Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3)

by Melynda Price

  “No problem.”

  Kyle slipped from the booth and headed to the bar, leaving her alone with her broken heart as she watched her friend stand there, crushed up against Nikko, his large hands nearly spanning her tiny waist. The perpetual furrow of his brow deepened when that steely gaze came up to lock on hers. He said something to Pen, who snuggled in closer, and then the unthinkable happened. She stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his.

  Oh, Lord, she was going to be sick. Violet wouldn’t watch anymore, not that she could, even if she wanted to. Her entire vision blurred as big fat tears spilled down her cheeks. She turned away before Nikko could see her break and scooted out of the booth. As she stood, the room tilted. She reached out and grabbed the seat to steady herself, glancing back at the couple. She took a moment to get her bearings, then realized time was something she didn’t have. Nikko was coming toward her! The scowl on his face was indiscernible through the moisture blurring her eyes.

  She had to get out of here! Vi made an uncoordinated dash for the exit. But the alcohol sloshing through her veins really slowed her down. Her legs felt boneless, like she was trying to run across the deck of a ship pitching in a storm. “I’m sorry, pardon me . . .” she said, stepping on feet and bumping into bodies as she shoved her way through the crowd, all the while fighting back the tears pricking her eyes. Officially, this was the worst birthday ever!

  Bursting through the doors, Vi tripped over her feet and stumbled. She braced herself for the impact but a large hand grabbed her arm, jerking her back. The momentum sent her spinning around and slamming into a wall—this one was hot, hard muscled, and had silvery-gray eyes she swore could see into her soul. Damn him . . . she would rather have kissed the concrete.

  “Let go of me!” she hissed, trying to wrench her arm free of his grip.

  “Clover, stop . . .”

  But she was beyond reason, beyond control, and beyond giving a shit. She was drunk and heartbroken, and it was her birthday, dammit! She could throw a fit if she felt like it, and Nikko Del Toro could go to hell for all she cared. “I saw you!” she yelled. “I saw you kissing her!”

  “First of all, I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me.”

  “And that’s supposed to make it okay? You sound just like Barry. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’” she mocked. “I suppose next you’re going to tell me that her vagina just accidently fell onto your dick!”

  That earned her a glower that could have melted rock into lava. “Hey,” he barked. “I’m not fucking Penelope! And don’t you dare ever compare me to that piece-of-shit ex of yours again!” Nikko’s grip on her arm tightened, cutting off her circulation and making her hand tingle.

  Maybe she should be afraid, but the alcohol fueling her blood made her reckless and her tongue sharp as a double-edged sword. “How was it?” she demanded. “Does she kiss better than me?”

  The spark in his eyes warned her she was pushing him too far, but she didn’t care. Nikko grabbed her other arm and gave her a hard shake, as if that could rattle some sense into her. Pinning her with his steely glare, he growled, “No one’s better than you, Clover! That’s the goddamn problem! It’s only been you since the day you stepped off that damn plane. I don’t want anyone else, but you keep pushing me away!”

  “Well, I’m not pushing you away now!”

  The invitation flew from her mouth before she could call it back. But it was too late . . . The gauntlet had been thrown.

  “It’s about fucking time!”

  Jerking her close, Nikko’s mouth came down on hers—hard and demanding. She could feel his frustration reverberating in the violence of his kiss, in the slant of his firm lips, the clash of their tongues, as he laid siege to her mouth, thoroughly and utterly consuming her. In one kiss, he managed to steal her breath, obliterate her resolve, and scatter her thoughts, leaving only one resonating in her mind. Best birthday ever . . .

  Nikko had no recollection of how they made it back to Violet’s house, but that’s where they ended up, because she lived the closest to Rush and he didn’t think he could survive the extra time it’d take to get to his place. He needed this woman—now. His urgency drove his foot into the accelerator as the Challenger tore down her street, engine growling as he downshifted the muscle car and took a hard left into her driveway, parking inches from her garage door.

  “Well . . . if this MMA thing doesn’t work out for you, you can always get a job with NASCAR.”

