Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
cage
Ishouldn't be doing this.
The thought runs through my head on repeat as India leads me toward her bedroom, her hand warm in mine. I shouldn't be here. Shouldn't have come inside. Shouldn't have kissed her.
Shouldn't want her as much as I do.
But I'm here anyway, following her like a man who's forgotten every good reason to stay away.
Her bedroom is small and neat. A quilt on the king sized bed, books stacked on the nightstand, she flicks on a lamp, which casts a soft light across the walls.
She turns to face me, and I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. Not fear, just nerves.
"We don't have to do this," I say.
"I know."
"You can change your mind."
"I know that too." She steps closer, her hands sliding up my chest. "But I don't want to."
I catch her wrists, holding them still. "India."
"Cage." Her eyes meet mine. "Stop trying to protect me from you. I'm making this choice."
"You'll regret it."
"Maybe. But that's my problem, not yours."
She's wrong. If she regrets this, it will be my problem. Because I'll have taken something from her I can't give back.
But I'm too selfish to walk away.
I release her wrists and cup her face instead, tilting her head up. "One night."
"One night," she agrees.
I kiss her again, harder this time. Less testing, more claiming. She melts into me, her body soft and warm, and something in my chest cracks open.
I haven't touched another person like this in three years, I haven't wanted to, I haven't let myself.
But I want India, I want her so badly it scares me.
My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her closer. She gasps against my mouth, and I swallow the sound. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging slightly, and heat shoots straight through me.
I walk her backward until her legs hit the bed. She sits, looking up at me with dark eyes, her lips swollen from kissing.
"Last chance," I tell her.
"Stop giving me outs."
"Someone should have some sense here."
"It's too late for sense." She reaches for the hem of my shirt. "Take this off."
I should slow down, and make this last. But the moment her hands touch my bare skin, my control slips.
I pull my shirt over my head and toss it aside. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes me in. I know what she's seeing. Scars. Too many of them. Reminders of a life I can't escape.
"Cage," she whispers.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want to fix me."
Her hands slide up my chest, tracing the scar across my ribs. "I don't want to fix you. I just want you."
The words hit harder than they should.
I lean down and kiss her again, pushing her back onto the bed. She goes willingly, pulling me with her. Her legs wrap around my waist, and I groan against her mouth.
This is a mistake. This is the worst decision I've made since coming to Iron Peak.
But I can't stop.
My hands find the hem of her sweater, and she lifts her arms so I can pull it off. She's wearing a simple bra underneath, nothing fancy, but it doesn't matter. She's beautiful.
I kiss down her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her breast. She arches into me, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
"Cage," she breathes.
I undo her bra and toss it aside. My mouth closes over her nipple, and she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock. I'm already hard, have been since I kissed her in the kitchen, but now it's almost painful.
I need her, I need to be inside her, I need to forget, just for a little while, what I am and what I've done.
I kiss lower, down her stomach, my hands working her jeans open. She lifts her hips so I can pull them off along with her underwear.
And then she's naked beneath me, and I can't breathe.
"You're staring," she says, her voice shaky.
"You're perfect."
"I'm not."
"You are."
I run my hands up her thighs, spreading them. She tenses slightly, and I pause.
"Okay?" I ask.
"Yes." Her voice is breathless. "More than okay."
I lower my head between her thighs and breathe her in, the heat of her body hitting me like a goddamn punch to the chest. She’s soaked.
slick, swollen, needy, and the second my tongue touches her, she cries out, high and sharp, fists twisting into the quilt like she’s trying to anchor herself.
Fuck, the taste of her, sweet and salty, addictive, I want it branded into my mouth.
I lick her slow, then firm, flattening my tongue and dragging it up her slit, savoring every twitch, every tremble. Her thighs tense around my head when I circle her clit, and I do it again, and again, until her hips start rolling up, desperate, chasing the friction.
“Cage, oh god, fuck!” she moans and I groan into her, the sound vibrating against her clit and making her sob.
I don’t stop. I learn her, cataloging every stutter in her breath, every broken sound that slips from her lips when I suck, when I flick, when I push my tongue inside her and fuck her with it, slow and steady.
