The McClane Apocalypse Book Three (36 page)

"That's what I used to do. But that's not
what it's going to be between the two of us," he tells her
honestly, and her eyes belie her surprise at his admission. "You're
what I want now. Not anyone else, not ever. And, Reagan? I know
that you want me, too. It's why you responded the way you did the
other day."

She shakes her head, and her eyes widen with
the fear of realization in this truth. She's certainly not ready to
accept it, or him. But after tonight, she will be.

He pulls her up closer to him and whispers
against her ear, giving her shivers. "Remember I told you the other
day that I know what you need? Well, I do. I know what we both
need. I'm going to consume every square inch of you until you pant
and moan and beg me. And when you can't hold back any longer, I'm
gonna make you lose control for me."

"I have to check on the mare!" she bluffs
with absolute terror.

John is temporarily stunned while he digests
what she's just said. Most of the time he never knows what she
going to say next, and this time is no different.

"Ok," he says and steps back, shocking her
right back.

"Ok?" she asks with a victorious smile.

She's so funny sometimes. She thinks she's
won.

"Sure, let's go check the mare," he accepts
and chucks her under the chin.

"No, just me. I'll be…"

"Not a chance. You aren't going out there at
night. It's 22:30, babe. Not happening, but I'd be glad to escort
you," he says and grabs a pair of his new loafers from under his
bed where he verifies that Jacob's still out like a log. Jacob
usually sleeps through the night which is lucky for him and Reagan
since they basically know squat about kids and babies. He also
grabs a zippered hoodie and puts it on without a shirt underneath
and straps his pistol to his waist. "Ready?" he asks her as she
still stands where he left her, looking puzzled like she's trying
to process something difficult in her brilliant mind. After another
second, she nods.

When they get downstairs, Kelly is on
patrol, raiding the fridge. There are no lights on, but the dim
light of the refrigerator bulb is enough to guide their way.

"Find any hadj in there?" John teases, and
Kelly laughs once before closing the door. His friend holds his M16
in one hand and a chicken drumstick in the other.

Reagan pulls on a pair of unattractive,
black rubber barn boots that come to her bony knees. They look like
they are about three sizes too big. But on her, she even manages to
make them look sexy. At least she's covered her black socks.

"Where you two going?" Kelly asks
suspiciously.

"Check on that injured mare," John explains
as Kelly raises his eyebrows and nods slowly. John's fairly certain
that his friend has a few other hypotheses but holds his tongue
nonetheless.

"Good luck with that," his friend teases
with a smirk.

"Later, dude," John says and takes Reagan by
the hand to go to the horse barn. She doesn't pull away, but
actually walks closely next to him. She's probably afraid of the
visitors, but he's prepared to make the most of it anyways as he
tugs her against his side. All of the outdoor lighting has been
left off so as to dissuade their new friends from rummaging in the
dark for things that don't belong to them and to help the men
wearing night vision gear able to better see. He has brought only a
small flashlight because he knows the lay of the property by heart
after hours upon hours of patrols.

When they get to the barn, John opens and
then recloses the wide, sliding barn door behind them and flicks on
the two light switches which control a single row of four hanging
bulbs down the middle aisle. She looks nervously at him before she
heads over to the stall housing the mare.

John goes straight to the tack room and
takes down a clean blanket, one of the blankets they'd used on
their trip, while she is still preoccupying herself with the mare.
Knowing Reagan as he does, she's probably checked on this horse
four times today. And John had checked on her this morning and she
wasn't even limping anymore. But if it makes Reagan feel better to
delay their union, then he'll give her this one last ditch effort.
He doesn't even follow her to the stall but stands near the door
and, more importantly, the lighting controls.

"I think she's ok," Reagan says
awkwardly.

When she comes out of the mare's stall and
closes the door behind her, her eyes jump around but won't connect
with his.

"Hm, good," John says and flicks off the one
set of lights, leaving only two bulbs lit. He stalks toward Reagan
and, without preamble, ducks and flips her over his shoulder.

"What the heck are you doing?" she asks
hysterically from her upside down position. "Put me down!"

"Shh," he whispers which settles her for a
moment until he gets to the ladder that leads to the hay loft above
them.

"What… what are you doing? Stop!" she
cries.

He climbs the ladder still holding her over
his shoulder, the blanket under his arm and the flashlight between
his teeth.

"Oh my God, stop. John, you're going to drop
me!"

John just chuckles at her and continues. It
only takes him about a minute to climb to the second story hay loft
where he puts her gently to her feet and tosses the flashlight into
the mound of hay behind her. He can tell by her expression that
she's still shocked that he has carried her up the ladder. He'd
carried his brother six miles. Her skinny butt felt like half the
weight of Derek. Her eyes follow him with trepidation and widen
when he unzips and also toss his hoodie near the flashlight. Next
he spreads the thick wool blanket near the flashlight. It's better
lit up here than he would've thought from just two light bulbs a
floor below. But the cracks and gaps in the old, wooden floorboards
allow just enough illumination to see her clearly.

"I… I want to go back to the house," she
says with trepidation and twists her hands in front her.

John just gives her a shake of his head
while he puckers his lips. Next he kicks the loafers off and tosses
them near the other discarded items.

"Stop!"

