Chapter Three

Reagan

Taryn’s hot little body presses against mine before I can even get her out of the club. My cock’s twitched so many times, my pants are tented. But she isn’t looking at my crotch, she’s staring at my neck. Her hands are snuggled against my side, and I’d give anything to grab one of them and force it south of the border. After helping her into the town car, I order Nixon’s driver, Cruz, to keep driving and not stop until he hears from me. As long as she’s here, against me, I’m not letting go.

I can’t believe it’s her. After all this time, Taryn Mitchell.

The star of every wet dream I’ve had since college.

I remember the first time I saw her outside Chad Lawrence’s Kappa Sigma kegger, freshman year. After loping up to the front door, all the breath had been sucked from my lungs. An angel stood on the rickety front porch with a beer in one hand and my heart in the other. Her chestnut hair flowing around her shoulders like a pool of spun silk. I’d stopped right in front of her, struck speechless. She’d laughed and walked right by me as though I didn’t exist.

The rejection felt like a punch.

She’d been the star of every illicit fantasy from that moment forward. No one in NYC can even hold a candle to Taryn. Vegas does something to girls, turning them into sex on a stick. Like they don’t understand or own their inherent sexuality until they’ve lived in Sin City a few years. She’s barely changed since college. Her hair is different – she’s now got a crisp stick-straight style with perfectly trimmed edges. And while I’m not exactly a fashion plate to the extent of my brother Nixon, I can tell the silk dress tightly hugging her body had to be expensive. Her green eyes are the same as ever, and there’s not a wrinkle in sight on her tanned face.

The perfect globes of her tits are pushed up so high I could lean down and lick them. I inhale and scrub a hand down my face. This woman’s going to be the death of me. I haven’t seen her in years, and she’s already got me tied up in knots.

“You’re sexy,” Taryn says, snuggling in even deeper. Please don’t pass out. Not until I can taste you and you can remember it. In spite of my baser thoughts, I pride myself on being a classy gentleman. No woman’s ever been unsafe under my protection, no matter how much I want to split her wide open. “You’re taking me home, right?”

In a way, this transports me right back to college. With the traumatic death of both my parents and standing in the shadow of my larger than life brother, I’d had a hard time finding my way. Back then, I didn’t have much experience with girls. Whenever a hot chick flirted with me, I’d seize up and stutter.

I can’t even list how many times I’ve turned down a drunk girl’s advances, only to be called a pussy in the morning by my buddies. It’s enough to make me sick. Just because I’d never take advantage of a girl doesn’t make me any less of a man. And the worst part, it isn’t just the men who’ve called me out. I still remember the night I carried an inebriated sorority girl all the way back to her house. She propositioned me, and I turned her down on the excuse that she was too wasted to know what she really wanted. In the morning, I called her and asked for a date.

She turned me down. “You’re just…a nice guy, Reagan,” she said, a mixture of pity and disgust in her voice. “I need like, an alpha, you know? Someone who would just grab me, hold me down, and fuck my brains out. No dinner necessary.”

Oh, the joy of the angsty college years. But this is now. A lifetime of success and experience later and being a good-looking contract lawyer in NYC means my fair share of hot, wet pussy. Looking down at Taryn’s limp figure against my torso, I feel grateful that I happened to spot her rise from the crowd like a dancing angel soaring above the heads of the Velvet patrons. Of course, gyrating for drunk idiots isn’t how I expected to ever see her again. I thought I’d never see her again. Not without actually walking into her women’s clothing store like some kind of love-crazed stalker.

I noticed my golden opportunity when I saw her dancing inside that cage. A lot of the men hanging around Velvet would willfully take advantage and crow about it in the morning. And while I have no idea why Taryn went off the rails, I have a feeling it’s not because of anything good. Sometimes, Nixon mentions her in passing, and my ears always perk up. She’s a work-a-holic, which is why my brother admires the hell out of her. This type of behavior just isn’t her style.

