Rebel Roused (Untamed #5) (7 page)

Groaning at the sudden invasion and the welcomed pleasure it brought, I tightened around him and pushed my hips forward in an attempt to bring him even deeper. He obeyed, giving me another finger at the same time as his lips closed around the peak of my breast, sucking my nipple into his warm mouth.

Oh, god…I’d missed this so much. I’d missed
him
so much.

“More, Dare. More of you,
please
.”

“You’re so fucking tight, baby.” His voice was barely audible over the sound of the shower as the spray beat against our skin, but the lust throbbing through it was undeniable. “I don’t think I’ll be able to restrain myself for long hearing you beg like that, knowing how deliciously tight and wet you are right now.”

He moved his fingers inside me, first slowly, testing out my limits, but then with increased speed and intensity. In and out. Deeper and faster. Just the way I needed it.

The motion threatened to bring me over the edge in record time. When he rubbed his thumb over my clit, I cried out his name.

“I’m going to come,” I said, hooking my leg around his waist and bringing his hardness against my opening. “But I want to come with you inside me. Please, Dare. Please don’t hold back.”

His mouth came down on mine, hard and rough, and he pulled my leg higher up, parting my thighs, bearing me to him as he throbbed against me.

“You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that.” With those words, he thrust his hips forward, burying himself deep into me.

Spreading me. Filling me. Completing me.

I gasped, then moaned, so fucking pleased with how he felt inside. I’d been craving this, yearning for him, desperate to be devoured by his love.

Everything he did told me just how much this moment meant to him, too. It was in the way he rocked his hips and the urgency with which he dug his fingers into my skin as if he couldn’t get enough contact. It flowed through the things that surged from his mouth between kisses, painting me with the color of his words:
so perfect, so beautiful, so mine.

Every muscle on his body was tensed as he pumped into me, his thighs flexed and his legs holding up our weight. Our kisses were frantic. We breathed for each other, into each other, with each other—existing as one. This moment was what raw, real love was all about. It wasn’t perfect. It was carnal, painful, beautiful, and even a little desperate.

We weren’t making love. We weren’t fucking.

We’d reached a completely different plane.

For the first time ever, we really, truly were
one
.

ten

W
hen I peered through the peephole of our apartment a week later, the last people I expected to be on the other side were my parents. I hadn’t seen them since the day Dare had found me.

I’d been groggy when my father had burst into my hospital room with a gaggle of reporters clamoring to capture the moment of reunion between a concerned father and his poor, victimized daughter. My mother stood to one side, a handkerchief in her hand and tears almost in her eyes.

It was the photo op of the century for them.

I’d been too out of it to react, but Dare hadn’t. He’d thrown the reporters out amidst a flurry of flashes going off, and then stayed by my side during the subsequent awkward visit. Since then, my parents had been too busy winning and then celebrating my father’s election, and I’d ignored every one of their calls for appearing at press conferences.

And yet, here they stood, looking incredibly uncomfortable and out of place. My mother kept throwing glances toward the street, eyeing the few neighborhood kids hanging around as if she expected them to do something “undesirable” at any moment.

But there were much worse things in this world, I knew all too well.

The sheer stupidity of the situation should have made me laugh, but I was too stunned by their presence to do anything but open the door and gape at them.

“Honestly, Reagan,” my mother said, her hand patting her hair as she turned to look behind her one more time. “It is proper to invite people in when you answer the door. You were not raised by wolves.”

“Nope. More like snakes.” I held the door open wider to usher them inside.

“What?” Her eyes widened as she scurried into the seeming safety of the apartment.

Safety was relative, I’d learned. I was still having trouble feeling safe anywhere if I allowed myself to think about it. So I didn’t. As much as possible.

When Dare and I were together, I felt fine. Especially at home here. The problem was going out. I felt exposed, vulnerable, like a walking target. No matter how many times I reminded myself that Daren was dead and gone, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that danger was lurking around every corner.

Shit happened. And if it had happened once, it could happen again.

“Reagan.” My father nodded as he passed. Things had been frosty between us ever since I’d trumped him with Stanzi, but he no longer treated me like I was his own personal Doormat Barbie. We both knew that he couldn’t manipulate me into doing whatever he asked anymore. I’d more than earned his respect—I’d blackmailed him into giving it to me. And I liked that feeling more than I’d expected.

Perched on the sofa a few minutes later, they both looked wildly out of place on our well-worn brown leather couch. My mother even had the audacity to wipe the seat off before she slowly lowered herself onto it, only after taking the time to scrutinize the room with a distasteful, icy glare, of course.

I tried to see the apartment through her eyes, but all I saw was Dare. Everywhere. He was color, vibrant and true, and he was splashed all over the walls—his paintings, Rex’s, and other artists he’d collected over the past several years. I loved this place so much. It was the polar opposite of my parents’ house—I was sure their senses must have been overwhelmed. Considering they viewed the world in black, white, and the multitudes of grays in between, I wasn’t sure if they still even had the ability to see in color, to feel warmth.

I started shaking my head as I looked at them, wondering why in the world they were actually here, thanking god Dare was out—he didn’t need to be subjected to their bullshit.

“So,” I said, after I’d carefully sunk into the overstuffed armchair across from them. Even though my wound had healed, the ghost of pain from those first few excruciating days haunted me. And so I still moved with caution. “To what do I owe this…pleasure?”

It was an incredible stretch calling their visit that, but what the hell. My head ached, my stomach felt tight and hard, and I was dying to swallow something just to take the edge off.

