Unattainable Page 20

  Seeing the look on Ellie’s face Christina trailed off and shrugged.

  “But no matter what, if he’s wantin’ an old lady or wantin’ to play, my man takes good fuckin’ care of me so I’ve learned to look the other way, ya know?”

  Ellie didn’t know but she nodded, watching as Christina reached down the front of her skull T-shirt and emerged with a pack of cigarettes. Ellie’s eyes widened. Her T-shirt was skintight; how had she fit the pack in there without it being noticeable?

  After lighting one, she offered Ellie the pack. “You want? You look like you could use a little herbal relaxation.”

  Ellie’s forehead wrinkled. “Herbal relaxation?” she repeated dumbly.

  Christina’s answering grin made her feel like the lone one in the group who hadn’t gotten the joke.

  “Weed, girl. Pot? Mari-fuckin’-juana?”

  Ellie’s face grew hot. Now she really felt stupid. “I’ve never tried it,” she said softly.

  “Figured that, girl. Here.” She held out her joint and offered it to Ellie. “Try it, it’ll help you relax.”

  Ellie stared for only a moment before taking it. She really did need to relax, and so she shrugged and brought it to her lips.

  When in Rome…or rather, when in lockdown with a bunch of criminals.

  • • •

  Dirty left Cage stumbling around in the parking lot and stormed inside the clubhouse. He took a quick look around the front room, found no sign of Ellie, and immediately headed for the back hall.

  “Dirty!” Eva called out. “What happened?”

  He didn’t bother turning around. “I wouldn’t fuckin’ know,” he shouted. “I got sent the fuck home.”

  Reaching his door, he found it unlocked and pushed it open. Ellie glanced up from her seat on his bed, tossed aside the bag of potato chips she was eating, and scrambled to her feet.

  “You’re back!”

  Dirty stared at her. She was wearing his Clutch T-shirt. His Clutch T-shirt that barely reached the bottom of her ass. And white underwear. And that was it. Staring at the outline of her pussy, his dick started to throb.

  “I gotta go,” he said quickly, turning around.

  “Wait! What happened? What happened to your jaw?”

  Dirty turned back to her. “Don’t know what happened yet. Deuce sent me back.”

  With a silly smile on her face, Ellie took several steps in his direction. He kept his feet planted firmly on the floor despite the nervous itching in his veins, begging him to run from her.

  “I’m glad,” she said, her soft voice unusually breathy. She was nearly on top of him now, looking up at him through those big blue eyes of hers. Big blue eyes that were bloodshot as all hell. “I was worried about you.”

  Studying her, he frowned. “You fucked-up?”

  Ellie erupted in giggles and Dirty got his answer. His thoughts took a nose dive into the gutter and he started wondering just how fucked-up she was and what he could get her to do in the state she was in.

  “You really are beautiful,” Ellie continued in a whisper. Dirty watched her arm lift, watched her hand coming toward his face, and went rigid. For a moment he was unable to move, to blink, to so much as breathe and then…

  Her soft, slightly damp palm connected with his cheek and his body involuntarily shuddered through unfamiliar sensations of the joining.

  “You could have been a model,” she said.

  His eyes squeezed closed. He’d thought he’d never wanted to hear those words again, but coming from Ellie, it didn’t make him crazy with rage, instead it…

  It hurt. It fucking ached.

  It made him wish he could erase his past, be a different man, one who was worthy of the face he’d been given, one who hadn’t been chewed up and spit out repeatedly because of it. One who hadn’t become everything he’d hated.

  He felt Ellie’s hand shift on his cheek and his eyes flew open just in time to watch Ellie’s lips meet his. Nausea rose in his stomach, causing Dirty to tremble. What the fuck? What the fuck was he supposed to do? He didn’t know, he didn’t fucking know, goddamn, he didn’t motherfucking know!

  A tear born from frustration and self-hatred slid from the corner of his eye and down his nose, landing on their joined lips. Ellie’s eyes opened and then she was gone, her hand, her lips, everything, was just gone.