She’s falling apart for me, her thighs shaking, and her nails clawing into the bed.
When she comes, it’s sudden and hard, like a shudder ripping through her, she screams, her body seizing, her cunt clenching against my mouth while I hold her down and ride it out with her, my tongue flicking, and savoring her.
I don’t pull away until she’s whimpering, twitching under my mouth, too sensitive to take another second. Her whole body’s trembling when I kiss up her stomach, and her eyes are half-lidded, glassy, and her lips are parted like she doesn’t know where she is.
“That was—” she starts.
“Not enough,” I growl as I stand, and my jeans are gone in seconds, shoved down with my boxer briefs. Her eyes drop, and I see it; the spark, the flash of raw hunger that hits me square in the gut. She wants this, wants me, she wants to feel me stretch her open and make her scream again.
“Do you have…”
“Wallet.” I grab my jeans off the floor and pull out a condom, habit or hope, I don’t even fucking know.
I tear the foil and roll it on, my cock hard and leaking and already aching for her. She’s spread out, waiting, glistening, her thighs open and inviting. I settle between them, the heat of her pulling me in like gravity. The head of my cock brushes her entrance and I almost lose it right there.
I close my eyes, breathe, and try to hang onto some thread of control.
“Cage,” she whispers.
I look down at her. She’s watching me, her gaze soft and open, no fear, no hesitation. just trust. It cuts right through me. It scares the shit out of me.
But I lean down and kiss her anyway, and as my mouth claims hers, I push inside her.
Her gasp breaks into the kiss, sharp and breathy, and her nails rake down my back. She’s tight. Hot. Wet. She takes me slow, her body stretching, inch by inch, until I’m buried to the hilt, and she’s clinging to me like she never wants me to leave.
I don’t move. I just breathe. Just feel. Her pussy clenched around me, fluttering, perfect. Every nerve in my body’s screaming, telling me to fuck her hard, fast, deep, but I don’t. Not yet.
This connection, this fire between us, the way her body fits mine like it’s meant to, it’s what I’ve been starving for. Even if it’s only for tonight.
I start to move. Slow strokes, deep, steady, grinding my pelvis against her clit every time I bottom out. She lifts her hips to meet me, matching me rhythm for rhythm, gasping my name into my mouth.
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper. She wants more. And I give it to her.
I fuck her harder, faster, my hips slapping against hers, the sounds obscene and slick and wet. She takes it all, eyes fluttering, mouth falling open with a cry every time I drive into her.
“More,” she breathes. “Please—”
God, I’ll give her everything.
I angle my hips, find the spot that makes her scream, and hammer it. She clenches around me like a vice, her body rising to meet every thrust. I feel her getting close—can feel it in the way her breathing staggers, the way her moans pitch higher.
“India,” I grind out. “Fuck, baby.”
“I’m close,” she gasps. “Don’t stop… God, please don’t stop.”
I won’t, hell, I can’t. I reach down and rub her clit, fast and tight, my thumb slick from where we’re joined. She cries out, her whole body going taut beneath me.
“Come for me,” I growl. “Let me feel you.”
She shatters. Her orgasm rips through her with a sob, her back arching, and her nails sinking deep into my shoulders as her pussy milks my cock in pulsing waves.
I lose it; thrust deep, holding her tight, and come with a guttural groan, my whole body convulsing as pleasure crashes over me like a fucking tsunami.
I bury my face in her neck and let it tear through me, grinding into her, gasping against her skin, heartbeat slamming in my chest as I empty into the condom and melt into her.
For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the guilt. Not the past. Not the ache that never really goes away. Just her. Just us.
But moments don’t last.
Eventually my pulse slows, my mind comes back to my body, and I realize I’m still inside her, still draped over her, both of us covered in sweat and come and heat.
I pull out slowly, carefully, and tie off the condom before tossing it into the trash. When I turn back, she’s watching me. Her hair’s a mess, her lips kiss-swollen, and her eyes soft.
“Come back,” she murmurs, patting the bed beside her.
I should leave. I know I should, I should get dressed, walk out, and pretend this didn’t fucking happen.
