“Eager girl,” he whispers, making me flush because he caught me being so demanding.
Well, he can deal with it. If he wanted some mousy shrinking violet in the bedroom, he can damn well think again. With a skilled hand, Reagan reaches behind me and unclasps my bra, pulling it away from my skin. He pushes my skirt up to my waist and slips a hand between my legs. When I feel his fingers stroking me through the lace of my panties, I bite my lip to keep from crying out. His touch is heaven. Perfection. Exactly what I need and want. I close my eyes and tilt my head back. Reagan slips a finger inside of my panties and into my slick heat. I gasp and rock my hips, reaching down and grabbing his hand, pushing it further against my body.
In a rush of passion and impatience, I reach for Reagan’s belt, pulling it open and fumbling with the snap of his trousers. Reagan gently pushes my hands away, then puts his arm under my legs and moves me to the carpeted floor of the High Roller. He keeps his blue eyes locked with mine as he unzips his pants and pushes them down his muscular thighs. His boxers are tented with his erect cock, and Reagan groans with relief when he pulls them down and kicks them to the side. I lick my lips in anticipation. He’s huge. By far the biggest I’ve ever had, and I can’t wait to feel that magnificent stretched, full feeling that I savor. Then he gets to the floor and crawls between my legs. He leans close to kiss me as his hands tug my panties down my thighs. The musky scent of my desire fills the air as he pulls my legs apart and just stares at my wet pussy.
“Beautiful,” he says. “I thought that the last time, too. I couldn’t wait to see you splayed out for me again. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything more than this.”
He’s got both of my knees in a vice grip, but I’m so turned on by his words, I spread my legs even further. We remain like that for tortured seconds. He’s staring at my most intimate spot, and I’m staring at his eyes, not really believing this is happening.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask, breaking the spell.
Reagan pulls out his wallet, removes a foil-wrapped square, and rips the packet open with his teeth before sheathing his cock in shiny latex. I’m shivering and gasping with lust as Reagan takes my hands and holds them above my head, pinning me down to the floor. His hands are so big that he can engulf both of my wrists with one massive palm. With his free hand, Reagan steadies himself with a hand on my hip and slides inside of me. I’m so wet, he’s fully seated within me in one powerful stroke.
“God,” I moan out, arching my back, and wrapping my legs around Reagan’s muscular body. It feels so good that I can barely remember to breathe. He inches out and slides in deep again until he’s hitting my engorged clit in just the right way.
We stay locked together for a moment, then begin to rock and sway our bodies in the frenzied rhythm of passion. Reagan slides in and out of me, grunting and gasping with his own pleasure as it grows more intense. I struggle against his hand, loving the way it feels to be held down by a man that could break me in half if he really wanted to. I never thought Reagan would be the type to be demanding during sex, but then again, he’s a walking conundrum. For once in my life, I relinquish control and fall into the feeling of being taken.
Reagan lowers his face to mine and captures my mouth, sucking and nibbling on my lower lip until I thrash and twist beneath him. His tongue dances with mine and I groan with pleasure as Reagan’s cock slams inside of me harder and harder. His pubic bone rubs against my clit with every thrust, and I’m desperate for more stimulation. It feels so incredible. I never want this to end. I want to stay tangled up with Reagan on the floor of a High Roller until I’ve come at least three times.
“Taryn,” Reagan pants in my ear. “God, you’re so wet. So tight. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”
Me either. And I’m afraid I might become addicted.
He bites my earlobe, and a hot bolt of lust explodes in my lower belly. I whimper and rub myself against him as the pleasure builds. Reagan’s thrusting faster now, and I don’t even care about the rug burn forming on my back and ass as he fucks me hard and deep.
“Reagan,” I moan, closing my eyes, and arching my back. Reagan releases my hands, and I wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer than ever. Reagan slips a hand between our bodies and rubs my clit with his thumb to the rhythm of his thrusts. The extra pleasure sets me off, and I cry out with ecstasy as my orgasm rips through my body like claws through wet silk.
Reagan flips his head back and growls. With both hands, he grabs my hips and holds on as he pumps savagely. When I feel him begin to tremble and buck, I lean up and kiss him, pushing my tongue into his mouth. He shivers as his cock trembles inside of me. He buries his face in my shoulder and growls, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close.
When it’s over, we lie on the floor, dazed, and breathing hard.
“I can’t believe we did that,” I say after my breathing returns to normal. I don’t want to even consider that in a short time, I’m going to have to let this incredible man go. He has a life, and it’s not here.
“I’m sure people do it all the time,” Reagan says, turning his head to look at me with a well-pleasured look. It softens him, and somehow it makes him look hotter than ever. “I wouldn’t worry too much. You need to cut loose more. I’m glad I made you.”
I grin and sit up, reaching for my bra and panties. My skirt is wrinkled from being twisted around my waist, but I don’t care. Everyone’s going to know we’ve been fucking. Hell, the poor bartender already knows.
“I don’t want to think about other people having sex in here,” I say as I pull my shirt over my head. “That’s gross.”
“But it’s not gross that we just did?”
