by Shandi Boyes
Realizing ignorance won’t get me anywhere fast with a woman as stubborn as Regan, I say, “The term ‘alpha’ is only used when referring to the male of the species. I sure as hell know you’re not one of them.”
She forcefully yanks on the steering wheel, forcing my head and the roll bar to become friendly. “An alpha is the dominant one of the group. That’s me. I’m the alpha.”
She says her last word with so much power, I’m certain her parents heard her—if not half the state. I wonder if that’s why she’s driving us away from her family home? She doesn’t want any witnesses to my murder.
“You took what I said out of context. Your spitfire attitude and take-no-shit personality are two of the things I love most about you, so if you think I’m going to fight you for the position of top dog, Rae, you’re wrong. You’re already so far above me, I’m afraid I’ll never reach you.”
Regan’s foot slips off the gas pedal as her eyes connect to mine. It takes me replaying what I said four times before the reason behind her dilated eyes and gaped jaw smacks into me. I just told her I loved her. It was in a roundabout way, but I still said it.
I attempt to fire off a half-assed comment about loving her feistiness as much as I love tacos, but Regan beats me to the task of talking. Her question isn’t laced with the wit I intended to use. It’s fueled by hope. “Did I take that out of context as well?”
I should say yes. I should act oblivious to what she's asking, but with my ability to lie to her dwindling with every second we spend together, I shake my head instead. I ought to be ashamed of how profoundly she’s crawled under my skin in such a short period of time, but I’m not. I’ve been longing for change for years. She gives me the change I’ve been seeking without any worry entering the equation. I want this—I want her.
Unfortunately, Regan misses my wordless reply. She’s too busy striving to avoid a herd of cattle to hear my unverbalized declaration of love.
I’d give anything to tell her how I truly feel. Even more so when we veer off the muddy track, and the Jeep’s tires lift off the ground.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Please. Oh, God, please don’t do this to me again.”
Even barely audible through the sob she’s struggling to contain, I recognize the voice of the woman praying on repeat. It's Regan. She sounds distraught and panicked—like her worst nightmare is being played out—again?
When she presses her cold fingers to my neck to check for a pulse, a mangled groan rolls up my chest. Her hands are freezing—as cold as death itself. Although my unexpected response to her touch scares the living daylights out of her, the relieved breath it comes with is strong enough to force my eyelids open.
It takes me several long, tedious seconds to recall our location. It isn’t because I’m disoriented. I’m striving to work out why the grass is blue and the sky is green. We’re upside down, still trapped in the wreckage. . . and I can smell gasoline.
Fuck.
I crash to the ground with a thud when I unlatch my seatbelt. Although my shoulder is unappreciative of its hard contact with the roll bar that saved our lives, registering pain is the last thing on my mind. Regan’s safety is my absolute priority. Pain, anger, and any other stupid neurosis can wait.
“Careful,” I beg when Regan’s hand follows the trek mine just took. “I’ll catch you, but go slow.”
Her lips wobble as she weakly nods at my suggestion. While her hand continues creeping toward the silver clip holding her hostage, I scan her body, checking her for injuries. Excluding her wide eyes that are brimming with tears and a small graze on her thigh, she appears unharmed. Thank fuck.
If only I could do something to quell the absolute terror radiating from her eyes.
Recognizing I can’t achieve that while stuck in a dangerous environment, I command, “When you’re ready, unlatch your belt. I’ll catch you—I promise.”
With the Jeep not tall enough for me to stand in, I brace my back against the roll cage and open my arms, ensuring her fall won’t be as impacting as mine. Her eagerness to escape the mangled wreckage has her landing on me sooner than I anticipated. Her knees’ brutal connection with my stomach winds me, but she fails to notice. She’s too busy scampering across the rain-sloshed ground on her hands and knees to pay me any attention.
Her wish to flee isn’t surprising, but the name she murmurs numerous times under her breath while doing it is. She keeps referring to Luca.