After about an hour of driving and a short nap, her head snaps up. I gaze into her brilliant green eyes and see nothing but sober, coherent Taryn staring back at me. I grab a bottle of water from the town car’s built-in cooler and screw off the cap for her. She thanks me with her gaze and brings the bottle to her full lips. As she drinks, I imagine those lips wrapped around my cock, sucking me dry. Thank God, the tent in my pants went down once we hit the I15. But with her lips pouting and her throat swallowing, it’s going to be a struggle to keep the lust at bay.

“So much for my tipsy girl routine,” she says, staring at me. It’s like she’s trying to size me up for something.

“Feeling better?” I already miss her heated skin against my dress shirt.

“Yeah,” she says, sitting back in the seat, her hair falling all over the leather headrest. While her eyes are closed, I catch another glimpse of her tits and imagine pulling the top of her dress down with one solid yank. “Nothing like a nap to clear your head. I feel like I’ve been hit by a semi. Was I really doing a cage dance?”

“You were. I came at the tail end of your show.”

“Show?” She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I should know better. Nothing good ever happens when I have a date with gin. So, mystery savior, where are you from?”

She really doesn’t remember me. “New York.”

Her gaze falls from my eyes to my lips, then farther south, and I tingle every single place her eyes touch. This woman’s going to make me crawl right out of my skin if she keeps it up. I should tell Nixon to fuck himself, get on a plane, and hightail it back to safety before something horrible happens. Like I fall for Taryn Mitchell.

Again.

Even though I live in NYC, Vegas is still home. So why are the neon lights already closing in on me? When Nix called and asked me to come help him out with this super douche, Dante Giovanetti, I had to respond. Nixon and Dante own rival casinos, and while Nixon’s always done well through hard work and determination, I know for a fact Dante has dirty money on his hands…if not blood.

“Hmm…It’s been years since I’ve been there,” she says. “I sometimes go for fashion week, but I’ve always wanted to see Broadway. When I was a little girl, I used to dance, and every little dancing girl has dreams of the lights on Broadway.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I say as she hands me the empty water bottle. “You have to pay exorbitant amounts of money for tickets months in advance. Sometimes, shows are sold out for years, or you can only get SRO tickets. Such a pain in the ass. Besides, Vegas has world-class entertainment. Why would you ever want to leave?”

Do you ever want to leave?

She shrugs. “You’re probably right,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Still want to go to a Broadway play someday.”

I open the window between me and Nixon’s driver. “Hey, Cruz. Can you take us to…?” I shoot Taryn a glance.

“30211 Vine Street,” she finishes.

“Okay,” he says. “Should be there in about a half hour.”

“Have we just been driving around?” she asks as if I’m up to something nefarious.

“I thought you might want to sober up before you go home to your husband.”

“I live alone.”

Thank you, God.

“Well, I guess not really alone. If you count my cat, Liza.”

“Like as in Liza Minelli?”

She flushes and casts her eyes downward. “Didn’t I just reveal my secret Broadway fantasies? The least you could do is pretend you didn’t hear me admit that I’m a crazy cat lady before I’ve even turned thirty.”

I dig her sense of humor. I dig everything about her, and I have since the first moment I saw her. I have secret fantasies, too. But now’s not the time to reveal them.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” She knits her brows together. “You look familiar. I know you’re not from Vegas, but have you been here before? Have we met?”

I force a shrug, not wanting to spoil the moment by bringing her back to college and the times she didn’t even notice me. Didn’t want me. Her blazing eyes tell a different tale, and she wants me now. Taryn lifts her arms and stretches, raising her slender limbs toward the ceiling and arching her lovely back. She’s still staring at me. For once, instead of feeling self-conscious, it makes me feel cocky and proud. She can’t take her eyes off me, I realize. She’s hot for me.

I’ve got no reason to doubt her attraction – I take pretty good care of myself – but somehow, it feels better than I ever could have imagined.

It feels like it could be the start of something.

