Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2)

by Melynda Price

  Oh, mercy, was he punishing her? Was he mad at her?—sweet, merciful heaven, if this was Aiden mad, then she had to make a note-to-self to piss him off more often.

  She was close! So close! If he’d just . . .

  His thumb found the small bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. Yes! Her breaths quickened, muscles tensed, hips arching . . . Almost there! She wanted him inside her, needed him inside her now.

  Unable to put thought to voice and impatient to finally experience release, she reached between them to grab his erection and guide him home. What the hell? Aiden was still wearing his underwear. She’d assumed he’d divested himself of that cumbersome cotton back when he’d stripped her of hers. Was he not planning to have sex with her?—and if no, why the hell not? She knew he had a condom, had seen it when the officer had sent it flying out of his wallet earlier tonight, so that couldn’t be what was holding him back.

  Not that he would know, but she was on the pill, and being an MMA fighter, she knew they underwent rigorous health screenings all the time, so commando was a-okay with her. Anything to ease this sensual agony.

  Seeking to rectify Aiden’s oversight and grab the bull by the horn, so to speak, Ryann shed his boxer briefs and hooked the waistband with her toe, dragging them down his impossibly long legs. When she gripped the steel length of his shaft and stroked him a couple of times before guiding him forward, he snarled a surprisingly foul curse and none too gently removed her hand from his very large, very impressive manhood.

  “You come on my terms, sweetheart, not yours.” There was nothing soft or caring in his term of endearment, and his eyes had long lost their warm amber glow, turning him 100 percent Disco Prick. What was she doing? This wasn’t what she wanted. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, she wanted him—badly—but she wanted Aiden, not this . . . cocky, arrogant ass who thought he was God’s gift to women, even if it probably was true.

  Before she could respond, he dipped his head and nipped the fleshy swell of her breast. “Stop.” Her command was breathy and lacked authority, but no was still no, right?

  His mouth moved lower . . . His hands grabbed her inner thighs, spreading her farther to accommodate the wide breadth of his shoulder as he kissed, licked, and nipped his way down her stomach. Oh, no, he wasn’t going to . . . Oh, he was! When Aiden dipped his head and parted her folds with his tongue, a hoarse cry tore from her throat and her hips bucked off the bed. Aiden’s hands circled her waist, anchoring her in place as he set in to a full feast of her flesh.

  The coil of hot, burning need searing her core was back with a vengeance, wound tighter than before and growing stronger by the second. Not like this! She didn’t want to come like this, not with this unspoken rift of tension between them.

  “Aiden, wait . . .” she panted, struggling to claw through the haze of drunken lust addling her brain, making it nearly impossible to put two words together.

  “Oh, now it’s ‘Aiden,’ is it?” he growled against her sex. “First you want Disco, then it’s Aiden. You can’t have them both, baby girl, so which is it? What do you want?” The heat of his breath, the rumble of his voice against her sex, made her breath catch in her throat and a whimper pass her lips. The delay in answering, her mewled response that wasn’t really a response at all, was all it took for him to draw his own conclusion, which was wrong. His top lip curled in that lopsided grin she was quickly learning was the equivalent to a snarl. “That’s what I thought.”

  No! Wait!

  Lowering his head those scant few inches, Aiden’s hands slid beneath her ass, gripping her so hard she’d surely be bruised from his touch. Ryann briefly registered the pain before his tongue plunged inside her, blurring the lines of pain and heightening her pleasure until all was lost—all thought, all breath . . . all control.

  The hard metal ball of his tongue piercing dragged against the top of her opening, then centered on the bead of her sex as he plunged two fingers deep inside her. That was all it took. She couldn’t take anymore, and with a broken cry, she shattered. Her core milked his touch, the euphoria crashing over her in rhythmic waves of pure bliss.

  Her hands fisted into his hair, holding him against her as she rode out this incredible high. As the last few tremors racked her body, she was mindless with awe. Nothing had ever felt this good. No one had ever kissed her like that, which starkly reminded her how incredibly inexperienced she was—and sadly, inadequate, compared to this magnificent man between her legs.

