Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 23

  Her fingers traced over his pecs, letting her nails softly drag over the flat discs of his nipples. She smiled at his sharp intake of breath and ran her hands lower, reveling in the feel of his hard, muscled flesh beneath her fingertips. Gripping his erection, she scooted lower. “Let me take care of you,” she whispered against his chest, kissing her way down his stomach. She traced the lines of muscle with her tongue, thrilling at the catch of his breath, the tension radiating beneath her as he waited for her mouth to descend on him.

  When she slowly dragged her tongue over his crown, his hips involuntarily jerked, and he bit out a reverent curse. Oh, she would make sure he forgot, all right. She took him to the back of her throat and quickly found that rhythm she knew drove him mad. In minutes, he was writhing beneath her, his breaths a stilted pant. His hand fisted into her hair, the other gripping her breast, pinching her nipple and sending an electric current of pleasure between her legs. She ached to be filled by him, but she didn’t want to stop. He was so close to coming.

  But she should have known he’d allow her control for only so long. With the hand still wrapped tightly in her hair, he pulled her mouth off him. Gripping her hips, he lifted her up and centered her over him, entering her with one hard thrust.

  She bit her bottom lip, holding back her whimper at the sharp pinch of him stretching her so fully, at the pleasure of being completely consumed by him. He lifted her again and slammed her back down, hitting her so deep the explosion of pleasure rocketing into her core bordered on pain. She could sense his restlessness, his need for control when everything else in his world right now was so chaotic. He needed to work it out on her—his anger, his frustration. She could sense his desperation, feel it in the tension of his muscles, the pace of his thrusts, and knew this was going to be a hard ride.

  But that was one of the things she loved about sex with Regan. She never knew what she was gonna get—the tender lover, the teasing playboy, or the hard-as-nails fighter. And right now, he was all fighter.

  He rolled her beneath him, and a soft moan broke from her throat as he rode her fast and furious to the edge of bliss. Already she was so close. “Harder,” she panted, feeding off the frenzy of his thrusts and the raw power of the man dominating her.

  “Fuck, Willow, you’re killing me,” he groaned, which was saying a lot, coming from the man who never tapped.

  Her nails bit into his shoulders, holding on as he hammered into her one final time. She detonated—a cry tearing from her throat as spasm after spasm shuddered through her. Regan’s hand covered her mouth, muffling the sound as his own release tore from him with a harsh bark expelled into her pillow.

  The rocking of the bed against the headboard knocked something off the built-in shelf, and it crashed onto her nightstand, shattering on the floor. Shit. Regan froze above her. Willow stopped breathing, straining to listen for footsteps above, praying the crash wasn’t loud enough to wake Kyle. A few seconds passed in silence, and then she heard it—the thump above them.

  Regan muttered a foul curse and, after planting a quick kiss against her parted lips, scrambled off her. They both made a mad dash for their clothes.

  “Hurry, he’s coming,” she whispered urgently, hearing footsteps pounding down the stairs. There was no way Regan was going to get out the way he’d come in. “Quick, the window.” She scrambled off the bed and rushed to the window, unbolting and cranking it open. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Regan hiking up his pants, his T-shirt in hand.

  “This has to stop, Willow. We need to tell him.”

  She could hear the frustration in his voice. “Maybe you’re right, but we’re not telling him like this,” she hissed, removing the screen.

  “Willow?” Kyle called, his steps drawing closer. “Are you all right?”

  “Hurry. Get out!” Panic poured through her veins. If Kyle caught Regan in here, he would kill him. “I’m fine,” she called over her shoulder.

  Regan stepped toward her, stopping short of climbing out the window. “I hate this, Willow,” he said. “You’re mine, and I’m tired of pretending that you’re not.”

  “I heard you scream,” Kyle called, rattling the doorknob. “What the hell’s going on in there, Willow? Why is the door locked?”

  “Nothing’s going on! I had a nightmare.” She laid her palm on Regan’s back and pushed him toward the window. He moved for the opening but was clearly lacking a sense of urgency.

