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Authors: Madeline Sheehan

Unattainable

BOOK: Unattainable
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Unattainable

(Undeniable #3)

 

by

Madeline Sheehan

Edited by Pam Berehulke

Cover by Meredith Blair

Copyright © 2013 by Madeline Sheehan

Smashwords Edition

This e-book is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given
away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader.
If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return it to
www.smashwords.com
and
purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of
this author.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either
the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious
manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or
actual events is purely coincidental.

Acknowledgments

I’ve got a lot to say, so bear with
me…

I want to thank my street team: Ellie, Heather,
Hillary, Virginia, Courtney, Shorty, and Karinna. You girls aren’t
just my cheerleaders and my support system, you are the very best
friends a girl could have. Thank you for everything. What would
this crazy writer do without you? I really don’t want to find
out.

And to my editor, Pam Berehulke, my very
favorite grammar, caps, and tenses Nazi, who takes my filthy,
ellipses-ridden manuscripts, dumps them into a washbasin and, with
her bar of soap and washboard in hand, scrubs the holy fuck out of
them until they’re oh-so-pretty, shiny, and, most importantly,
clean enough to eat off of.

And to Jovana, Pam, and Alyssa, who drop
everything for me, who are always available at any hour of the day
to answer all my stupid questions, and who put every bit as much
energy and love into my books as I do; I got nothin’ but love for
ya.

And to my friends and family, to my husband and
my son, I know how much it sucks when I’m absent from the world,
day after day, staring at a computer screen, immersed in the lives
of my fictional characters, but I also know that you know how
important that part of my life is, that I wouldn’t be me without
it. So, thank you from the bottom of my heart, for accepting me and
all my flaws, for watching over me and taking care of me while I
knock these screaming stories from my system. And thanks for
picking up all my slack as well. No one likes a dirty
house.

And to my girls, my fellow authors, to Gail,
Karina, Claribel, Emmy, Cindy, Syreeta, and Trevlyn. What in the
fuck would I do without you? Who knows better than you the trials
and tribulations? So thank you, thank you, thank you, for the hours
upon hours spent listening, commiserating, complaining, shit
talking, pumping each other up, planning, and plotting, thank you
for all of it. Thank you for being the kindest, most caring,
heart-driven women in this industry. I’m lucky to know you; I’m
even luckier to have become your friend.

And to Deuce’s Babes, to all my readers, past,
present and future, to the wonderful, kind, caring, funny,
fun-loving women and men I’ve had the pleasure of meeting through
my books, THANK YOU. What an incredible journey this has been and
what an honor it is to know my words are being read by YOU. My
gratitude is all yours.

Last, but not at all least, thank you to Cole
“Deuce” West. Deuce and I have spent many late coffee-glugging
nights together, many early bleary-eyed mornings, and many long,
boring afternoons spent staring out the window, and yet I’m still
every bit as in love with him as the day I met him. Actually, with
each passing book, I fall that much more in love with him. He’s not
an easy man to love, he makes a lot of mistakes, and he pisses me
off more than he makes me smile. But at the end of the day, despite
his age, he’s still a beast in bed, and really, who would I be
without him? I’m glad I’ll never have to know.

Long live the Hell’s Horsemen!

“Biker Born, Biker Bred and when I die, I’ll be
Biker Dead.”

All my love,

Madeline Sheehan xx

Dedication

 

For Christina Collie

 

Ripper in the front,

ZZ in the back,

Dirty in the mouth.

 

This book is all yours…with
love.

PROLOGUE

Take one fresh and tender
kiss

Add one stolen night of
bliss

One girl, one boy

Some grief, some joy

Memories are made of
this…


Dean Martin

I’ll always remember the first time I
laid eyes on him;
the bane of my entire existence
. I was
eight years old and he was eleven—tall, blond, with deep brown
eyes, and when he smiled…dimples.

Most importantly, he’d been sweet to
me. He paid attention to me when no one else did.


Hey,” he said, bending
down beside me, smiling. I smiled back. He was the first kid I’d
seen since my mom had started bringing me to the club. He looked
older than me, but only a few years or so, and he was so cute.
“What’s your name?” he asked.


Tegen Louise Matthews,” I
said, offering him the teacup I’d just snatched from the lap of my
stuffed teddy bear. “You can join us,” I told him, gesturing to my
circle of stuffed animals.


A tea party with Tegen
Louise Matthews,” he said, his smile growing even wider. “I’d love
to.” He settled down beside me and crossed his legs into a pretzel.
“You got a nickname, Tegen?” he asked. “Or are you just plain
Tegen?”


Just plain Tegen,” I
said, lifting up my teapot and pouring him a generous amount of
invisible tea. When I finished pouring my own cup, I lifted it to
my lips.


Wait,” he said. “You
forgot to cheers.”

I wrinkled up my nose.
“Cheers?”


Yeah, with your teacup.
My little sister always makes me ‘cheers’ before tea. Like this.”
Lightly he clicked his plastic cup with mine. “Cheers,” he said,
glancing down at his cup then looking back to me. “…Teacup,” he
finished, grinning.