  As she lay there in the afterglow of Wow, I can’t believe that really happened . . . She reluctantly uncurled her fingers knotted in his hair and mumbled the first thing that came to her lust-drunk mind. “That was . . . that was . . . amazing.”

  He shifted out from between her legs, not bothering to meet her starstruck gaze—or even look at her, for that matter—and mumbled, “You’re welcome.”

  He rolled off the bed, his feet hitting the floor before her mind could process the edge in his voice. She was shocked stupid. Ryann’s breath caught in her throat, and words failed her as she watched him stride toward the bathroom. She flinched when the door slammed behind him. As the lock clicked into place, the full weight of what just happened slammed into her with the force of a wrecking ball. He doesn’t think I wanted him . . . He thinks I wanted Disco . . .

  And in turn, he’d rejected her, too, holding himself back. She’d practically thrown herself at him and he wouldn’t even have sex with her. How humiliating . . . How was it possible for the man who’d taken her so high, made her feel so incredibly good, could in the matter of minutes and with two spoken words drag her so terribly low and make her feel so disgustingly cheap? Her vision swam as she raised her hand to muffle the sob that broke from her throat.

  Oh, God, what have I just done?

  CHAPTER

  15

  What the fuck did I just do?

  Aiden cranked on the faucet, taking his second shower of the night—this time a cold one. With the muffling sound of the water’s blast, he let his fist fly against the tile wall. Bam!

  The small white squares shattered beneath his fist, sending an avalanche of porcelain and grout raining down around his feet. His bloody knuckles and property damage did little to unknot the tension fisting in his gut. His cock was granite hard and pissed off at being left that way. But as jacked in the head as he was when it came to Ryann, there was no way in hell he would dare make a bad situation worse by having sex with her.

  His pride already stung at Disco being preferred over him—and damn if that wasn’t a messed-up feeling, being jealous of yourself. Women preferring Disco Stick Kruze wasn’t anything new; it just had never mattered to him before now, nor had he ever let any woman before Ryann get close enough to know there was even a difference.

  It was better this way, he told himself, hoping if he repeated the lie enough times, he’d eventually believe it. He and Ryann would never work. For starters, she was working for the enemy. For all he knew, she was seeing someone back in Manhattan and this was all just another sick game of hers . . . a ploy to fuck him into submission. Where the dick goes, the man follows, right? Wrong. He was done with her games, done with letting a woman twist him into knots. He was definitely done with giving her the power to make him feel used. Aiden had been with a lot of women in his day—more than his share of women, actually—and not once had he ever left his bed feeling more empty than he did at this very moment.

  Never again, he vowed, fisting his cock in his bloody hand, relishing the burn as the frigid water beat upon his raw, torn knuckles. He braced his forearm on the tile, ignoring the pinch in his shoulder. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken damage in the octagon and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Resting his head against the roped muscle, he began working his hard length, desperate to give himself some much-needed relief. It didn’t take long for his release to come. Just closing his eyes and remembering the sight of Ryann spread out befo
re him, that strip of fiery feminine hair leading the way to the true inferno below . . .

  The taste of her still haunted him. Aiden dragged his tongue over his bottom lip. His mouth watered; his hunger was renewed. He muttered a pained groan as his balls tightened up beneath him, the pressure in the base of his cock building . . . He came with a harsh bark, emptying his seed into the drain at his feet as tremor after tremor racked his body. But Ryann’s essence would not leave him, nor would his cockstand or his insatiable desire for that woman. After another round of tug and jerk, he came again, just as hard as the first time.