With my shoulders double the width of Regan’s, it takes a little more effort for me to exit the roofless Jeep. The roll cage that protected our heads as we cartwheeled through the air has crumbled inward, making the distance between the floor and roof noticeably different.
Before I can squeeze my torso through the tight opening, a set of tiny hands grips the collar of my t-shirt and yanks me backward. Regan’s tugs are so strong, before my mouth can drop in awe of her strength, she pulls me free from the wreckage.
We scamper back far enough any impending explosions won’t harm us, but not far enough for the seriousness of our crash to avoid hammering into me. Regan’s mom’s Jeep is totaled, destroyed beyond repair. No one should have survived that carnage, much less two of us.
I shift my eyes to Regan. Hers are holding the same surprise as mine. They also reveal her remorse.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn when she attempts to apologize. “Nothing that happened was your fault. It was an accident—nothing more.”
She shakes her head, disagreeing with me. “I shouldn’t have argued. I should have continued our plan of attack as we had discussed.” I only realize she isn’t referring to our accident when she adds on, “I just couldn’t back down as Luca wasn’t being fair. I didn’t date to keep up appearances, but he never once stopped. That’s why I was so angry the night of our accident. His list of men was endless.”
She snaps her lips shut so fast, it sounds like the noise the Jeep made when the hood hit the ground during our collision.
“Our accident? As in, you were in the car with Luca when he crashed?” I don’t know if the pulse pounding my eardrums is affecting my hearing, but my voice is so low, I barely heard my question.
Mercifully, Regan’s hearing isn’t as damaged as mine. “I. . . I. . .”
Hating the pain in her eyes as she struggles to conceal a truth with a lie, I tug her into my chest. I’m certain she can hear my heart racing a million miles an hour, but I don’t give a fucking shit. I saw the tree that claimed Luca’s life. His impact with the trunk was so brutal, the tree is permanently scarred. How Regan survived the carnage, I will never know.
There's only one thing I do know, thank fuck she did. If she had perished with Luca. . . I can’t consider it. It makes me sick to the stomach just thinking about it. The pain tearing at my chest is too much. I will forever live with guilt of what happened to Dane, but it will never be as strong as the gratitude I’m feeling now that Regan’s life was spared that night.
For once, I act on the prompts of both my heart and my head. Regan’s glistening eyes lift to mine when I peel her off my chest. I cup her jaw as I did in the kitchen earlier this morning so I can assess every detail of her beautiful face. My eyes drift across her forehead, taking in the scar from where we bumped heads. I absorb the crinkle in her nose as she struggles to hold in her tears, the furl of her lips. I take it all in, then I do it again just to make sure I didn’t miss a single thing.
When our eyes meet, Regan says, “No one knows.”
“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.” Relief darts through her eyes. “I don’t care about anything that happened in your past, Rae. All I care about is that you are okay and safe.”
My eyes dance between hers that are glistening with so much moisture, they look seconds from bursting. They nearly do when I ask, “Are you okay?”
She nods, then shakes her head, then nods again. I shouldn’t smile at her confusion, but when the person you’re trying to console is on the verge of cracking, you use anything available. If my smile
frustrates her enough to dry her tears, it will be worth the wrath spawned by it.
I expect Regan to react negatively to my grin, so you can imagine my surprise when it has the opposite effect. Her lips curl in a similar fashion before they do something I never anticipated: they seal over mine.
She could be kissing me to shut me up, but it doesn’t feel that way. The little moans ripping from her throat aren’t noises expelled when forced to do something against your wishes. She's kissing me because she wants to. Just like I’m returning her boldness with as much esteem as I want her mouth on mine even more than I want to wipe the hurt from her eyes.
Regan’s tongue duels with mine before she draws it into her mouth. She suckles it gently, nursing it in her mouth with playful nips and prolonged licks. I cradle her jaw and kiss her back, the movements of my tongue and lips hungry and needy. I usually take control in situations like this, but the evenness of our exchange has me holding back the urge. This isn’t about banging my chest and acting macho. It’s a mutual admiration that calls for a balance of power. A give and take.