  “My God,” she whispered, wiping her thumb across her bottom lip, seeing the moisture there from his tear. “I’m so sorry, Michael,” she breathed as she turned away from him. “I didn’t mean to…”

  No. No, she couldn’t kiss him and then nothing. His mind spun. He wanted her. He was aching for her. But he didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do. He couldn’t kiss her, he couldn’t keep letting her touch him.

  He slammed into her from behind, reaching immediately around her body, encircling her stomach and slapping his hand across her mouth before her startled shriek turned into screams.

  Ellie whimpered under his hand and Dirty felt the sharp pang of guilt spear through his gut.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you, baby,” he whispered hoarsely. “You trust me, right?”

  Baby.

  The term of endearment had passed so easily from his mouth and yet he was frozen in shock. He’d never once called a woman anything other than her name or some derogatory term in place of it.

  Until now. Until right fucking now.

  Several tense heartbeats passed before she nodded quickly. Relief filled him. She trusted him. She fucking trusted him. He wasn’t going to lose that. He would not betray that.

  He released her mouth and wrapped another arm around her waist. Bending his head down to her ear, he whispered, “I ain’t a good man. I’ve done shit…I’ve done some pretty bad shit and now, it’s too fuckin’ late for me. I ain’t ever gonna be a good man.”

  Underneath his hold on her, Dirty felt Ellie’s body tense. His heart rate increased tenfold. More than likely she was going to want nothing to do with him after this. And he would deal with that. He would release her, let her walk out of this room, the club, and his life. It would be better for her if she did. And he wouldn’t have to walk around terrified he was going to hurt her.

  “What have you done,” she whispered, “that you think you can’t be forgiven for?”

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before opening them again. “That’s the last time you’re gonna ask me that. I’m gonna be straight with you, I ain’t never gonna tell you what I’ve done, because I ain’t never wanna see you lookin’ at me any different than the way you were when I first walked into this room.

  “That said,” he continued hoarsely. “I want inside you somethin’ fierce, baby.”

  Ellie’s breath released in a hot rush of air and he felt her stomach expand against his grip.

  “I think,” she said softly, “that I want you too.”

  Need, hot and heady, raced through his already shaking body. He wanted to fuck her so damn bad; he wanted to push her down face first into his bed and take her hard and fast from behind.

  But at the same time he wanted to feel those lips again, against his mouth, down his body, wrapping around his cock, taking him into her mouth.

  And yet, he couldn’t do either. He couldn’t fuck her the same way he’d fucked so many whores, on his bed, half-conscious, refusing to look at them. And he couldn’t allow her to touch him, not sexually, not without becoming violent or sick, or motherfucking both.

  “I’m so fucked-up,” he continued, his voice breaking. “I can’t be…with a woman.”

  “Michael,” she said and he could hear the choked-back tears in her voice. “We don’t have to be…together. We can be friends. I want to be friends.”

  “Why?” he asked brokenly. “Why would a woman like you want anything to do with a man like me?”

  “You may have done bad things,” she whispered tearfully. “But you’re not a bad man, Michael. You saved my life, and you saved my life because you have a good heart. No
w I want to do the same for you.”

  Dirty’s heart exploded.

  He was done.

  Motherfucking done for.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “So, is it just your arms or do you have other tattoos?”

  I jerked my eyes away from the window and back to the man across the table. “Hmm?”

  He gestured at my arms with his hummus-covered fork. “Your tattoos,” he said. “Do you have more?”

  “Oh,” I said blandly. “Yeah, I’m covered.”

  “That’s so hot,” he replied, grinning. “I love women who don’t conform to society’s ideals.”

  Slumping back in my chair, I raised an eyebrow. Why the fuck had I agreed to this? Oh, right, because Hayley is a persistent bitch determined to marry me off to some douchebag.

  Last week it had been a personal trainer named Todd who obviously frequented a tanning salon more than most women did. He’d loved talking, but only about himself and how crazy awesome he was. Halfway through dinner, unable to stomach another second of Todd’s love affair with himself, I’d shoved my chair back, got to my feet, and said, “Really, this was great, I absolutely loved hearing all about your body mass index and how sexy your abdominal muscles are, but I’m really late for an important date with a screwdriver.”