  He needed a gym, that was what he needed—a heavy bag, and a good sparring partner to exhaust himself. With neither available, he cut the water and toweled off before yanking on his jeans. The denim abraded his poorly abused flesh. With a frustrated growl, he grabbed his cock and rearranged his lingering semi, taking care with the zipper as he fastened his pants. His underwear was still tangled somewhere in Ryann’s bedsheets, and he was not about to go digging for them now. So, commando it was. With any luck, she’d be lights-out by now. The idea of facing that woman again, especially right now, was not on his list of top ten things to do.

  After scrubbing a towel over his wet hair and drying his face, he used the complimentary toothbrush that shed more bristles than a porcupine. The chalky, half-assed minty paste made his mouth feel about as clean as a two-bit whore. But what the hell, if he had any hope of lowering his flag and getting some rest, he was going to have to get the taste of Ryann out of his mouth.

  Aiden had been in there a really long time. If that shower ran any longer, he was going to run out of hot water. Not that Ryann was complaining about his absence. She needed some more time to regroup, to come to grips with what just happened. She told herself her tears were not for him. Aiden just happened to be the breaking point for the torrent of shit she was dealing with right now. Ryann wasn’t a crier, dammit, though no one would believe it to look at her now—worst effing timing ever for her to go all emotional.

  She’d heard of women experiencing such profound sexual pleasure that they broke down and lost it. Please, she thought, let this not be the case with me. First of all, it was horribly unattractive to cry after sex, and second of all, she was an ugly crier. Now that her eyes had finally dried, leaving them red and puffy and her nose snotty, she’d moved into the hyperventilating phase of her emotional meltdown.

  Lord, this was a nightmare! How was she ever going to face Aiden after this? Guilt came anew, soiling her memory of the best sex, or nonsex, of her life. No one had ever come close to making her feel the way Aiden did, and it was all him, whether he’d ever believe that or not was debatable. She didn’t care about his fame or that infamous Disco persona he wore like a coat of arms. She cared about Aiden the man—the lawyer turned fighter who just wanted to be left alone so he could live his dream—until she came along and ruined it all.

  In all honesty, she deserved his anger. In the last week, she’d lied to him, manipulated him, drugged him, and what had he given her in return?—earth-shattering pleasure. Oh, yeah, and he’d saved her life.

  She was a horrible person. How he must hate her, especially now after she’d led him to believe she was using him for an orgasm. She inhaled a stuttering breath and tugged the blankets up to her chin. Something snagged on her foot. She kicked at the tangled bedding and when it didn’t come loose, she reached down to pull it free just as the shower shut off. Her hand closed around the soft cotton bundle and realization made her stomach clench with dread. Oh, no . . . she had Aiden’s underwear!

  God help her if he came out of that bathroom naked.

  A few minutes later, the door opened, shooting a beam of ambient light across the foot of the bed. Not wanting to get caught holding his drawers, she tossed them into the chair across the room and dropped back down on her pillow. Turning away from him, she rolled onto her shoulder and pulled the covers high, burrowing beneath them, and pretended to be asleep.

  The light clicked off, ensconcing the room into darkness once again. She held her breath, waiting for him to enter. Silence. Where was he? She didn’t want to look and risk wrecking her ruse. Focus, Ryann! In and out, in and out . . . Breaths! She corrected herself when wicked images filled her mind. Breathe—in and out, slow and even, but she’d yet to recover from her breakdown, and a shuddering breath wracked her body.

  Maybe he hadn’t heard her? It was a hopeful thought, until the covers behind her lifted and the mattress caved beneath Aiden’s weight. The unforgiving mattress was already starting to make her shoulder ache. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could lie like this. Was Aiden naked beneath these covers? Of course he would be. What else would he wear?

  She winced as another hitching breath gave her away.

  “Are you . . . crying?”

  Aiden’s husky voice was far too close. His hand touched her shoulder and it took all her willpower not to tense, flinch, or move as those strong, callused fingers closed over her arm, his palm resting solidly on her shoulder. Slow and easy breaths, just like she was sleeping. If she didn’t respond, then eventually he’d go away, right? The heat of his presumably naked body warmed her back. She could smell the mint of toothpaste on his breath as it teased the errant tendrils of hair at her temple.

