Madeline Sheehan - Unattainable

“I’ll remember this time, bitch,” he gritted out, palming his cock.

“Fuck you, asshole,” she said angrily. “Fuck you!”

Seething, bursting at the seams with anger, more than sick of this bullshit with her and not really aware of what he was doing but at the same time aware that she wasn’t fighting him, he grabbed her calves, bent her knees, and pushed her legs open, maneuvering his hips so the tip of his cock hit her pussy. Sliding it over her slit, he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Fuck you?” he shouted. “You fuckin’ got it!”

He pushed hard. Pulled back out and pushed harder. Pulling back out, he pushed again, finally sliding inside of her. Three more times and he was fully seated, her pussy clamped tightly around him as he glared down at her.

“You feel that, you mouthy little cunt? You feel my small fuckin’ cock stretchin’ your shit wide open?”

Pulling nearly all the way out of her, he slammed back inside.

Tegen’s lips trembled and her eyes squeezed shut. Cage watched a tear slide from her left eye and down the side of her face, disappearing into her hair. His thoughts took a tire-squealing turn in a different direction and he stopped moving and just stared down at her. What the fuck was he doing? Had he lost his fucking mind?

He’d just attacked her!

Cursing, he went to move, ready to pull out of her and get the fuck away from her, when her eyes suddenly flew open and she reared up, grabbing hold of his biceps and squeezing.

“No,” she breathed.

For a moment they only stared at each other, unblinking, not moving.

But while he was staring down at her, into her almond-shaped bright green eyes, taking in her milky white skin glowing in the moonlight, and seeing her lips, pale pink, parted, breathing in…and out…and in…and out, her breath quickening the longer he stared.

He felt a new feeling, one he didn’t recognize. It was lust, but not the sort of lust derived from a giant pair of tits bouncing in front of his face, or because his cock was getting stroked through his leathers, or because some bitch’s skirt was riding up and he was getting a sneak peek of ass.

It wasn’t anger- or adrenaline-fueled. He didn’t know what it was.

But his body did. It recognized something in her and responded in kind, excitement filling his stomach. He breathed in again, suddenly recognizing these responses, remembering them, but also knowing it had been a hundred women ago the last time he’d felt them.

“Teacup,” he rasped, reaching up to cup the side of her face. “You’ve never let me say it before, babe, but I really am sorry for what I did.”

“No, you’re not,” she whispered, trying to turn away from his grip on her face. His thumb shot out under her chin and locked her in place.

“Yeah,” he continued. “I am. I was nineteen. I was a fuckin’ asshole and it shouldn’t have gone down like that. For your first time, baby, you deserved a lot fuckin’ better than me.”

Her mouth fell open and his thumb, already on her chin, slid inside and pulled her bottom lip down.

When she said nothing, made no protest either verbally or physically, just stared up at him unblinking, he quickly bent his head and covered her mouth with his. His tongue slid inside and a soft moan escaped her throat. Her mouth opened further for him and his hand moved, gripped her hair, while the other ran down her back, over her hip, and under her thigh, stopping on one small, firm ass cheek, and squeezed.

Ah, damn. He remembered now, remembered why he’d loved fucking women. That damn feeling—the anticipation, the burn, the need to touch, to taste, to take a female over, to rule her body, outside and in. Not just to come, but to make her want to make him come, to make her want it so bad she worked for it.

“Cage,” she whispered frantically, trying to shove his cut off his shoulders. He pushed off her long enough to shrug out of it, to pull his T-shirt up over his head and toss it aside, and then he was back on her, his mouth closing over a freckled breast, pierced through the nipple.

Sucking first the nipple into his mouth, and then nearly the entire breast, ahh, fuck him. He’d always loved big tits, fat and heavy, with a lot to grab and squeeze. But being able to fit all that flesh inside his mouth and just suck?

It was fucking hot. And what was even hotter, Tegen was mewling—little panting, breathy whimpers. Her hands were in his hair, gripping, pulling, and she arched her chest, pushing more of her into his mouth. Her legs wrapped around him, her thighs cradled his waist, and she ground herself over his cock in jerky, circular motions.

The anticipation, the burn, the need to touch, to taste, to take a female over, to rule her body, outside and in. Not just to come, but to make her want to make him come, to make her want it so bad she worked for it.

He slid an arm beneath her and, holding her close to him, rolled them so she was on top of him. Bracing her palms on his chest, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Astride him, she breathed hard, staring down into his eyes.

“Take it,” he said hoarsely, grabbing her hands and interlocking their fingers.

When she didn’t move, he lifted his hips, circling them, eliciting a gasp and a squeak from Tegen. Her pussy clenched and her slim fingers squeezed around his much thicker ones.

“Take it,” he growled, jerking his hips up hard. “Fuckin’ take it, Teacup.”

Even as her mouth opened in a silent moan, her eyes narrowed.

He stared up at her, hoping she’d keep her mouth shut, hoping she’d take what he was offering her, hoping like hell she’d let go of all that hate and give them what they both wanted.

Jesus, he hadn’t felt anticipation like this in so goddamn long.

“Please,” he groaned. “Just fuckin’ take it, babe.”

Her lips split into a smile and his breath caught. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her really, truly smile and, fuck him if it didn’t transform her completely.

But before he could recover, she started to move. Faster and faster until…

And then she took it.