  “You like that?” he asked, giving her a crooked grin. “I’ve always wanted to be a race car driver.”

  “I’d probably like it a lot better without half a bottle of Bacardi in me.”

  Shit . . . He cut the engine and shifted to face her, taking a moment to really look at her. “Just how drunk are you, Clover?”

  “Drunk enough that I want you to take advantage of me and not drunk enough that you should feel bad about it.”

  “Works for me.” Maybe he would have given her sobriety more consideration if they hadn’t been together before, if he didn’t already know, without a doubt, that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. Nikko hopped out of the car and could hear her melodic laughter ring out as he came around the passenger side to help her to her feet. The beautiful sound made his chest uncomfortably tight. What was it about this woman that could twist him into knots? No one could gut him like Clover and leave him wanting more.

  He took her slender hand in his and helped her out of the car. As she stood, she tripped over her feet and stumbled into him. Her arms slipped up around his neck, back bowing, breasts crushing into his chest. He caught her around her waist and pulled her up, fitting her flush against him.

  “Oops . . .” She giggled. And it was totally adorable because Violet Summers did not giggle. His four-leaf clover was much too pragmatic for that.

  “You’re going to break your ankle in these shoes.” Sweeping her up into his arms, Nikko used his foot to kick the car door closed and headed to the house. “Where are your keys?”

  “There’s a spare in the flowerpot.” Tightening her hold on him, she buried her face into the side of his neck and inhaled deeply. “Mmm . . . you always smell so good.”

  “Do I?” He chuckled at her dreamy sigh. Shifting his hold on her to one arm, he dug around in the pot for her key.

  “Uh-huh . . .”

  She kissed the side of his neck and then latched that lush mouth of hers on the pulse point hammering in the base of his throat. Her tongue flicked teasingly over the sensitive skin, sending an electrical jolt of white-hot lust right into the base of his cock. Damn, if she didn’t quit that, they weren’t going to make it into the house before he had himself buried inside her. Where the hell was that key?

  Uttering a groan of flagging restraint, he growled in frustration, “The key’s not in here, Clover.”

  She playfully nipped him before lifting her head. “That’s because your hand is in the wrong pot,” she laughed.

  “You’re killing me, you know that?” he groaned, reaching into the other one.

  She kissed his jaw, working her way back down his neck, and her hand slipped up his shirt, her soft fingers contrasting with the blunt tips of her nails as she traced over the muscular ridges of his stomach. A rush of pure adrenaline-fueled testosterone flooded his veins, giving him that same high he felt just before he was about to make a fourteen-thousand-foot HALO jump into the Afghan mountains.

  No woman had ever affected him like this—never made him this hot, feel this out of control. For him, sex had been nothing more than a necessity, a basic human function his body demanded he perform. There was no emotion, no soul-deep craving that kept him awake at night. But with Clover something was different. She was a woman who deserved to be savored, to be handled with care and made love to.

  Problem was he didn’t know the first thing about making love to a woman. He’d never shared that kind of intimacy with Celeste—never wanted to with anyone, until Clover. Wrapped in his arms with her litt
le body pressed so close to his, her mouth so deliciously hot on his neck, his perfunctory need warred with his desire to slow down and give her the adoration she deserved. Unfortunately, instinct was winning out.

  He was about to say screw it and take her right there on the front porch when his fingers brushed the ridged edge of the key. It took him a couple attempts to fit it into the lock, raw need putting a tremor in hands that were usually so steady they could make a thousand-meter kill shot no problem.

  Once inside, he closed the door with his shoulder and spun around, pinning her up against it. His mouth crushed hers, tongue plundering as he set her down long enough to hike up her skirt and rip the elastic seams of her panties. This was how he’d taken her the first time, up against the bathroom door, and memories of their hot, carnal joining flooded his mind, bringing him back to that moment like it was yesterday. She certainly hadn’t minded it then, and she didn’t seem to mind it now. She was doing her own share of pawing and undressing him. His shirt was on the floor, and her hands fumbled with the zipper of his jeans as he popped the buttons of her sweater free. Maybe this was what she wanted—what she needed. A good, hard fucking . . . And he was just the guy to give it to her.