  “Dammit, Willow, is there someone in there with you?”

  Before she could deny it, there was the distinct battering sound of a shoulder connecting with the door. “What? No! Just hold on,” she cried, trying to buy Regan a few more seconds to make his escape.

  “Then why is the door locked?” he demanded, banging on it again.

  “To keep out my overbearing brother, who needs to learn that sometimes his little sister needs some privacy!”

  As Regan slipped out the window, he glanced back one last time, looking none too pleased to be sneaking out like a common thief. “Sorry,” she whispered as she replaced the screen and began cranking the window closed.

  “I’m not kidding, Will. If you don’t open this door in the next ten seconds, I’m going to break this fucker down.” And then Kyle began the countdown. “Ten, nine, eight . . .”

  Oh, shit! She cranked the handle faster. “Seven, six, five . . .”

  The window closed, and she slammed her hand over the locks.

  “Four, three, two . . .”

  “Just a second!” she yelled, racing for the door.

  “One!”

  She ripped the door open just in time to save the hinges. Before she could give him an earful, Kyle shoved past her, marching into her room. “Where is he, Willow?”

  “Where is who?” she asked, trying to keep the panic squeezing her throat from cracking her voice.

  He shot her a glower that had cowed many a grown men, but she was also a Scott and that same infamous temper flowed through her veins. She wouldn’t break that easily.

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Will. I want to know who the fuck was in here.”

  “Nobody.”

  “You screamed.”

  “I told you. I had a nightmare.”

  “You must think I’m an idiot. I’ve heard a woman scream before, and that was no nightmare, Willow.”

  Shit, he was going to make her do it. He was going to make her say it. Just the thought of the humiliation brought a burst of flame to her cheeks. But there wasn’t any other way he would let this go, not without an ear-burning confession. “You’re right, Ky. It wasn’t a bad dream that made me scream.”

  If she thought her admitting it would wipe the rage off his face, she was sorely mistaken. It only seemed to make it worse. Willow’s heart pounded with dread, her throat desert dry as she tried to swallow past the lump of panic lodged there.

  “Who. Was. In. Here?”

  “Me.”

  “And? A name, Will. I want a fucking name!”

  “Victor, my vibrator.”

  The flush of rage reddening his cheeks turned to a gray pallor. The shock and horror on his face would have been funny if she wasn’t so damn embarrassed.

  “What’s the matter, Kyle?” she taunted. “You think you’re the only one around here with needs?”

  “Ugh . . . Willow, don’t tell me that.” He held his hands up to stop her and stepped back as if her words had the ability to repel, but she knew if she backed down now she might lose her offensive advantage.

  “But only moments ago, you were insisting on the details.”

  “I don’t want to hear this, Willow. Stop it.” He took another step back and pressed his hands over his ears.

  “Then perhaps you should remember that the next time you decide to break a girl’s door down.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She’d effectively shamed him, and she was fighting back her smug grin of victory when his gaze flickered to the floor. He froze and the expression on his face turn
ed back to rage, the likes of which she’d never seen. It was the closest she’d come to ever fearing him. He stormed forward, and she flinched as he brushed past her, bending down and snagging something off her floor.

  Holding up his find, he shook it in front of her face and growled, “Since when do vibrators wear men’s boxers? I want a name, Willow. Who am I going to kill?”

  Chapter 25

  Regan entered the gym and headed to the weight room to warm up. He was surprised to see Kyle already there, hammering away on the heavy bag. He was usually out running this early in the morning, not pouring sweat and throwing punches like a man possessed.

  “I think the bag taps,” Regan called, crossing over to the bench press.

  Kyle quit swinging and slung an arm around the chain to steady the bag. His breaths were heavy and labored. He stood there a moment, saying nothing. The silence in the room stretched between them. A ripple of unease raced up Regan’s spine. He wished he could have gotten ahold of Willow this morning so he would have some clue what the hell had happened last night.

