The scripting was beautiful with accents and flourishes in the letters. She couldn’t have designed it better herself.

  “It’s perfect. Thank you for doing this for me.”

  Giving her hand a squeeze, he dropped a kiss on her lips and lingered there long enough to whisper, “I love you, Willow.”

  Nickel led them into the back where they discussed placement pros and cons. Ultimately, she decided on a rib piece. She’d wanted a tattoo for a long time, but of course, Kyle had said no, and she hadn’t wanted to come alone. She would have asked Regan to take her, but she didn’t think he would since Kyle had been so adamant.

  After tucking the bottom of her shirt beneath her bra, she climbed onto the table and turned toward Regan, who was sitting on the seat beside her chair. She gave him a big, excited grin as she raised her arm up over her head.

  “Nervous?” he asked her, watching her get settled into position.

  “Mostly excited. I love that you did this for me. Thank you. Kyle’s going to kill you. You know that, right?”

  Regan chuckled. “Kyle’s going to kill me for a lot of things I’ve done to you. I think a little ink is going to be the least of my worries.”

  “Cold and wet,” Nickel warned her a moment before he began spraying her side with antiseptic.

  She didn’t speak much after that. Nickel got to work, and the needle over her ribs hurt a hell of a lot more than she was expecting it to. Regan sat quietly beside her, holding the hand she had stretched above her head as he watched her.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked, hoping he’d distract her from the pain.

  Regan shrugged. “How beautiful you are.”

  “Mr. Matthews, you keep up this kind of flattery, and I’m going to think you’re trying to get into my pants.”

  Nickel chuckled behind her, and Regan smiled, shaking his head. Damn, he was a gorgeous man. The pain must have been getting to her brain because she normally wouldn’t talk like this in front of a stranger. Then again, the tattoo artist had probably heard worse, and humor was how she’d learned to cope with pain.

  “I might be,” Regan confessed.

  “I’ll have you know—” She winced when the needle hit a particularly tender spot. Something dark flashed in Regan’s eyes before they darted to her tattoo artist, the muscle twitching in his jaw. And then she realized the reason for his silence. He knew she was hurting, and whether voluntary or not, he was having a hard time sitting there and watching it happen. Perhaps he needed the distraction more than she did. She squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to her.

  “I’ll have you know,” she tried again, “that I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He chuckled, a deep rumble she felt roll right through her. “Oh, I know exactly what kind of girl you are, Willow Scott. My girl.”

  The conviction in his voice and the possessiveness in his eyes sent a heated awareness into her core that was a welcome distraction from the pain in her side. Regan’s cell vibrated in his pocket. He shifted his hold on her hand to dig it out and c
heck his messages. He typed a quick response and laid it down on his lap. “Kyle finally got his car running. He wants to pick me up and head down to the Strip.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “That I was on a date.”

  His phone chirped again, and Regan picked it up, read the message, and laughed.

  “What does it say?”

  “Hurry up and ‘rap’ that ass. I wanna party.”

  She rolled her eyes, biting back a grin. “Seriously, he’s such a pig sometimes.”

  “If he only knew he was telling me to bang his sister.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. You’re going to mess up my tattoo.”

  “So, what the hell happened to you last night?” Kyle asked, turning the combination on his locker. “Since when are you hos before bros?”

  “Sorry man, it was bad timing. I couldn’t just walk out.” Regan opened his locker and pulled off his T-shirt, tossing it inside before grabbing his mouth guard and gloves.

  “Looks like you had a good time. You’ve got a fucking hickey on your stomach, bro.” Kyle slapped him in the gut with the back of his hand. “Nice. Well, while you were getting your dick sucked, I had to take Del Toro out with me. Dude’s wound tighter than a fucking drum, I tell ya. Horrible wingman.”

  “That’s probably because he’s gay. And you don’t need a wingman. You’ve got so much pussy falling at your feet you’re gonna slip on it and break your fucking neck.”

  Kyle chuckled as he shoved his hands in his gloves and fastened the Velcro wrist straps.

  “It’s good that you got him out, though,” Regan added, slamming his locker shut, then slipping his gloves on. “He’s got that fight this week with Anaconda. Dude needs to loosen up a bit or he’s gonna blow—mark my words. He hasn’t been right since he got back from New York.”