I wrinkle my nose and don’t answer. What am I doing with Reagan Caldwell, the sexiest buttoned-up lawyer in the world? He’s smart and funny – much funnier than I ever expected, based on the shadow of our shared past. But he doesn’t know about mine, not the whole story anyway, and I’m damn sure he’d never want to get involved with a former burlesque queen. He may appear liberal, but approving of a dancer and actually dating a dancer is two different things.
Just as we finish dressing, the High Roller arrives back down to the ground. The door opens, and the bartender comes back inside, smirking at our flushed faces.
“Another trip around, sir?”
“No.” Reagan kisses my cheek, his lips lingering on my skin. “We have a big day tomorrow, don’t we, Taryn?”
I can’t help flushing at the suggestive tone of his voice.
“Yes,” I whisper so only he can hear. “We do.”
Chapter Seventeen
Reagan
Taryn’s by my side again, a designer sundress molded to her killer curves, a pair of giant sunglasses holding her thick hair back. With minimal makeup and her skin tanned a golden brown, she fits right in with every goddess in Vegas. We’re checking out a couple of new venues Nixon dug up for the fashion show.
“I think this could be good,” Taryn says as we walk down a sloping lawn of fresh grass. “It’s outdoors, which means we could attract a lot of attention. And the weather is usually pretty stellar this time of year. Rain isn’t expected.”
“I didn’t know they could grow grass here,” I say, reaching down and petting the emerald spears. It reminds me of home. Even though I live in a metal jungle, I go to the Hamptons quite a bit in the summer. One of my partners has a beach house there.
She looks at me over the rim of her sunglasses. Lust crawls through me, and I want to pull her close and lay her down in the grass, kiss her, and split her in half with my cock. It’s already twitching its approval of my idea.
I’m going to need to buy more condoms.
Just as I’m about to ask Taryn why she looks so curious, Nixon calls out.
“Hey, bro,” he yells. “Sorry I’m late.”
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, frowning.
Cockblocker.
“I asked Nixon to come,” Taryn says.
“I wanted him to have the final say. I felt like, you know, the last thing we need is another obstacle being thrown in front of us. We’re on such a tight timeline, if we see something that works, I want to book it immediately.”
Nixon jogs over, his jacket draped over his shoulder. He nods to Taryn. “Nice to see you. I didn’t know my brother was going to be helping you out today. I thought he’d be much too busy going over the contracts back at the hotel.”
“I decided to take a break from that today.” I glance back toward the venue. “A little fresh air is good for the soul.”
“This is nice,” Nixon says. He nods approvingly at the sight of the outdoor amphitheater. “I think this would be good. Really good, in fact.”
“I agree,” Taryn says. “This way, if people are in the park and happen to see something going on, we might have a bigger attendance than planned.”
“Good.” Nixon nods and looks at me. “Can you help me out with something later?”
“Sure.” I’d been hoping to talk to Taryn. After leaving the High Roller car last night, we’d kept things pretty superficial, neither one of us wanting to define the explosive experience. She’s such a closed book, I want to figure out where she stands on…well, us. But at the same time, I know that being with her doesn’t make logical sense.
“Reagan?” Nixon snaps his fingers. “Bro, you keep spacing out. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” I say, glancing at Taryn. She’s walking around the amphitheater, making notes, and frowning. When Nixon sees the direction of my gaze, he laughs.
“You’ve got it bad, don’t you? She does kind of have a glow about her today.”
“You’re just seeing things,” I say. I have a feeling he can sense something lingering in the air between us.
“She lives here; you live in New York,” he says. “Remember that, will you? Before you go and break the heart of someone I’m really starting to care about. All I need is Taryn moping around for months on end.”
I don’t like thinking about that, it makes my chest ache. The thought of going home to my boring life and never seeing Taryn again slays me.
“Consider me warned,” I say, looking around at the lush lawn, wide open space, and charming amphitheater. “You think this is a good venue?”
“Stop trying to change the subject. You know, you should tell her how you feel. Things have a funny way of working out when honesty leads the way.”
“It’s not a good time,” I say, brushing his comment aside. He’s right, but I don’t give a shit. “Getting involved with her is detrimental to the situation with Dante. It could make me weak, soft. I need to be laser focused if we’re going to take him down or at least get him to stop tormenting your leasees.”
Nixon throws his head back and scoffs. “Bro, this is Vegas. Trust me – the rules don’t matter as much out here. Just like our mutual friend Dante,” he adds with a scowl. “That shithead never signed on the dotted line.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll consider it.”
But I won’t.
As I watch Taryn picking her way around the amphitheater, my heart thuds in my chest. She’s so beautiful, everything about her sets me off like a rocket. But how the hell could we ever make it work? Nixon’s out of his fool mind – what are we supposed to do, have some stupid bi-coastal relationship that fizzles out after six months? Seeing each other once a month, fucking like rabbits and then catching the red-eye back to our own brand of civilization?
I inhale and try to swallow, but it catches in my throat. That seems better than never seeing her again.
Chapter Eighteen
Taryn
“I’m so tired,” Bailey groans, putting her head down on the counter and yawning. “I feel like we’ve been at this for hours.”