What?”


Teacup,” he repeated.
“That’s what I’ll call you. I mean, what other nickname can you
give a girl named Tegen who likes to have tea parties with
teacups?” He frowned. “Unless you don’t like it?”

My eyes went wide. “No!” I
cried excitedly. “I’ve never had a nickname before and I love
it!”


Then it’s settled,” he
said, holding out his free hand. “Nice to meet you, Teacup. My name
is Cage.”

Despite his young age, he was the lone
male figure that actively participated in my life on a regular
basis from that point forward.

But eight-year-old feelings eventually
turned into twelve-year-old feelings, and twelve-year-old feelings
turned into fourteen-year-old feelings.

The older I grew, the more I grew to
love him until I no longer looked to him as the one stable
figurehead in my life, but instead loved him with an intensity that
at times bordered on madness.

Love, they say, has the potential to
kill a person if they aren’t careful.

I wasn’t careful. I let that love
blossom uncontrollably until it was in full bloom, exploding from
within me, with nowhere to go.

It wasn’t the same for him. The older
he grew, the more he changed.

Gone was the sweet, caring boy he’d
been, and his place…

He became the cockiest, most
self-centered, self-serving, egotistical, narcissistic, and
depraved motherfucker I’d ever met in my entire life.

Which, when I think back on it, is
probably why I fell even more in love with him.

Girls are stupid like that. Falling in
love with what they can never have—the untouchable, the seemingly
larger than life, the unattainable.

However, I wasn’t alone in my
stupidity.

Nearly every female that crossed Cage’s
path fell immediately into a big bucket of fucking stupid. Young,
old, and everything in between, it didn’t matter. The minute they
saw his smile, heard his smooth-as-whiskey drawl, watched the fluid
way he moved, they went instantly stupid.

As more time passed, my feelings,
unreciprocated and with nowhere to go, began to fester and rot
until I couldn’t take it anymore and took matters into my own
hands.

And did something really, really
stupid.

I bit down on my lip as my
body burned, trying to adjust to his harsh entrance.


Fuck, you’re tight,” Cage
mumbled drunkenly, pulling nearly all the way out of me. As hard as
I fought it, his movements hurt and a whimper escaped
me.

My body, despite the horror
I was feeling, was slowly adjusting. Wet warmth flowed through me,
and when he slid back inside, this time there was no pain, only a
slight discomfort.


Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned,
grinding his hips, a movement that made my stomach flip with a
brand new feeling. A good one. One that had me forgetting what was
really happening between Cage and me; fooling me into thinking this
was going to go the way I’d planned. That I was going to give Cage
my virginity, something that was going to make him realize that I
was the girl for him. That no one would ever love him more than I
would.

His hand slid into my hair,
tightly gripping a handful, while his other hand clamped down on my
hip. His face dropped into the crook of my neck and I turned my
head, seeking him, needing to see him, needing to confirm that my
feelings were reciprocated, but his grip on my hair tightened,
holding me in place.

Then his hips pulled
back.

I gasped as he slammed back
inside of me. Our bodies slapped together, my breath returned
and…

He pulled back. And slammed
back into me.


Shit, Teacup,” he
muttered, increasing his pace. “I can feel everything. Your pussy
is a motherfuckin’ vice.”

Which, judging from his
tone, was obviously a good thing.

And stupidly led me into
further believing Cage would want me past tonight.


So good, babe,” he
breathed against my skin, his body repeatedly meeting mine, his
movements growing faster and faster. I held my breath against the
onslaught of what was happening inside me, both physically and
emotionally.

Cage was everywhere now. He
was inside of me, inside my body and my heart. It was awkward and
uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing
but it didn’t really matter. Because it was Cage and it was me and
I’d wanted this for so long, wanted him for as long as I could
remember, and so awkward and uncomfortable were small prices to pay
for finally having what I’d always wanted.

And then, almost as soon as
it had begun, it was over. Cage was groaning, having pulled out of
me and I felt him finishing, felt the moisture on my belly as his
body jerked above me.

It took all of a minute for
him to roll off me, to turn on his side, to breathe in deeply and
breathe out heavily.

And then he was
snoring.


Cage?” I
whispered.

I lay there unmoving for
several heart-pounding minutes, not knowing what to do until what
he’d left on my stomach had begun drying, making the tiny hairs on
my body feel stiff and pulled.

Rolling out of bed, wincing
as I did, sore, feeling my pulse pounding between my legs, I walked
stiffly to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. Swallowing
hard, I glanced down at myself.

Gross.

Not only was I covered from
breast to pelvis in half-dried semen, but my own blood was smeared
across my inner thighs.

It was then I realized he’d
never kissed me.

Which, in the end, killed the girl I’d
once been. It left me broken, stuck, unable to move forward. And no
matter how many years had passed, I was unable to let
go.

When it came to Cage West, my mistakes
were plenty and my regrets were numerous. If my past were a person,
I would grab the throat of that motherfucker, drag her ass down
Re-do Street, and once I’d beaten the ever-loving shit out of her,
I’d stand over her beaten-down, broken body and say:

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