My pain pills were gone, and the drugs Dare’s dad had pumped through me were completely out of my system, but still I felt the craving like a deep, dark itch. An itch there was only one way to scratch.

No, I couldn’t think like that. Not again. Not anymore.

I swallowed the longing, shut out the thirst, and made a mental note to call my sponsor after my parents left.

One moment at a time, I reminded myself. I would get back to where I’d been.

I’d done it once, I’d do it again.

My father cleared his throat. “Before I head up to Albany in January, I was hoping we could settle things with you.”

Frowning, I said, “Settle things?”

“Harvard.” I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could stick law school, but he held up his hands. “Just listen to me for a moment. I underestimated you, I admit it.”

“Yes, you did.”

“And I will not make that mistake a second time.” He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “I want you on my team, Reagan. I need a brilliant mind like yours working for me…challenging me.” He sighed. “I have surrounded myself with people who tell me what I want to hear. I need someone who will tell me when I’m wrong. Like you.” I began shaking my head, but he held up a hand to stop me again. “The spot is still yours at Harvard. It is being held just for you. What do I need to do to get you to agree to go? That is all I want to know. I will do whatever it is so we can have this situation wrapped up before I take office.”

“I’m not going to law school, Father. Not now, not ever.”

“Reagan, be reasonable—”

“No, you’re not listening to me. You’ve
never
listened.” I stood up and started pacing the room, my eyes glued to my father’s deep blue ones. “Look, as twisted as it is, I appreciate the offer. But I’m NOT interested. I don’t want to be a lawyer. I’ve been telling you that for years. And for
years
you’ve refused to hear me. Maybe you didn’t believe me, or maybe you just didn’t care.” I pointed at him. “I’d put money on the latter. Because everything you do, every plan you make, is only for your benefit. You have never once treated my life like it belongs to me.” I stopped walking and stared at him. “But it is
mine
. JUST mine.”

“But you’re wasting your—”

“I’m not wasting a fucking thing!”

“Reagan, I will not sit here and listen to you talk to your father like that.”

I waved toward the door. “You’re welcome to go stand outside and wait until I’m done, Mother.”

She clutched her pearls, glanced at the door, but didn’t make a move to leave.

“I’m finally doing something I love,” I said to my father. “And I’d think you, of all people, should understand that. Yeah, it’s not something
you
love—I get that. I also know that you’re never going to understand why I love it. That’s fine. You don’t have to. But it would be nice if you simply acknowledged my passion and supported me for once in your life. I love art. I live and breathe art. I have an incredible eye for talent, and I’ve been gathering contacts in the art world to be able to sell people’s art. I’m working toward owning my own gallery someday.”

My parents sat perfectly still, sporting matching shocked expressions. My hands were shaking, my heart pounding. I’d never been so open with them about my passion. I nervously twirled the ring Dare had given me, suddenly realizing that they didn’t know about that either.

I held up my left hand. “And I’m going to marry Dare.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised by their horrified gasps, but I was startled. And hurt. Why couldn’t they see him the way I saw him?

My mother sprung to her feet, bright red lips thinned into a hard line, polished fingers flexing for a martini glass.

“Sorry, Mother. I don’t have any Xanax or gin to offer you to help soften the blow.”

“That’s enough, Reagan.” My father stood and grasped her hand in his. “I am sure you can imagine how this hurts us.”

“How
what
hurts you?”

“The fact that our daughter is marrying so far beneath her.” There were tears in my mother’s eyes. Actual. Fucking. Tears.

“I don’t know how we can spin this,” my father said, turning to look at my mother.

“Spin this? Are you fucking kidding me?” I sputtered for a moment, words failing me as outrage flooded my body. “I LOVE him. He is the love of my life. My fucking soul mate. Shouldn’t you want your daughter to marry the right
guy
, not just someone who comes from the right
family
? Are you that self-absorbed and selfish? Isn’t my happiness important to you AT ALL?”

“Of course it is.” My mother snapped, her words clipped and sharp. “Your happiness has always been important. We have done everything in our power to make you happy and you have never appreciated a single thing we did. We sent you to the right school, introduced you into the right circles, encouraged you to socialize with the right friends. We have paid for everything you ever needed and then some. And all you have ever done is complain. And I, for one, am tired of it, Reagan. Nothing we do is good enough for you. It never has been and it never will be.”

“You didn’t do any of that for me,” I said. “You did it for
you
. Because
you
want me to have the right friends, to marry into the right family, to have the right career…according to what
you
think is right. Not according to how I feel. And those ‘right’ friends you introduced me to? One of them raped me. Which you covered up like it was some minor, bothersome blemish. And then when it was obvious I’d gotten—”

“ENOUGH.” My father’s voice boomed through the small room. I was breathing heavy, glaring at them both. “We are not here to rehash the past.” I raised my eyebrows, and opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it. “What do you want from us, then, Reagan? If we’ve made your life so unhappy, what do you want from us now?”

Just like that, all the fight flew out of me. My shoulders drooped, and I sighed.

What did I want? Deep down I really just wanted them to love me. That was all I’d ever wanted from them. But that wasn’t ever going to happen, and they wouldn’t understand what I meant if I actually said those words anyway.

So I just said, “I want you to let me live my life. Pretend that you approve of my choices, let me make my own mistakes, and support my right to do that. Let me be happy. If you refuse to do that, then I want you to get out of my life. For good. Forever.”