Page 93 of Distress Signal

“What’re you doing?” I asked when I angled toward him, my voice low. They were the first words I’d spoken to him since we left his special place more than an hour ago.

His mouth opened and closed once, twice, as though searching for the right words. Ultimately, he snapped it shut and, with a slight shake of his head, let me go.

Okay then.

I got another step in before he muttered, “Fuck it,” from behind me, grabbed my arm again, and spun me so my back was to the wall of the barn.

There was no warning before his mouth descended on mine.

That first brush of his lips, a gentle, teasing glance, had me whimpering, wordlessly begging for more.

And he gave it to me, coming back to me with more pressure, angling his body closer so there wasn’t a millimeter’s worth of space to be found between us. His thigh came between mine, the hard muscle connecting perfectly with my core which, after only a few moments, already pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Aching for him.

Grinding down against him, I gasped at the pressure, and Finn took that as an invitation to sweep his tongue in my mouth. Caressing, exploring, twisting with mine. Refamiliarizing ourselves with each other, with this heady physical connection we’d gone too damn long without.

I’d forgotten how much I loved the way this man kissed, with his whole entire body, like he couldn’t get close enough, like his hands couldn’t find every inch of my body fast enough, like he’d never get enough of the way our tongues danced and lips glided and sighs of pleasure mixed together.

Kissing him again was like coming home, like some piece of me I hadn’t known was missing—or maybehadand chose to ignore—finally locked into place, completing me.

That wild thought had me pushing him away, tipping my head down and brushing a hand over my mouth, gasping for air.

“What?” he asked, and I risked peeking up at him to see if he was as affected as I was. Honestly, I thought he was worse. A thick bulge pressed against the front of his jeans, and his hat had gone missing—I hadn’t even noticed I’d knocked it off—his hair a rumpled mess from my fingers. He brought a hand to his kiss-swollen lips. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but we’re going to be late for dinner,” I finished lamely.

“I don’t give a fuck about dinner, Reagan.”

“I can’t do this with you right now!”

Gripping my hair by the roots at my temples, I yanked, as if that would knock some sense into me.

“Can’t…or are afraid to?” he asked softly from behind me.

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it?

“I’m going home,” I said. “Send my apologies to your family.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” he growled, grabbing my wrist,again, as I tried to walk away. Then, gentler, added, “Stay. Please.”

Sparing him a glance over my shoulder was a horrible idea, because the second I met his blue gaze, the depths still stormy with desire in the wake of that kiss, my resolve to get as far away from him as possible crumbled.

“For Birdie,” I murmured, then tugged out of his grip and stomped toward the house.

When I got closer, I found Birdie out on the porch, hands on her hips, expression stern. But she must’ve sensed something was wrong, because she pulled me to a stop and said, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I tried to assure her with a smile that felt brittle, and I knew it didn’t meet my eyes. “Finn is right behind me.”

I kept moving, not stopping until I was in the family dining room. I reached for the first bottle of alcohol I saw—vodka, but top-shelf at least—poured a healthy serving into a glass and downed the whole thing.

“Rough day?” one of the guys asked, but I didn’t look around to see which. I refilled the glass, dropped onto an empty space at the end of the bench, which happened to be next to Aspen, thankfully, and kept my attention on my lap.

“Ahh, that explains it,” West said when Finn entered the room a moment later. The air in the room changed. Now that we’d given in, if I thought kissing him was enough to take the edge off how badly I wanted to tear his clothes off every time I saw him, I’d been sorely mistaken.

“You okay?” Aspen whispered to me.

“Fine.”

“You wanna talk about it?”