  Kyle’s arm dropped off the bag, and he grabbed his towel from the chair, scrubbing it over his face and through his damp hair. As he plodded over, he tossed it into the laundry bin near the door and took a seat on the bench press across from Regan.

  “Are we gonna talk about this, or do you just want to get into the cage?”

  Regan eyed his friend, who was locked down so fucking tight he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anywhere near him right now. Surely Willow hadn’t told Kyle about them without at least giving him the heads-up as to what kind of shit-storm he could be walking into here. Regan met and held his friend’s stare. “That depends on what you want to talk about, I guess.”

  “Let’s start with where the fuck you’ve been.”

  Oh, shit. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re my sparring partner, if not my best friend, so when you don’t show to work for over a week, that fucking affects me too. So, yeah, I think I deserve an explanation. Or is this your way of telling me you want to start training with someone else?”

  Relief swept through him, and he took a breath now that his lungs were working again. “I don’t want to train with anyone else. I’m just not in a good place right now, and I needed a few days to get my head on straight.” It was as honest an answer and as close to the truth as he dared get.

  “And you think I am? Campoli’s parole hearing is in four weeks. Did Willow tell you that?”

  No, she didn’t.

  “I’m about to face my best friend in the octagon, and Willow is seeing someone and lying to me about it. So, I’m not any higher on life right now than you are.”

  “All right . . . Well, first, I didn’t know they’d already set a date—”

  “You would have if you’d been around.”

  That stung. And the bitch of it was he was probably right. “But there’s nothing we can do about this hearing except support Willow through it. It’s going to be what it’s going to be, and we’ll deal with the outcome—no matter what it is. I don’t want to fight you any more than you do me. I say we train together just as we always have, prepare for this fight, and what happens in the cage will stay in the cage. I don’t see any other way around it. And about Willow, did she tell you she was dating someone or are you just freaking out like you always do?”

  “I found a pair of men’s boxers on her bedroom floor, man. I mean, come on, what kind of douchebag leaves his drawers lying on a girl’s floor?”

  Regan grunted in agreement, his gaze shifting to an interesting spot of dirt on the floor. “Huh . . . Dude sounds like a real asshat. But seriously, man, hypothetically speaking that is, would it be that bad if she was seeing someone? I mean she is twenty-one.” When he got no response, Regan chanced a glance at his best friend, who sat there, glaring daggers at him. “What?”

  “Hell, yes, it would be that bad!” Kyle snapped. “That’s my baby sister you’re talking about! I don’t give a fuck how old she is!”

  “Jeez, man, chill.” Regan held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, if she was seeing someone, maybe you’d like the guy if you gave him a chance, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I’d like him all right—like to kill him!”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Willow was right. Talking to this guy was like talking to a brick wall. When it came to that girl, he was completely unreasonable.

  “There will never, do you hear me, never, be anyone good enough for Willow.”

  Well, on that point, they were both in agreement, but it wouldn’t stop Regan from wanting her. “I hear ya. No one’s good enough for that girl. So, what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Kyle dragged his hand through his hair, exhaling a frustrated sigh. “I don’t think she’s going to tell me who this guy is.”

  “Well, likely not if you go all He-Man on her. You might want to leave out the part about killing him too.”

  “It’s too late. Fuck, I’m no good at this shit. I was thinking maybe you could talk to her? Get me a name?”

  “Oh, wait. I don’t know, man. I don’t think that’s such a good idea—”

  “Why not? She loves you like a brother. You’ve always been able to talk to her easier than I can.”

  “That’s because you treat her like a child.”

  That earned him a glower, but Kyle let it go. He wanted Regan’s help, which couldn’t be more fucking ironic. If his friend only knew he was asking Regan to help him kick his own ass.

  “I’m going out with Del Toro tonight. He needs a wingman, and I guess I owe him for calling him gay, so . . .”

  Regan shook his head and chuckled. “I can’t believe you fucking called out Del Toro, man. That took some balls.”

  “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t call him out. I just told him his preferences were his business.”

