Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Page 8

  She paused, staring him dead in the eyes. “Prove it to me.”

  Chapter 8

  She was baiting him. He knew damn well she was issuing a challenge and delivering a blow to his ego at the same time. It was a strike below the belt, and one effectively delivered, because it hit not only his ego but his male pride. Maybe he should just do it and prove it to her once and for all.

  He kept his gaze locked on hers as he slowly moved in, giving her time to change her mind. He was so close, the vision of her began to blur, her lids shuttered closed, lips parting. Her breath caught in the most adorable hitch as he gently brushed his lips against hers. At the moment of contact, heat flooded his veins in a euphoric rush. Holy hell! He might not have felt it in his toes, but his cock was definitely taking notice. Her mouth was soft, her lips full, and she tasted like . . . peaches. How cliché was that? But it didn’t even fucking matter. Nothing in his life had ever felt this good—no one had ever tasted this amazing.

  Her mouth fit against his perfectly. He pressed closer, heart pounding, head spinning from the lack of blood his body was shunting from his brain to a more vital organ. This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t possibly be this revved up from one chaste kiss. He needed more. He needed to explore her and whatever this was more fully.

  His lips parted, hers yielding beneath the insistent pressure. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and at first contact, another jolt of lust slammed into him, tearing the exhale from his lungs with a ripe curse that sounded more like a reverent plea for mercy.

  She inhaled his breath—a long, slow draw as she swept her tentative tongue against his. Her innocence was intoxicating, her touch consuming, and before Regan’s actions caught up with his brain, he pulled Willow closer. He took command of the kiss, his tongue delving, tangling, and retreating—teasing. She was right. Nothing had ever felt this perfect, and he knew, in the depths of his soul, nothing ever would again.

  Her breasts, covered by the thin lace of her bra, pressed against his chest, her pebbled nipples a torturous tease. His mouth watered to taste the little buds. He ached to see the perfect mounds he’d only ever dreamed of before. Had he really stopped her from removing this barrier? One hand slipped into the platinum silk of her hair to keep her right where he wanted her—where he needed her—while the other slipped down the small of her back to grab a handful of her ass, pulling her hips tight against his, letting her feel the full force of his erection straining against its denim bond.

  Willow’s arms wound up and around his neck, using him to leverage closer. She returned his kiss with equal fervor. The pre-cum moistening his boxers warned him the reins of his control were slipping—fast. His body responded to hers with a mind of its own, tension knotting at the base of his spine, balls drawing up tight, cock ready to go off like a rocket. How can this be? He wasn’t an inexperienced kid ready to cream his jeans over some kiss—yet wasn’t he about to do just that?

  In fact, that rebellious bastard was chock-full of intentions, and if he didn’t shut this shit down fast, he was going to find himself in a losing battle with his will. His mouth broke free of hers, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to taste her neck before forcing himself to let her go.

  “So, this is what it’s always like?” she whispered, tipping her head back as he blazed a trail down her throat.

  Regan froze and lifted his head, meeting her oceanic eyes. She wasn’t being facetious. There was no smug arrogance, no I told you so grin on her beautiful face. She honestly didn’t know, and fuck if that didn’t make him want her even more. He wanted to be her first—and her last—and that was dangerous thinking, considering what he had to lose.

  He should have lied to her, told her this was nothing special, but the untruth stuck in his throat. He wouldn’t cheapen this gift with lies, even if it would spare them both a whole hell of a lot of heartache down the road. Framing her face with his hands, he held her stare and poured out a confession that would seal his fate. “No . . . not like this. It’s never been like this.”

  He was rewarded with a smile so brilliant it nearly brought him to his knees, which wouldn’t have been so bad—he wouldn’t mind getting on his knees for this woman. The thought of tasting her made his mouth water and his balls ache.

  “Really?” her soft voice rose with hopefulness.

  His gaze dropped to her kiss-swollen lips. “Yeah, really . . .” His voice bore the cadence of sandpaper. What he wouldn’t give for another taste, but this had to stop while he still had the willpower. Before he could step back, she pulled him closer, crushing her mouth against his. Her kiss was unpracticed yet perfect in its innocence.