  Poor thing had looked so confused.

  “A screwdriver,” I repeated. “I need to jam one into my skull to try and erase this last excruciatingly painful hour of my life.”

  And this week it was David, the computer analyst. He was decent-looking, I guessed. Another hipster, like there weren’t enough in this fucking city already, with shaggy hair and a love of skinny jeans. But he was boring and had the personality of a rock. I’d almost prefer to be with Todd the Tool; at least then I’d have something to mentally poke fun at.

  Sighing, I crossed my arms in front of my chest. I’d promised Hayley I’d see this shit through but more importantly, I’d promised myself that when I got back from Miles City I wasn’t going to wallow in everything that could never be.

  I’d told myself, in no uncertain terms, that I would give ZZ the boot in the kindest way possible and then move on to giving another man a fighting chance. I told myself that I would finally start working toward my goal of someday becoming a novelist, but most importantly, that I would keep myself busy so as not to resort to self-pity, self-loathing, and ultimately self-destruction.

  So far, nothing I did was working. ZZ hadn’t come back yet, and I was a goddamn train wreck.

  Fuck Deuce. Fuck that mean old bastard.

  Doin’ this for your own good, Tegen. Cage ain’t never gonna change. Seen this shit before, him thinkin’ he’s fallin’ for a bitch and then it all goes down the same in the end. Him gettin’ bored and goin’ back to stickin’ his shit in all sorts of filth.

  Deuce had been right. Cage had played the same game for years. I’d watched him, jumping from woman to woman to woman to woman to woman.

  Why should I be any different? Just because I wanted it so badly?

  Ha.

  Three weeks ago, the moment my plane had landed in San Francisco, self-pity had taken root and self-loathing said hello the very second I’d walked into my empty apartment. I had no doubt that self-destruction was waiting just around the corner like a goddamn pickpocket bouncing on his heels, just watching from the shadows, waiting to pounce, anticipating the moment my guard would be down.

  I couldn’t let it go. It was every inch as painful the last time I’d had my heart broken. Only…no, this was so much worse.

  That stupid motherfucker had told me he loved me. Positioned over top of me, easing himself slowly into my body so that I felt everything, every stretch, every quiver, every clench of my muscles, all the while staring down at me, into my eyes.

  I love you, Teacup.

  And suddenly I wanted to run straight back to Miles City, to the clubhouse, to Cage.

  You know exactly what you’re gonna fuckin’ do here. You’re gonna put your skinny ass on the back of my bike, you’re gonna move into my fuckin’ house, you’re gonna cook and you’re gonna clean, and you’re gonna fuck me whenever the fuck I want it.

  I’d been so close to throwing away everything. What about what I wanted from life? One weekend with Cage and suddenly none of that mattered to me anymore?

  Yeah, whatever. I was such a flake. I didn’t even know what my own wishes were anymore. A fucking wishy-washy bitch with a bad attitude. Flip-flopping like a dying fish on the shore. I could get another million tattoos and piercings, but it still wouldn’t cover up what I’d been trying to hide all these years.

  That I didn’t have a clue who I was. Or what I wanted.

  It was official. I was an asshole with a permanently broken heart.

  I stared vacantly across the restaurant, feeling a million different things. Shame, lust, love, pain, guilt, humiliation, anger, bitter acceptance…

  And hate.

  Yep, I hated myself for letting myself feel anything, for letting that man inside of me again. For being so completely and utterly weak when it came to him that if he touched me, all was lost. Every brick in the wall I’d built up around myself would instantly crumble and I’d immediately succumb to the feelings I’d always had for him. Feelings that I was terrified were never going to die out.

  “I don’t have any, myself,” David said. “I’m not a fan of needles but I respect anyone who has the pain threshold to withstand the amount of tattooing you have.