  His cock wept to be inside her, greedy and impatient for another taste of the heaven that could only be found with her in his arms, gloved in her hot, tight sheath. His balls ached with the need for release. The pressure coiling at the base of his spine warned him his restraint was slipping.

  His pants dropped to his knees, and she took his shaft into her soft, little hand, squeezing him tight as she stroked his length. Uttering a tortured groan, he nearly came right then and there. As much as he might want to savor her, now was not going to be that time. He would never last—his need for her too fierce, his lust too uncontrollable. He broke their kiss long enough to growl “Condom . . .” against her lips, having the briefest moment of panic that he probably should have thought about that before deciding not to go to his house.

  She shook her head. “I don’t have one.” And he was pretty sure he was going to die. “It’s okay,” she rushed on. “I’m on the pill . . .” Her mouth was back to his like it was a done deal. He wasn’t so sure. He’d never come inside a woman before without the protection of a rubber, but then again, he’d learned from experience that not even that was foolproof.

  She was kissing him as if her very next breath depended on him, her tight little hand stroking him as the evidence of his failing control slipped from the head of his cock, slicking her grip on his shaft. Was that the end of their condom discussion? It appeared to be, because her tongue was busy doing wicked things to his.

  Shit . . . were it any woman other than Violet, he never would have considered doing this without protection. But this was his Clover . . . and this wasn’t just sex, no matter how they did it—fast and frenzied, or slow and methodical.

  This woman owned him—body, mind, and soul.

  Growing impatient with his deliberation, she nipped his bottom lip and gave his erection a firm tug. “I want you, Nikko . . .”

  That was all it took to fracture his resolve. With a growl that sounded more animal than man, he grabbed her bare ass and lifted her off the floor. Pinning her against the door, he entered her in one hard thrust, swallowing her cry that sounded like a mixture of pain and pleasure. He held her there, buried balls deep, giving her a moment to adjust to his invasion as he fought to control his impending release.

  It was like coming home, holding this woman in his arms again, gripped in her tight sheath. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this, how empty he’d been without it—without her . . . As he held her there, kissing her as if he could never get enough, the realization dawned on him that he couldn’t. He couldn’t get enough, because this woman had managed to do something no other ever had—she’d stolen his heart.

  Nikko stood there, frozen by the reality of his revelation. Panic gripped him hard, seizing his chest and squeezing until he couldn’t breathe. Violet must have sensed the change in him, perhaps because he wasn’t moving despite her impatient little wiggles. Lifting her head, she broke their kiss. Concern tightened her brows as her mesmerizing eyes searched his. “Nikko, what’s wrong?”

  He couldn’t speak at first, the tight band around his chest refusing to let him draw breath. “Oh, no, you don’t want to do this, do you? You’re having second thoughts . . .” she said, misinterpreting his hesitation.

  But he couldn’t tell her the truth—that he was freaking the fuck out because he realized he was in love with her. Of all the times he could have figured that out, it had to be now? Seriously? When he didn’t deny her claim right away, a horrified look marred her beautiful face and she began to struggle in earnest.

  “Nikko, put me down.”

  But there was no way in hell he was letting this woman go, not now—not ever. Her insistent movements sent fiery darts of pleasure arrowing into the base of his cock. His desire overrode his mind and his panic swiftly began to subside. Shifting gears, he withdrew partway and surged inside her again. His cock head connected with her soft core, and her glove tightened in response as she let out a startled little gasp and then shot him an uncertain look.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders, a sharp bite that nearly unmanned him. The feel of her without the thin barrier between them overwhelmed him with sensation. Her wet heat scalded him, her grip squeezing until the pressure in his balls was nearly unbearable.

  Meeting her questioning eyes, he stared into them with an intensity he hoped would speak the truth his lips were unwilling to confess. Instead, he gave her what he had—a half-assed admission that failed to convey the depth of the emotion raging inside him right now. “I want this, Clover. I swear to you there is no place I’d rather be than inside you right now.”