“We have been at this for hours,” I say, patting my mouth with my right hand. Yawns are contagious and seeing Bailey gape made me follow right along. “And we’ve got hours more to go, too. So don’t think you can start loafing around.”
Bailey gives me a hurt look and stabs herself with a fake knife to the heart. “Taryn, you know I’d never do that. But I’m sooo exhausted.”
“I know. I am, too.”
Bailey and I huddle in the back room of Strict Nécessaire, pouring over Ivory Clause samples. The fashion show benefit for Helping Hands & Hearts is right around the corner, and I want everything to be perfect. This is my chance to show Dante how serious I am about succeeding – and hopefully scare him off my back and far away from my pocketbook.
“This is nice,” Bailey says, holding up a slinky cocktail dress. “Maybe we could feature this last.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know, it’s pretty basic. It just doesn’t have that wow factor. We should do something more original.”
“Like what?”
“Not sure,” I say, reaching into the shipping box and pulling out a few colorful blouses. “These will be good.” I close my eyes and imagine slender, sensual models prancing around the outdoor amphitheater that Reagan and I found. “I think the color will really pop. You should see the place, it’s perfect. Not that I’m wearing rose-colored glasses or anything, but I think it might be even better than having it here.”
“Good,” Bailey says. “Because I’m still a little salty about not being able to have it at Velvet.”
“I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But it’s better to just roll with life’s punches.”
She raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Really? Isn’t that what I’m always saying Miss Control Freak? It’s you who’s late to the party on that philosophy.”
“You said it.”
Reagan’s bright blue eyes pop into my mind, and I shiver, recalling our steamy night of passion in the High Roller. I still wish that we’d talked about it afterward – but then again, what is there to say? We live on opposite sides of the country.
Ugh.
“So, tell me more about your night with Reagan,” Bailey teases, her eyes flashing fire. I don’t want to divulge any intimate details, but I know her. She’ll ride me until I give her something. Bailey hasn’t had a date in months. “How much did he spend in the High Roller, just to be alone with you?”
“He’s loaded,” I say, hedging. “It’s a moot point. The money he dropped is just like one of us bending over to pick up a quarter on the street.”
“Um, I bet he spent a couple thousand dollars,” Bailey says, seeking an answer she already knows. “I think he must like you – an awful lot, wouldn’t you agree?”
I like him even more. Too much for my own comfort. Because all I can think about is begging him to stay.
“Who knows,” I say, eager to move past the subject. She’s poking me in a sore spot with her words. I don’t want to even think about Reagan leaving and my newly found love life imploding at the sight of his retreating back.
“Taryn, come on – don’t be so dense!” Bailey says, waving her hand through the air. “He totally likes you, but he’s shy.”
I think of Reagan pinning my hands to the floor of the High Roller car and fucking me breathless.
“He’s not that shy,” I say. “And besides, he’s rich. And he’s very generous. He’d probably give that money away to anyone who needed it.”
“Well, if you don’t want him, you should pass him my way,” Bailey says with a smirk. “Because I know exactly what I’d do to that man. I swear, I never thought anyone could be hotter than Nixon Caldwell. But his brother…wow.”
I frown and purse my lips. Something about the idea of Bailey and Reagan sleeping together makes my stomach flip over and threaten to upchuck my breakfast. I sweep the thoughts away. Reagan doesn’t belong to me. Two hot sexual encounters does not make a commitment.
“Let’s focus on this,” I say, pushing the box of couture to Bailey. “We really need to find a solid first look.”
“You’re so boring,” she teases. “Just when I was getting involved in the conversation.”
“I’m not boring. I�
��m just focused on work – and you should be, too.” I narrow my eyes. “I sign your paycheck. Didn’t you just tell me you need money for that new Michael Kors dress you have your eye on?”
“Whatever,” Bailey says. She gets to her feet and stretches like a cat that’s been napping in the warm sun. “I’m starving, wanna order a pizza or something?”
“There is no way I’m letting pizza within twenty feet of this stuff,” I say, gesturing to the clothes. “Do you have any idea how much shit I’d be in if a grease stain appeared on one of these dresses? You go out and grab something. I’m not hungry, I’ll just eat later.”
No need to tell her that my lack of hunger is courtesy of Reagan Caldwell. She’d just get herself worked up again, and I’d have to deflect a bunch of questions I’m not ready to answer.
“Suit yourself,” Bailey says. She stifles another yawn, but as she walks out of Strict Nécessaire, I can tell she’s feeling perkier than before.
All it took was a break, I think in mild irritation as I watch her leave. Not so tired anymore, are we?
I know I should be working my ass off, but Bailey’s comment really stings. Does she think I’m boring? And if so, does anyone else?
Like Reagan?
Stop obsessing over him, I chide myself as I get to my feet and wipe my hands on my denim-clad thighs. Since I’ve started spending more time with Reagan, I’ve opened up. Never in a million years did I think Reagan Caldwell would be the type to joke around at an open mic, or seduce me in the High Roller.
As if by magic, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Reagan’s name flashes across the screen. Biting my lip, I swipe to accept the call and hold it to my ear.
Tightwad (Caldwell Brothers Book 2) Page 14