  It was his undoing.

  Regan felt his control snap, and it was liberating and terrifying at the same time. God help him. There would be no coming back from this. With a growl, he slipped his arm beneath Willow’s bottom and lifted her. She tightened her hold on him, wrapping her legs around his hips and pressing her hot core against his shaft as he turned and directed them into her bedroom. All the while, her mouth never left his.

  Navigating the out-of-place furniture in her room, he doubted she even noticed the mess as he laid her on the bed. Her skirt hiked up her thighs, exposing a wealth of slender, shapely legs. Slowly, her knees parted, an invitation to join her that he couldn’t refuse. Her panties were the same lacy pale pink as her bra. He climbed onto her mattress, between her legs, pausing at her knee and pressing his lips to the inside bend.

  She flinched at the contact, another reminder of her innocence. He’d never been with a virgin before, wasn’t sure how to handle one—gentle wasn’t his style. Then again, neither was Willow. She was sweet, wholesome, and pure—and she deserved a hell of a lot better than a man-whore like him.

  The women he was used to were cage-banging groupies searching for nothing more than a cock to rock on for the night and a wild story to tell their friends in the morning. He’d been happy to oblige. But this was nothing like that. Fuck, he felt like a virgin. And in a sense, he kinda was, because he had never made love to a woman. And that was exactly what this was with Willow. He loved her. He loved her, and it scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

  It was just supposed to be a kiss—that was all. How had this spark turned into a forest fire so damn fast? He wanted her. He wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his entire life, and, as right as this felt, his mind screamed at him to stop. Kyle would never forgive him for this—for taking his little sister’s virginity. But maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe he could be with Willow without being with her. If he could just leave her purity intact, then he might be able to sate the beast inside him and still look his friend in the eye. And God help him, he wanted to taste her.

  He moved up a few inches before pressing another kiss to her soft flesh, his hands blazing the trail as he worked his way up to the juncture of her thighs. The closer he got, the closer he drew to the point of no return. Her mouthwatering scent pervaded his senses, making him dizzy with lust as his heart hammered inside his chest in a chaotic rhythm. Her breaths grew shallow and rapid the closer he got to the forbidden fruit beneath this scrap of lace and cotton.

  He nipped, licked, and sucked the sensitive skin at her inner thigh, gently brushing the back of his knuckles over the cloth barrier that covered her entrance. On the next sweep, he slipped his fingers beneath her panties, encountering her satiny folds. He groaned as her hot moisture slickened his fingertips. Raw need fisted hard in his gut, a pain unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Regan curled his fingers, gripping the crotch of her panties, and with a hard tug, ripped them free.

  Before Willow could have second thoughts or, God forbid, try to stop him, Regan dipped his head and tasted the flesh he’d dreamed of. Her hips bucked, a startled gasp fracturing the air, followed by the sweetest moan he’d ever heard. He almost came right then and there, and from that moment on, all rational thought fled his mind. Her pleasure became his sole purpose. The feel of her, the taste of her, was lik
e a drug, and with one hit he was fucking addicted.

  Her legs fell apart to make room for his wide shoulders as he slipped his hands beneath her bottom and began to feast on her virgin flesh. Mine . . . The alpha in him growled, the claim resonating inside Regan’s head and taking root in his heart. Willow belonged to him now—body, mind, and soul.

  The pleasure was overwhelming. Her mind stopped processing thoughts, too strung out on the heights Regan was taking her to, unable to comprehend whether this was a good idea. Every nerve ending was firing at warp speed; her head felt light, lungs unable to keep up with her body’s demand for oxygen. Her muscles tensed, burning from the strain as she balanced on the precipice of something unknown . . . something magical. Her hands slipped into his hair to push him away. This was too intense; she couldn’t take any more. She was going to shatter. But instead of pushing, Willow’s fingers fisted into his hair and pulled him closer.