We kiss for several minutes, slowly and lazily. We aren’t rushing for the prize at the end. We’re savoring each other, the leisured strokes of our tongues pleasing enough to diminish any need to sprint for the finish line.
That all changes a few seconds later when Regan murmurs breathlessly against my lips, “Are you as talented with your hands as you are with your mouth, Mr. Rogers?”
The sass in her tone awakens a side of me I haven’t seen in years. I’ve always been cocky and self-assured, but some of my pigheadedness disappeared when Dane was shot. He will never walk again, much less have a lazy Sunday afternoon hookup in a meadow with the woman of his dreams.
I pause for a moment, waiting for the usual negativity that overcomes me when I think of Dane. It never comes. Regan’s exploring hands as she returns to kissing me have rendered my mind blank of any thoughts that don’t include her. Furthermore, Dane lives with his happily ever after—I’ve just now found mine after years of searching. I deserve to savor the moment.
As my fingers dive deeper into Regan’s messy locks, she swivels her tongue around mine while her hand drops to grind my cock bulging against the zipper in my jeans.
We continue going at it for several minutes before Regan unfortunately pulls back. “Why the hell did we wait so long to do this again?” She asks her question as if it has been months since we kissed instead of two days.
Smiling, I meld my tongue along hers, kissing her in a way that electrifies the air between us with buoyant energy before moving my lips to her ear. “Because you wanted us to play farmers instead of playing with each other.”
When her fist lands in my stomach, my lips furl against her sweet-smelling skin. “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who stopped our last foray—not me, Mister Fancy Pants.”
I nip her earlobe, causing an excited squeak to vibrate her lips. “Stop arguing or I’ll be forced to bite you some more.”
My cock throbs with need when she murmurs, “If bickering compels your mouth on any part of my body, sign me up, Scotty.”
I bite her for the second time, this one a little harder than the first. “I don’t know who the fuck Scotty is, but if you mention his name one more time while my mouth is on you, severe retaliation will be necessary.”
Ignoring the excited thrust of her chest, I wrap my hand around her nape and pull her mouth back to mine. This kiss is hard and violent, a representation of what our relationship could be if we let others dictate our emotions. Being involved with Regan in any way could end catastrophically for me. But for now, I don’t care. It's just us, two crazy people trapped by a wild, mutual attraction.
When our kiss ramps up even more, we fall to the ground, our lips never breaking. Hands go in every direction as months of sexual frustration surpasses fear and unachievable goals. We roll around the grass amongst the cow dung and bugs as stunned by our arrival as I am of Regan’s kissing skills. Regan can kiss. Precise strikes, skilled bites, and an adventurous tongue confirm this without uncertainty. She has the perfect combination of speed and skill, which entices endless recklessness from me.
While grinding my cock against her thigh, my hands sneak under her shirt. Her skin is smooth and silky, quivering under my touch. Not in a bad way. She likes my hands on her. She enjoys me cupping her breasts and tweaking her nipples so much, she whips off her shirt and bra not even two seconds later.
Most men would find her confidence threatening. I don’t. I love that she's aware of her beauty, and she knows how to use it to her advantage.
When she glances up at me with needy, wide eyes, our exchange turns borderline violent. We nip and claw at each other as we tackle the only thing standing between us becoming one.
Why I thought it was a good idea to wear jeans today, I’ll never know. The effort required to remove them adds to the sexual frustration infusing the air. It also makes the torment almost too much to bear. Knowing the one thing I want to devour more than anything is right there, yet still out of my reach is pure torture. There are no other words.
While catching one of Regan’s pert nipples between my teeth, I jerk at the silver fastener causing my frustration. I expect my aggression to make Regan uneasy, but all it does is fuel her desire. She tugs at my jeans violently, her wish to unearth the throbbing member behind my zipper blinding her with rampant lust.
When her possessive yanks somehow free my cock, our mouths break. “It’s about time,” she murmurs breathlessly, her lungs as depleted of oxygen as mine when her eager eyes take in my thick, hard shaft. “Now the real show can start.”