  “It’s a proven fact,” he continued, “that women have a higher tolerance for pain than men do. I believe it stems from the fact that women are built to bear children, whereas men—”

  “Do you want to go fuck?” I interrupted, bored to tears yet filled with an anxiety-ridden sense of longing that I couldn’t seem to shake.

  David’s eyes widened. “What?”

  I snorted. “You heard me, fucker. Yes or no?”

  “Uh…” Bewildered, David shook his head. “Yes?”

  “Great,” I said curtly, already getting to my feet. “Let’s go.”

  Scrambling to his feet, David yanked his wallet out of his pocket and quickly tossed several bills on the table. Then we headed toward the exit and were on our way back to my place.

  As soon as my apartment door closed behind us, David’s greedy hands were all over me. Closing my eyes, mentally detaching my soul from my body, I let him do whatever he wanted. I didn’t care; I just wanted the pain to stop.

  Self-destruction, I thought bitterly. Party of one, please.

  • • •

  Positioned behind her, Cage gripped the woman’s thigh, raising her leg, and pushed inside her body.

  Several strokes passed and he whispered, “Feel good, babe?”

  He stopped moving. Every time. He said the same damn thing to every bitch he fucked, every fucking time.

  “Oh yeah, baby,” she whispered back while grinding her backside against his hips. “Sooo good, baby, sooo big and so good.”

  Already bored with her, he reached for her chin, gripped it, and turned her head to the side, giving him better access to her lips. Crushing his mouth to hers, he shut her right the fuck up and resumed fucking her, faster this time, not too fast but rhythmic. The slap of bodies, the sound of messy kissing, her breathy moans escaping when he allowed her small glimpses of air.

  It was all the same.

  He was on autopilot. He wasn’t even attracted to her.

  Average body, average face, only attractive because she was still young.

  Why was he even hard?

  Of course he was hard. Of-fucking-course. Why wouldn’t he be? This was what he did. It seemed like he did it for a living. He should be getting paid for his motherfucking services, he did it so damn much.

  And all he could think about was not this stupid bitch, but another woman. One who’d played the fucking game as good as he did.

  But he kept at it, kept at fucking the bitch until she was soaking wet and whimpering a
gainst his mouth. Reaching between her legs to where they were joined, he found her. He worked her skillfully, doing the same damn thing he’d done a million times before to a shit ton of different women.

  “Cage,” she gasped, sucking in a sharp quick breath as her body locked up. He stopped kissing her and watched as her eyes rolled back, her eyelids fluttering wildly, feeling the usual sort of detachment he usually felt watching a woman orgasm. From his position behind her, he saw her toes curl and the tendons in her feet bulge.

  “One more,” he said blandly, still using his fingers on her. “Gimme one more, babe.”

  She came again and that’s when he decided enough was enough. Pulling out of her, he pushed her onto her stomach and took her again from behind, this time with her ass in the air. He fucked her. Hard. And came within a few short minutes, feeling like he’d just emptied out nothing but air, leaving him feeling even emptier than when he’d started out.

  “You can go,” he muttered, flopping onto his back and reaching to his nightstand for his smokes.

  “Sorry?” she asked as she got to her knees, pushing her shoulder-length brown hair out of her eyes.

  A cigarette pressed between his lips, he glanced her way. There was nothing remotely interesting about her. She was just tits and a pussy, neither of which were all that remarkable.

  Not one damn thing. Once she left his house, he probably wouldn’t even recognize her if he ran into her two days later.

  “You,” he repeated harshly, “can go. Now.”

  Her eyes widened and just as he knew she was about to start sputtering nonsense at him, he pulled his smoke from his mouth and pointed the cigarette at her. “Just go, bitch. Don’t bitch or whine or start fuckin’ cryin’. You knew what this was from the get-go and don’t be pretendin’ somethin’ different.”

  In an angry rush, muttering curses, the girl scrambled for her clothes while Cage turned away from her and faced the wall. That had been the fourth bitch he’d fucked since Tegen had disappeared on him.

  One was a club whore he’d fucked a million times, two were local waitresses, and now this bitch. He had no idea what any of their names were. And to be honest, he didn’t give a fuck either.