  To prove just how much he wanted her, he pulled back and thrust again. A feeling of deep male satisfaction came over him as her gasp melted into a breathy moan. Her searching gaze softened to heavy lidded and lust drunk as he drove into her again and again. His mouth found hers, kissing her into submission, willing her to let go and feel him filling her. Her muscles clenched, gripping him tighter. She was so close . . .

  The cusps of her nails dug deeper as she clung to him, her breaths coming in short panting gasps. Her core contracted, then began to spasm, ripping his own release from his loins. Holding himself back was pure torture. The moment he felt her break, he let go, coming with her harder than he’d ever come in his life, the milking grip of her release draining him of his seed. Her throaty cry was drowned out by his harsh bark of rapture as he slammed into her one final time, clinging to her as if his life depended on her. And in that moment, he wasn’t so sure that it didn’t.

  Nikko didn’t put her down until he was laying her on the bed. After what they’d just done, and the Bacardi she’d consumed, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to walk. Hands down, this was the best sex of her life. Nikko was . . . simply magnificent in every way. Gorgeous and passionate, and built like a Greek god. Nothing could come close to the bliss she felt in this man’s arms.

  Her body was weak and shaky in the aftermath of her orgasm, her head a little fuzzy from the Bacardi. He didn’t say anything as he tucked her into bed, seeming to be caught up in his own mind, the expressionless mask on his face shielding his thoughts, giving nothing away. Insecurity niggled at her, making her self-conscious. Why had he frozen on her like that? What had happened to him out there, if not second thoughts? Was it as good for him as it had been for her?

  This was all so new to her. She wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming emotions that came in the aftermath of great sex. Barry had been mediocre, at best, and she had never once found herself looking at him after it was over and thinking, Wow . . . I want to do that all over again.

  The first time with Nikko, she’d just been . . . shocked. She hadn’t known sex could be that intense, and it’d been all she could do to sit beside him for the remainder of the flight to
Vegas and not cry at the discovery of everything she’d been missing. She’d been furious thinking about all she’d given up, throwing her twenties away on such an undeserving piece of shit like Barry.

  But now, looking up at Nikko, who was pulling the covers over her naked and deliciously sore body, she found herself hoping he wouldn’t leave, because she definitely wanted to go another round with this gorgeous fighter. He straightened and she caught his hand before he could turn. “You’re not leaving . . . are you?”

  His brows tightened and his gaze darted to hers, revealing a storm of emotions he didn’t have time to mask. “You want me to stay?” he asked, sounding a bit surprised, if not a little hesitant—which made her feel even more insecure.

  Until now, she hadn’t realized how much baggage she was still carrying from her divorce—how much Barry had broken her with his betrayal, the insecurity and lack of self-worth left behind in his adulterous wake. It wasn’t Nikko’s responsibility to pick up her broken pieces, to soothe her damaged soul. “If you don’t want to stay, I understand,” she said, letting him off her hook. “It’s probably better if—”

  “I didn’t say that. I just wasn’t sure where you were going with this, Clover. I don’t want to presume or make it awkward.”

  Neither did she, but . . . “I was kinda hoping we could, you know . . . do it again?” she confessed, feeling her cheeks heat, and she silently thanked Bacardi for giving her the liquid courage to speak her mind.

  She had no doubt she was going to regret this in the morning—so she might as well regret it twice, or maybe three times. There were a lot of reasons she’d resisted going down this road with Nikko. Problem was, she couldn’t seem to think of any of them at the moment. His scowl of concentration broke into a roguish grin at her offer, his dark brow arching. “You were, huh? Well, sweetheart, far be it for me to deny the birthday girl her wish.”

  Violet rolled her eyes and couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up her throat as she pulled him down beside her. Nikko slipped under the covers, the mattress caving to the two hundred twenty pounds of hard-muscled fighter. It’d been a long time since she’d let a man into her bed, but no one had ever come close to filling it like Nikko did.