  “You’re lucky he didn’t wipe the mat with your ass.”

  “Oh, he did. Believe me. Anyway, I won’t be home until late, so maybe you can drop by, talk to her, see if you can get her to tell you who she’s messing around with.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Come on, bro. If I do it, I’m just going to get pissed and start yelling at her again. Then she’s going to yell back and then start crying. It’s going to turn into a big fucking mess.”

  It was already a big fucking mess. And what the hell did he mean again? Had Kyle been yelling at Willow last night? Did he make her cry? The spark of possessiveness flared inside him, blurring the lines of friendship to a distant mark in the sand. All it would take was a stiff wind of truth for it all to be erased.

  First and foremost, Regan’s allegiance and his heart lay with Willow. She was his number one concern. Everything else was a distant second. None of it mattered—not his father, not his abandonment issues, not this fight.

  It was an unsettling realization, because it had always been him and Kyle against the world. But as he sat here across from his friend, he couldn’t help but wonder if best friends weren’t about to become bitter enemies.

  “All right, man. I’ll try talking to her, but don’t get your hopes up. She’s not stupid. She’s gotta know whatever she tells me is going to get back to you.”

  Some of the tension eased from Kyle’s face, and he shot him a relieved grin. “Hey, it’s worth a shot, right? Thanks, man, I owe you one.” He stood and gave Regan a friendly slap on the shoulder. “And just to say thanks, I won’t kick your ass too badly in the cage today.”

  Willow wasn’t surprised when Regan showed up at her door. She’d discovered his not-so-helpful text this morning, warning her he’d forgotten his boxers on her bedroom floor. On the plus side, she now knew she could withstand hours of cross-examination if she ever found herself on trial for murder. Kyle had lit into her the moment he’d found those damn drawers on the floor, and he hadn’t let up. She’d almost cracked. If it weren’t for the promise she’d made Regan to let him tell Kyle, and for the fact that they were
best friends, she would have said fuck it and started singing like a magpie.

  As it was, she was tired from being up half the night, stressed out, and downright cranky. On the second round of knocking, Willow pulled open the door. “What’s the matter? Isn’t your key working?”

  He arched his brow in question. “Nice to see you, too.”

  “If you’re looking for your underwear, I don’t have them. Kyle does.”

  She closed the door and headed back toward the living room. “Hey.” Regan snagged her wrist, pulling her to a stop. “Are you pissed at me?”

  “That depends. Did you do it on purpose?”

  He frowned. “Do what on purpose?”

  “Leave your boxers on my floor.”

  He scowled. Okay, guess not.

  “Of course I didn’t. Why in the hell would you even accuse me of that?”

  “To force my hand into telling Kyle. That’s why you’re here, right? To inform me you’re going to tell him.”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t need to force anything. I’ve given you more than enough time. Maybe I wouldn’t have forgotten my boxers if someone hadn’t been shoving me out the bedroom window like some goddamn booty burglar. I’m not here for your permission. I’m here because Kyle asked me to talk to you.”

  That got her attention. “Why would Kyle send you to talk to me?”

  “Apparently, he thinks we’re like this.” Regan held up his crossed fingers. “He obviously doesn’t know we’re like this.” He made a circle with his thumb and finger, then poked his index finger through the hole. “I’m supposed to find out who you’ve been fucking so he can kick his ass.”

  Maybe it was the way Regan said it. Maybe it was because she was exhausted and emotionally done. But the irony of it sent Willow into a laughing fit. She couldn’t help it. It wasn’t funny—truly. In fact, just the opposite, but here she was, bent over in a belly-splitting giggle.

  “I’m glad one of us is amused,” Regan grumbled, heading toward the kitchen.

  She heard the refrigerator door open and close and the snick of a bottle opening. “Oh, come on, Regan. I’m not laughing because it’s funny. This is how I deal with stress. You know I’ve always had a horribly inappropriate sense of humor. But do you think you could show me again what we’re like? I didn’t quite get that.”