  She wasn’t ready to face him, not yet—not after . . . Ryann shut down the thought. She couldn’t allow herself to go there. Already her pulse quickened with anticipation, the slow burn in her core sparking back to life at his simple touch. Shame and embarrassment burned anew when she thought of how greedily she’d taken the pleasure he offered and given him nothing in return. Just one more thing to add to the list of many ways she’d wronged this man.

  No, she couldn’t face him now, and there was a strong possibility she might not ever be able to look him in the eyes again. Lord, Manhattan couldn’t be close enough for her. And to make matters worse, they were stuck in God knew where, for God knew how long, waiting for the police to give them the okay to leave.

  Aiden waited another minute for her to respond. When she said nothing, he exhaled a sigh that could have spoken a thousand words. If she were a better woman, she would have given up her ruse and faced whatever this was between them. Did he regret what happened as much as she did? It wasn’t their intimacy, experiencing her first orgasm, that she regretted. Hell, who in their right mind could feel remorse over that? No, it was their disconnect she regretted, the misunderstanding she’d failed to rectify.

  When he moved his hand, she thought it was to turn away. But instead, he slowly slid his hand down her arm—up and down, a slow gentle caress. More tenderly than she’d been expecting and certainly more than she deserved. Up and down. She couldn’t hold back the shudder that ripped through her at his gentle touch, threatening to give her away. Slow, easy breaths, she reminded herself again. But that was easier said than done, especially when the back of his knuckles gently brushed against her cheek—a whispered touch, light and fleeting as a butterfly kiss.

  When he tensed behind her, she knew he’d discovered the dampness on her skin. His muttered oath confirmed it, growled so quietly, she nearly missed the self-damning curse.

  Sighing as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders, he lifted a lock of hair that had fallen into her face. Slowly, he let it sift through his fingers as he posed the question that must have been weighing so heavily on his mind. “What am I going to do with you, Ryann?” With that parting thought, he pulled his hand away and returned to his side of the bed.

  What indeed . . . Tears filled her eyes anew and she squeezed them tight, forbidding even one more drop to fall for this man.

  CHAPTER

  16

  Bzzz . . . bzzz . . . bzzz . . . What in the hell was that buzzing? It took Aiden a moment to clear his head and orient himself to date, time, place, and situation: Tuesday, who the hell knew, bumfucknowhere, and in bed—with Ryann. All the while, that
incessant vibrating would not quit. Well, it stopped, for a whole fifteen seconds, before Ryann’s phone started right back up again. Who could possibly be that desperate to contact her? Who would be that incessantly annoying? That bold? That rude? Then the answer came to him with teeth-grinding clarity—Madeline.

  He was just about to grab her cell off the nightstand, which just happened to be on his side of the bed, and give his mother the ass chewing she deserved, when Ryann began to stir beside him. It’d been a miracle he’d fallen asleep at all. How long had he lain there, knowing full well she was awake, too, aching to reach across those twelve small inches separating them—it might as well have been twelve feet—and pull her into his arms. It gutted him to know she’d been crying, to feel that telltale moisture on her impossibly soft cheek and know most assuredly he had been the cause to put it there. What he didn’t understand was why. She’d gotten what she wanted from him. He’d given her the release he’d promised, what more did she want?

  He pondered the question until the early crack of dawn broke the eastern horizon. Then the answer eventually settled solidly in his gut, and it didn’t sit well. Ryann was nothing like the other women he’d bedded—and that had been his first fool’s mistake, treating her like one. Those women had no expectations of him beyond their own pleasure, which had left him wondering: Was it possible Ryann had wanted something else from him?—something more? In his own anger at feeling cheap and used, had he returned the favor by walking away from her while she’d basked in the sated afterglow of her first orgasm, her cheeks still flushed with the warmth of a woman well and thoroughly fucked? Likely—and as the hours endlessly crawled by this morning, the bigger an asshole he felt for it.