  A wicked chuckle rumbled in his throat, sending delicious vibrations through her. She was going to come. How was that possible? They’d barely gotten started, but she didn’t want it to end like this. She wanted Regan inside her, coming with her, just how she’d always imagined it. But her body wasn’t listening to her fanciful dreams. It wanted to succumb to Regan’s kiss, to his talented tongue.

  “Regan . . .” His name was a breathy plea.

  He answered with a growl that sent her over the edge. Her core clenched, fighting to hold back the release that was ripped from her with a broken cry. Euphoric waves racked her body, and she shuddered helplessly against Regan’s greedy tongue as he devoured her. When the last echoes of her orgasm began to subside, she was vaguely aware of movement as he slowly began climbing up her body, worshipping the flat of her stomach, the dip of her navel.

  A man his size shouldn’t have been this stealthy, but she’d watched him fight enough times, dreamed of being underneath him often enough to know the way his body moved was liquid, and the control he had over his welterweight frame was phenomenal.

  He slipped the straps of her bra off her shoulders, baring her breasts to his hungry stare. Despite her initial bravado in the hall, she fought the impulse to cover herself. Never had a man seen Willow this exposed, and that it was Regan was both a blessing and a curse. She wanted him, wanted this with every fiber of her being, but now that it was happening, insecurity was edging in. How would she measure up to all the others?

  As his eyes devoured her, her nipples puckered. She could feel her breasts grow heavy and tingly, aching for his touch—the glide of his tongue over the pebbled peaks, the scrape of his teeth against her sensitive flesh.

  His hands cupped her breasts and squeezed. A tortured groan rumbled in his chest. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Willow.”

  Her breath caught in her lungs and little darts of pleasure arrowed into her core as he slowly dragged his thumbs back and forth over her nipples.

  “More beautiful than I ever imagined.”

  The awe and reverence in his voice banished any niggling doubt that she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t what he expected. She arched her back and slipped her hand beneath her, unclasping her bra and discarding it to the floor. “You imagined what I’d look like?”

  All the nights she’d fantasized about him, what lay beneath those gym shorts, what it would feel like to have the weight of his hard body pressing into hers, filling her . . . she never once thought it was possible he could be dreaming of her too. In fact, this whole moment felt like a dream come true. It was surreal gazing into Regan’s worshipful eyes, sated by the release he’d rung from her body with the talented strokes of his tongue, while another fire burned hot inside her, one that had been smoldering for years. And now that he’d lit her spark, she feared it would consume her.

  “Imagined it, dreamed about it, obsessed over it. Now that I’ve got you bared beneath me, how will I ever let you go?”

  “You don’t have to, Regan. I’ve always been yours.”

  Dipping his head to the valley of her breasts, he inhaled her lavender scent deep into his lungs and brushed his lips over the rise of her breast, before marking it with his kiss. Masculine pride and primal possession swelled inside him, his pulse a rapid staccato he could feel in the base of his cock, beating to the cadence mine . . . mine . . . mine . . . resonating in his soul.

  It was like coming home . . . being in her arms, tasting her flesh. That feeling of wholeness, of belonging he’d been denied his entire life had been here for the taking all along.

  He kissed the red mark he’d left on her breast—beautiful—then moved to capture the puckered bud between his lips. His tongue teased over her peak, and he sucked her into his mouth, playfully trapping her nipple against his teeth.

  She let out a sharp gasp. A breathy, “Yes” escaped her lips, begging for more. “Take me, Regan.”

  His mind shut down at her plea. He dropped his hand to the fly of his jeans, and the riiip of his zipper released his throbbing cock. He gripped the base of his erection and stroked her slick folds, hovering at her entrance. Holy hell she was wet. The heat of her seared a jolt of pleasure up his shaft that was so intense it jerked with the early trembling of his impending release. Willow moaned impatiently, her hips writhing restlessly beneath him, silently begging him to enter her. The urge to push forward rose inside him like an unstoppable force. His body tensed, muscles strung tight and trembling with the effort it took to hold back. Take her, his heart cried. Don’t do it! Don’t betray Kyle like this, his conscience warned, emerging to war inside him. He’ll never forgive you.