Taryn licks her lips and grabs her purse, pulling out a lip balm. The air between us crackles with tension, lust, and something else. Something that feels a lot like unresolved emotion.

“I’m feeling…rash. Like I want to do something I’ve never, ever done before. You ever felt that way, mystery savior?”

Every fucking day of my entire life.

“Yeah. It’s hard not to feel that way sometimes. Like you want to take things that are perfect and mess them up a little. Lose control. Kind of like cage dancing.”

She smiles, and I know she understands me. She gets me. And nothing makes me feel that way more than Vegas. Maybe it’s because you can get away with anything here. Maybe it’s because I can’t find anything I’ve lost. But I found her.

And I’ll have her.

Taryn looks up at me, her full tits rising and falling with every little puff of breath. Before she can speak, I lean in closer and crush her body against mine, pulling her into a deep kiss. Taryn wraps her arms around my neck and presses her lithe body to mine, moaning. Her passion is music to my ears. Running my hands down her back, I squeeze her firm ass through the thin fabric of her dress. Taryn’s response is almost wild. She breaks the kiss and bites my neck, then softens her aggression with little licks of her moist tongue. My lust plunges to new heights, and I grab her, tossing her back on the seat, and yank her dress up to her waist.

I twist my hand around her panties and rip them away from her body, and she shivers with arousal. She’s soaking wet, and the musky smell of her pussy fills my senses with exotic wonder. I want to bury myself between her thighs, to kiss and nibble and lick until she’s screaming for more. But my cock is bulging and clamoring for all of her. I tamp the lust down and plant kisses to the inside of her heated thigh. I can wait.

Right now, nothing’s more important than tasting her. It’s something I’ve wanted for so damn long. Nothing outside of a fiery town car accident is going to stop me.

“So wet.” She’s glistening, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

She snuggles deeper into the leather seat, her legs falling open even further. She’s on display for my feasting eyes, and I take a moment to fully take it in. This is happening, and I might not survive it.

I dip two fingers inside her moist heat, using a back-and-forth motion, soft as butterfly wings until she’s answering my strokes with strangled movements of her hips.

“Don’t stop, savior,” she says on a moan that hits me right in my solar plexus. In that moment, I want to tell her my name. Expose myself and everything that implies. Reagan, please lick me. Reagan, please fuck me. But I don’t. This moment is wrapped tightly in perfection, and I don’t want anything, even myself to break the haze of our passion. If she stops now, I’d crumble. “It feels so good.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, wrapping my free arm around her waist and tugging her toward me. I rise to my knees for a better angle and lift her hips like she’s the buffet, and I’m the starving man. Once I dip my head and take the first taste, her unique flavor explodes over my tongue, and I know I’ll never be the same.

Taryn reaches down and holds herself open for me, and I about lose it. “More,” she begs. “I want it all.”

“That’s right, hold that pretty pussy open for me.” I can’t believe I’m capable of the dirty words, but they don’t seem base with my Taryn. They seem real and right. I don’t think anything could ever feel wrong with her.

Emboldened, I suck and lick her like a man possessed until her writhing becomes almost out of control. I suck her engorged clit into my mouth with one long sip, and she shudders, screaming as the orgasm hits her. I keep my fingers moving, stroking, and soothing her through the aftershocks of pleasure. I delight in the little shivers that travel over her limbs. I want this woman with every fiber of my being. Her coming apart on my tongue will never be enough. I curse the Gods that took my parents from me and forced me to NYC. I curse the fucking airplane I have to get on next week. Most of all, I curse my inability to take what I want.

Because I want her.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I say, not sure it’s enough, but it’s the truth.

I see the moment the realization of what we’d just done comes over her. She sits up and pushes her skirt down, shoving her hair back from her face. “I’m sorry. I–”

“Don’t be,” I say quickly, unable to bear her saying that what we’d just experienced together was a mistake.

But it was written all over her face, and as Cruz pulled to her curb, she opens the door. “Goodbye.”

And with her taste still on my lips, she’s gone.