But I don’t. I climb back into bed and she curls into me like she belongs there, head on my chest, one hand resting over my heart. I wrap my arm around her, hold her close.
It’s dangerous, this feeling. Dangerous how right it feels.
But I don’t let go.
“That was…” she starts and I tense, waiting for the regret to kick in. “Better than I expected,” she continues, her voice is sleepy and satisfied.
And all I can do is lie there, heart pounding beneath her hand, knowing I’m fucked in more ways than one. "You had expectations?" I ask once I’m able to speak.
"I hoped."
"Hope's a dangerous thing."
"So you keep saying." She traces the scar on my ribs again. "What happened here?"
"IED."
She's quiet for a moment. "You were military."
"Yeah."
"Special Forces?"
"Something like that."
She doesn't push for more, she just keeps tracing the scar, her touch light and soothing.
I should tell her to stop, should pull away and create distance.
But I don't want to.
"I lost my team," I hear myself say. "Three years ago, in Afghanistan."
Her hand stills. "I'm sorry."
"It was my fault."
"I doubt that."
"You weren't there."
"No. But I know guilt when I see it, and I know the difference between fault and responsibility."
"What's the difference?"
"Fault means you did something wrong. Responsibility means you were there and they weren't and you have to live with that." She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me. "Which one are you carrying?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
I close my eyes. "Both."
She leans down and kisses me, soft and gentle. She’s not trying to fix me or save me, just accepting me. It's more than I deserve.
"Stay," she whispers against my lips.
"India."
"Just tonight. That was the deal. One night. Stay until morning."
I should say no. I should leave now while I still can. But I'm weak. Weaker than I thought.
"Okay."
She smiles and settles back against my chest. Within minutes, her breathing evens out, and I know she's asleep.
I lie there in the dark, listening to her breathe, feeling the weight of her body against mine.
This was a mistake.
But God, it felt good.
I don't sleep. Can't sleep. Instead I watch the shadows move across the ceiling and try not to think about how right this feels.
How much I want to stay.
How impossible that is.
When the first light of dawn filters through the window, I carefully extract myself from India's warmth. She stirs but doesn't wake, just reaches for the pillow I was lying on and hugs it close.
I get dressed quietly, moving through her cabin like a ghost. I should leave a note. Say something. Anything.
But what would I say? Thanks for the night? Sorry I can't give you more?
Everything sounds wrong in my head.
So I leave nothing.
I step outside into the cold morning air and close the door softly behind me.
My truck starts on the first try, and I pull out of her driveway without looking back.
The drive up to the ridge is quiet. The sun is just starting to rise, making the sky paint the mountains with color.
It's beautiful, but I don't feel it.
By the time I reach my cabin, I've convinced myself that last night meant nothing. It was just sex. A physical release. A momentary lapse in judgment.
India is a complication I can't afford. She's the kind of woman who wants more, who deserves more, who will eventually want things from me I can't give.
Better to end it now before either of us gets hurt worse.
I park and head inside. The cabin is cold and empty. Exactly how I left it.
Exactly how it should be.
I restart the fire and make coffee. Then I sit in my chair and stare at the flames.
I tell myself I won't think about India. Won't think about the way she felt in my arms or the sound of her breathing or the trust in her eyes.
I tell myself last night was an anomaly. A moment of weakness and it won't happen again.
I tell myself I'm fine alone, that I prefer it this way, I tell myself a lot of lies.
And I almost believe them.
But then I catch the faint scent of her perfume on my shirt, and everything I've been trying to convince myself of crumbles.
Last night mattered.
She mattered.
And that's exactly why I can't go back.
I strip off my shirt and toss it in the corner. Out of sight. Out of mind.
It doesn't work.
I can still feel her hands on my skin. I still hear her voice saying my name. Still see the way she looked at me like maybe I was worth something.
I pour another cup of coffee and walk to the window, looking out at the mountains.
This is my life now. Alone on a ridge where I can't hurt anyone and no one can hurt me.
It's safer this way.
For me.
For India.
For everyone.
I drain the coffee and set the cup down with more force than necessary.
One night. That's what we agreed to.
And one night is all it was.
I just need to remember that.
Even if every part of me wants to forget.