Page 6 of Distress Signal
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Fuck yes.”
two
. . .
FINN
Reagan had stoodout like a beacon in the dark, dirty bar. And not only because she wore this tight, short, sexy red dress either, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the Carhartt pocket tees, dusty Wrangler denim, and array of well-worn work boots.
She was easily the most beautiful woman I’d ever encountered, like an angel in a room full of devils. I’d never seen her before, but Iwantedto see alotmore.
“Dibs,” I’d called to my brothers like the complete asshole I was.
But I’d be damned if I didn’t immediatelyknowshe was mine, at least for the night.
The moment that “fuck yes” left her lips, I captured her hand in mine and rushed toward the exit, Reagan’s excited laughter following.
When the cool evening air greeted us, I crowded her back against the side of the building, planted my hands on the sides of her head, and stared down at her.
“Damn, you’re pretty.”
Ducking my head, my lips found her throat, that soft spotover her pulse where her shoulder curved up. Reagan tilted her head, giving me better access. The first kiss was soft, chased by a flick of my tongue and a nip of my teeth.
Reagan’s responding sigh was music to my ears.
I worked my way up to her jaw, across her cheek, until my lips hovered right above hers.
Waiting. Silently daring her to take this where we both wanted it to go.
“Do it.”
My mouth crashed to hers, tongue instantly seeking entrance. She tasted exactly as I thought she would: sweet and perfect, like the small, wild strawberries that grew on my family’s ranch. The bitter bite of beer and sharp, lingering sting of tequila combined with her signature flavor was addictive as hell.
She was soft and pliant under my touch, plump lips fitting perfectly against mine. We found an easy rhythm, tongues flicking against each other, teeth against lips, biting and pulling. I shifted my pelvis into her, my cock painfully hard against her lower stomach, and I hissed at the pressure.
Reagan reached between us and palmed me, eliciting a groan.
“Let’s go to my room,” she said. “Take care of this.”
Slipping my hand under her dress, I skated my fingers over her panties, encountering her heat and soaked gusset. Her breath hitched.
“And this. Fuck, I want to taste you so badly.”
Reagan shoved lightly at my chest, and through my lust-filled gaze, I studied her. The way the red neon glow from the bar sign cast a sexy spotlight on her.
Lacing our fingers together, Reagan inclined her head. “So my room then?”
“Fuck yes,” I said.
The walk to the lone motel in town was short—barely two blocks—but I couldn’t keep my hands to myself. Tangling myfingers in her hair, pulling her to a stop every few feet so I could indulge in another kiss.
I felt like a teenager again. The urge to touch her, to taste her, was uncontrollable.
The beauty was, she seemed to be as caught up as me.
When we reached the motel, she led me to her door, fumbling in her little clutch in search of the key. I wrapped myself around her, pressing her back to my front and wrapping my palm around her throat, angling her head back.
