Page 7 of Distress Signal

“Hurry up,” I growled.

Reagan moaned, the sound morphing into a cute little squeak of triumph when she latched onto the key and withdrew it.

Taking it from her hands, I spun her around and slammed her against the door, mouth coming down on hers once again, scooping her into my arms at the same time. Reagan’s clutch fell to the ground as her legs and arms wound around me. By feel, I shoved the key in the lock, pushed the door open, then kicked her clutch in.

The heavy wooden door slammed against the wall loud enough to wake the dead—but not with enough force to tear my mouth away from Reagan’s.

All night, I’d been damn near crawling out of my skin, ready to drag her into my lap and take her right there in the middle of the bar. The casual touches we’d shared had set my skin on fire. So had the way she’d constantly studied me, as though she didn’t want to look away for too long, worried I might vanish if she did.

I’d been afraid of the same thing.

This connection was undeniable, had struck me straight and true.

“Fuck, Reagan,” I groaned against her skin, shifting my attention from her lips to her cheek, her jaw, the delicate column of her throat. “If I wasn’t already drunk, your kiss would do it.”

“More,” she gasped, echoing my thoughts.

I needed more ofeverything: more of her skin, her little sounds, her nails in my back.

More ofher.

I crossed to the bed in two long strides and tossed her onto it.

Grabbing one boot then the other, I yanked them off and threw them across the room.

“Strip,” I demanded.

Reagan surprised me by rising onto her knees. I didn’t take her for a woman great at following directions—not based on the way she’d handed Tony his ass earlier. But her eyes never left mine as she gripped the hem of her dress and slowly dragged it north. Every fresh inch of exposed skin heated my veins until my blood flamed, sent it all rushing south to my cock, further hardening the already engorged flesh.

It cleared the apex of her thighs and the lacy black underwear covering her cunt, her trim waist and belly button with a pink and gold ring through it. When the bottom curves of her tits appeared—bare—I knew I was a fucking goner.

At last, the dress came free, and she tossed it away.

“My god, you’re beautiful.”

With a grin and flushed cheeks, her thumbs dipped into the waistband of her panties, but I stopped her.

“Keep them on.”

“I thought you wanted a taste,” she teased.

“We’ll get there, baby. We’ve got all night.”

“All night, huh?”

“And I plan to use every single second to unravel you.”

I stepped forward and knelt on the bed, placing my palm gently on her chest and forcing her onto her back. Crawling up, I straddled her hips and bent, kissing her again, inhaling deeply. As though I could brand every sensation of this moment on my memory, keeping it with me to carry through endless dark days when West and I went back overseas in a few days.

Mentally, I shook myself. I wouldn’t go there. Not now. The future didn’t exist. Only this moment with her.

My mouth traveled lower. Sealing my lips over the flesh of her neck, I suckled, pulling away with apop. Satisfied by the red mark left behind, knowing it would still be there tomorrow.

Next, I fixated on her tits, the perfect, perky handful with rosy nipples tightened to points. Darting my eyes up to hers, I lowered my head and wrapped my mouth around a peak, flicking my tongue against it, swirling it around. I repeated the process on the other side before sliding lower. At her sides, Reagan’s hands fisted the sheets.

“You okay?” I asked with a chuckle.

“Don’t stop.”