She worked for it—she worked him hard—and she took it all.

I awoke in darkness to the heavy weight of a warm body pressed against my back, hot breath fanning my cheek, one large hand palming the flat of my stomach between me and the mattress, another gripping the back of my thigh, and Cage sliding inside of me from behind.

Clutching the pillow, I gasped.

“My turn,” he growled in my ear.

Closing my eyes, I relaxed my body, concentrating only on the slick slide of Cage, slow and gentle, in and out of me.

“Feel good?” he whispered.

Oh, hell yes. It felt like the physical equivalent to an ice cream sundae, the kind my mom used to make me when I was sad. Two scoops of vanilla, one scoop of chocolate, crushed walnuts, sprinkles, cookie crumbles, whipped cream, and drizzled chocolate sauce, topped with cherries.

“Fuck off,” I breathed. “And shut up.”

He laughed and my breath caught. I could feel his smile against my cheek, the vibrations in his chest on my back.

In the woods behind the house we’d come together fast and furious, then we’d fallen apart and lay side by side under the stars, not touching, not speaking, barely breathing, until Cage stood up. He helped me up, helped me dress, and then took my hand in his and walked me around the side of the house where his bike was parked, and he’d said…it.

A string of eight little words, eight very stupid, insignificant words that meant absolutely nothing to Cage and absolutely everything to me.

Get on the back of my bike, Tegen.

How many years had I dreamed of him saying just that to me? Dreamed of being his “old lady,” on the back of his bike and in his bed? Me and only me.

How many years of anguish, of repressing memories and trying so hard to move forward, to shut my feelings off, trying to replace Cage with another, had I fucking spent? Too many.

The first half of my life I’d spent falling in love with him, and the second I’d spent trying to fall out of love with him.

And stupid, STUPID me had just lost the control I’d tried for so hard and so long to attain, all because of stupid Hawk AND REALLY STUPID CAGE. So now, here I was in the arms of the man I’d loved since I was a kid and he was a boy, and there was no way out of this that was going to leave me unscathed.

My resolve had long since cracked, and emotions were seeping inside me at an alarming rate. I felt my anger, my long-time internal suffering, slipping away and my body beginning to ease, welcoming the comfort this man was offering me.

There was no choice to be made now. I’d left my options at the dinner table when I’d allowed Hawk to get under my skin and when I’d knowingly, willingly stopped fighting Cage and let him, finally let him, touch me.

I was going to have to ride this out and hope to God I came out all right on the other side. No, I would come out all right. I’d come this far, suffered through this many years; one night wouldn’t change anything. One night would never again change the course of my life.

So I’d thrown caution to the wind. Silently, I’d climbed on behind him and allowed him to take me home with him.

He led me through the small, dark house, up the stairs and into his room where’d he’d stripped naked, letting me see exactly what I’d never been able to stop thinking about over the years.

He was bigger now, taller, his arms and thighs thickly muscled and his face, his squared features more defined with age and, God, he was beautiful. He was so fucking, unfairly beautiful. He always had been, and I’d always been—

I felt suddenly awkward, uncomfortable in my own skin, and embarrassed by what I lacked in physical beauty. I felt not good enough; I’d never been good enough for Cage.

“It ain’t like that for me, baby.”

From across the room I watched him light up a blunt, flop belly-down on his bed, take two quick drags of the roll before extending his arm and offering it to me.

Without thinking, I stepped forward, reaching for it, but Cage snatched his hand away and his other arm shot out, grabbing my wrist and pulling me forward. The roll pressed between his lips, he jumped to his knees and yanked me onto the bed.

Then it was me being stripped naked and Cage was taking long, leisurely looks up and down my body. Pulling the blunt from his mouth, he brought it to my lips and I took a long drag. As I exhaled, he took another drag, then he stubbed it out on his nightstand, placed his mouth over mine, and blew the smoke into me.

Then he was inside of me again, rolling us over, bringing me on top and telling me again to “take it.”

I forgot all about my insecurities and my anger and I took him, rode him hard and fast, watching with indescribable satisfaction as he fell victim…to me. Every groan I elicited, every eye-closing, head-thrusting, body-jerking jolt of pleasure I caused, every growled syllable of my name, every desperate stare, his hooded eyes begging me to finish him off. All of it had only increased my own pleasure. I’d never come so hard before in my life.

Then, sexually sated and emotionally exhausted, I fell asleep in his arms.

Now he was taking it, and I was loving it.

As his hips continued their leisurely slide, he gripped my chin, turning my head as far as my neck would allow, and plunged his tongue into my mouth. Slow, sloppy, lip-sucking, tongue-plunging kisses, out of sync with his hip thrusts. And yet, slower still, deliberately prolonging every long, wet stroke.

His mouth was bigger than mine, taking my mouth inside his, pulling on my lips, biting softly, engulfing my lips…my chin…my neck.

Oh God. Nothing, no one had ever kissed me like this. No one had ever fucked me like this.

I reached around me, grabbing hold of his head, crushing him to me, and I kissed him harder, fiercer, needing, wanting, oh God, wanting.

My belly seized, a shiver tore down my spine, and I came hard, crying out against his mouth, shaking beneath him.

“One more, babe,” he muttered. “Gimme one more.”

I cried out again, more so in frustration than from my immediate second release. I cried out because Cage wasn’t just fucking me, he was fucking me.