Motivated by the yearning in her tone, I pull her skin-tight jeans and tiny panties to her knees. Too impatient to fully remove them, I roll her onto her back, then attack her mouth. I kiss her until her clit pulsates and swells against me, its want uncontained.
Its frantic rhythm triples when I drag my nose down the throb in her throat. The country setting hasn’t overpowered her scent in the slightest. She smells seductive and sweet, and more like me than the muddy conditions we’re wrestling in.
Her fingers weave through my hair when my mouth moves down her body in teasing licks and painful bites. Her stomach muscles tense when scraped by the bushy beard on my chin, but every bite, suck, and lick intensifies her seductive scent.
The scent of her pussy is intoxicating, as devastating to my perception as the carefree smiles she’s been giving me all morning. No wonder why I’ve given in—her pull is too strong for any man to resist, much less a man as smitten as me.
What I said earlier was a slip of the tongue, but I’ve always believed people are most honest when placed under pressure. This woman crawled under my skin years ago. Now she’s weaving herself through the veins in my heart.
A mere inch from the gem I am excited to taste, Regan yanks on my hair, returning my mouth to hers. “Not yet. We don’t have enough time,” she murmurs over my mouth before spearing her tongue between my lips.
The “yet” part of her comment swells my chest with pride, grateful she’s already planning a second expedition, but her saying we don’t have enough time pisses me off. I’ve dreamed about this moment for years; I don’t want it threatened by something as woeful as a time constraint.
My demand she rethink her comment rams into the back of my throat when she purrs, “Usually, a fuck without foreplay is like a martini without olives, but your kisses already have me on the verge of climax, so additional stimulation isn’t required.”
Although skeptical some of her comment was issued with the hope of moving us onto the next stage more quickly, my conceitedness stops me registering it. If she wants me to hurry up and fuck her, who am I to deny her every desire? “Brace yourself, Rae. Fucking doesn’t come with niceties.”
Regan smiles a grin that nearly has me coming on the spot before squealing, “Thank god for that!”
I grin, loving the country twang in her reply. Taking her husky response
as approval to get our show on the road, I dig the tips of my shoes into the sloshy ground we’re using as a mattress, then rock my hips forward. Sweat drips off my body onto Regan’s when I impale her in one ardent thrust. The fit is snug, but the feeling is out-of-this-fucking-world good.
Her pussy ripples around me, pained by the sudden intrusion, but also swelling with anticipation for what's about to come. When the crest of my cock slams into her cervix, she jerks her head back and lets out a grunted moan.
“Do you need me to stop?”
She shakes her head before all my question leaves my mouth. “I’ll kill you if you do.”
Smirking at the threat in her tone, I wait several long beats for the pain fettering her face to diminish before reluctantly withdrawing my cock. I’ve barely pulled back three inches when Regan digs her boots into my ass to demand my cock’s immediate return.
While fighting through the tightness gripping my sack from her feisty enthusiasm, I withdraw to the tip. Before a single protest can escape Regan’s lips, I lunge forward. My thrust is so hard, her cervix and my cock become friendly once more.
“That shouldn’t feel good, but it does,” Regan voices through heavy moans.
I pump in and out of her another two times before replying, “Tell me something I don’t know. Has anyone ever taken you this deep?”
My response was supposed to be more of a statement than a question, but I’m grateful for my lack of brain capacity when Regan shakes her head.
My inflated ego doesn’t linger for long when she utters, “I was so afraid of being snapped in half, I never signed up for the ride. If I had any idea what I was missing, I would have boarded the train years ago.”
Jealousy wraps itself around my heart before weaving down my stomach to clutch my cock. The thought of Regan with anyone but me should fill me with black hatred, but instead, it has the opposite effect. It makes my cock harder, thicker, and determined as fuck to ruin her for any man after me.
After a quick adjustment of her hips, I slam into her harder. Our bodies slapping together sounds callous, but the more brutal I am, the louder Regan screams. That alone increases my speed.