  Fuck! His soul raged, torn between love and honor, desire and shame. He wanted this. He wanted her, dammit! But before he could tell his conscience to fuck off, before he could claim the gift she so freely offered, the front door slammed open, the echoing bang blasting down the hall.

  “Hey, Will! I’m home. Sorry I’m late.”

  Chapter 9

  Sonofabitch . . . !”

  Regan’s snarled curse was the last thing she heard before her heartbeat thundering in her ears drowned everything else out. Before she could register he’d even moved, Regan was on his feet and shoving his arms into the sleeves of his Affliction T-shirt. As he pulled it over his head, he cast her a look that made her heart seize in her chest.

  Regret and shame shone in those absinthe eyes—like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done and what he’d been about to do. It broke her heart to see his remorse, a cold slap of reality. Bottom line—she never would have regretted a single moment of this. And there wasn’t any time to tell him that, either. Before she could engage her brain and try to utter a word, he slipped out of her bedroom, silently closing the door behind him.

  Willow lay there for the count of several heartbeats, trying to wrap her mind around the whiplash of events that had left her sprawled across her bed, naked, still wet from Regan’s kiss, and utterly alone. It wasn’t the hasty retreat that made her chest ache with the sting of rejection. It was the expression in his eyes—the remorse combined with the conviction that this would never happen again—that broke her heart.

  “Oh, hey, there you are.” Kyle’s voice echoed from someplace near the dining room. “Where’s Willow?”

  “Bedroom. She wants to paint this weekend. I was moving some furniture for her. Want a beer? I saw you were out and grabbed some on my way over.”

  “Sure. Thanks. So, Will wrangled you into helping her, huh? She’s been after me for weeks, but I’ve been putting her off. This engine is not going together as easily as I thought it would.”

  Regan laughed, but the sound was strained. “You’re restoring a 1969 Charger. Did you think it was going to be easy? I don’t know why you didn’t just buy a new one. It’s going to cost you just as much by the time you’re finished with it.”

  “Then it wouldn’t be like the General Lee, bro. Kinda defeats the purpose.”

  Footsteps headed into the kitchen, buying Willow a few moments to get her shit together. Fighting back the sting of tea
rs, she forced herself off the bed and numbly padded over to her dresser to retrieve a pair of underwear that wasn’t torn in half. It was then that she noticed all her bedroom furniture was in the middle of her room. Old sheets lined the floorboards, and large white blotches of spackle dotted her walls. So, that’s what the fine white powder had been—sanding dust. Regan had been patching her walls. And that was why he’d had his shirt off. He hadn’t been here to finally make a move on her. He’d been prepping her room to paint. And here she’d practically stripped for him and thrown herself at his feet. How embarrassing . . .

  “Man, you’re almost twenty-six years old. Shouldn’t you have outgrown your fascination with The Dukes of Hazzard by now?”

  “Hell, no. And you know how much I loved those classics. Do you have any idea how many times I jacked off to Daisy Duke when I was a kid?”

  Oh, gross. Did Kyle have any idea how thin these walls were? Obviously not. She grabbed a pair of panties from her top drawer and quickly pulled them on, wishing she could unhear the conversation going on in the kitchen right now.

  “Do you have any idea how old she is now?”

  “Not in my mind. Dude, don’t fuck with the dream.”

  She heard the fridge open and shut, then the snick of two bottles losing their caps. Regan’s husky laugh sent a vibration of need echoing through her as she grabbed a tie-dyed bandeau top from her bottom drawer. After slipping it on, she rearranged her breasts inside the stretchy fabric to maximize her cleavage and then adjusting her skirt. She pulled her hair up into a messy bun on top of her head and did a quick check in the mirror. Holy shit, was that a hickey on her boob? Yes, yes, it was. Willow hiked her top a little higher, covering the blemish as she headed for the door. She was about to walk out when Kyle’s voice made her freeze with her hand on the knob.