He ignores her again. Next he sets his
holster and pistol near the top of the blanket. Then John walks
slowly toward her and takes her slim shoulders between his hands,
which forces her to finally look up at him.

"Please don't," Reagan pleads as her eyes
tear up.

John just shakes his head again. The time
for words, angry rants and pretty pleadings has long since come and
gone.

"I know you aren't afraid of me anymore,
Reagan. Right?" he asks her as he closes the gap and takes her
hand.

"No," she confesses.

"It's ok to be scared. But just not to be
scared of me," he says calmly.

"I don't want…"

"Yes, you do," he corrects her, and he
stoops slowly, very slowly as his mouth captures hers with an
intensity so strong he's afraid they'll burn down the barn.

She's so sweet and reserved and afraid to
let anyone in that John gets lost in her little shivers and
whimpers of fear and desire blended into what makes her who she is.
His hands move into the curls at either side of her face, and he
loses it when she cries out against his mouth and clings to his
forearms. John sweeps her easily into his arms and deposits her on
top of the blanket on the deep hay mound. She doesn't try to bolt
which is encouraging as he rolls his hoodie and places it under her
head.

"I don't want this," she says
pathetically.

Is she trying to convince herself?

"You will in a minute," John promises and
joins her on the blanket where he kisses and caresses her hip, the
inside of her wrist, her face, her small waist, a bare thigh and
whispers his naughty plans into her ear until she's breathy and
panting just like he'd foretold earlier that she would be.

He easily slips off her ridiculous boots and
then her hoodie over her head, but when he tries for the tank top
in between kisses, she frantically grabs at his hand.

"No, don't. Please don't," she begs in
earnest and shakes her head.

He knows this hesitancy is over her scar
issue.

"You really think you look worse than me?"
John asks her, and she frowns up at him with her emerald eyes and
kiss-bruised lips. Then she nods which just about kills John's
resolve. "I can't even see all that great in here," he lies.

"I just… I look… disgusting. You have no
idea," she hints.

Her self-loathing is making John more
determined than ever to conquer this with her right now. He is
laying half on and half beside her and teasing his fingers through
her curls. Reagan's hands cover her face with embarrassment.

"Why don't you let me decide that for
myself?" he asks and brushes a loose strand of curls back from her
forehead.

Reagan pushes at his chest, and John just
captures her hands in one of his and holds them. He kisses her
again and whispers into her ear how beautiful he thinks she is.
This isn't an exaggeration. Reagan is beautiful. She just doesn't
know it which makes her even lovelier.

He decides to try a different tactic and
lowers himself to where her shorts and tank meet along her lower
stomach. Poking a finger under her shirt, he allows his fingers to
lightly trace around before he nudges his lips into the same space.
She tries to push him away, but John takes her hand and presses it
against his cheek. He kisses and licks, and his fingers touch her
lightly as he manages to get her top higher and higher. When he's
fairly certain that she's thoroughly distracted, he finally
releases her other hand. John can see her scars easily enough in
the dim light, but they aren't anything compared to what he feels
as a rage builds inside of him for what has happened to her.
Putting his hands on either side of her hips, he lifts her to his
mouth, kissing each of the thin slivers that bisect her stomach
area. He pulls down one side of her shorts and kisses her hip bone.
His hand slides under her shirt, travels up her stomach and covers
one bare, braless breast. It is the only time he's ever been glad
that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts aren't huge, not like
the stripper or any stripper's probably, but they are plenty big
enough for John and they fill his hand so perfectly. Not to mention
the fact that she makes delicate, tiny sounds in her throat as he
caresses them which makes him love them even more. She has a hand
buried in his hair now and is pulling it almost painfully. He
doesn't remove her shirt. Not because he doesn't want to look at
her, because he does. He doesn't remove her shirt because this
night is about Reagan, not him. There will be plenty of other
nights when he can gaze down upon her naked perfection.

"Is he dead?" he asks as he returns to her
mouth and grinds himself against her pubic bone. It takes her a
moment to respond, to come back to him.

"What? Who?" she asks incoherently, unaware
of her surroundings.

Good, she's almost where he wants her.

"Whoever did that to you," he says against
her mouth as his hand goes south and rests between her legs,
against the thin cotton of her shorts.

"What? Yes, yes, he's dead," Reagan says
when she can because his fingers are working against her through
the shorts.

"Good, I didn't want to have to leave right
now to go and find him," he tells her, making Reagan smile against
his mouth like he knew she would. He was actually serious.

"Please," she pants.

It's a little better, but not quite there
just yet as his fingers slide so easily under her shorts and then
her panties where he can touch and tease her soft flesh at his
leisure.

"Oh God. Please."

"Patience," he scolds and kisses her mouth,
taking her with his tongue, plundering and claiming. Her hands are
at his shoulders, against his chest muscles, in his hair and around
his back, pulling at him. It makes him smile into her neck where he
kisses and licks and feels her tremble and shimmy.

John pulls back onto his knees and is glad
when she cries out in protest and grabs at him. He just half-smiles
down at her. Her eyes are glazed over with passion. His fingers
glide up her legs, teasing as they go until he reaches the waist
band of her shorts. He whisks them and her panties away at the same
time and discards his own pants near her clothing items. When he
lies on top of her again, she paws aggressively at him. John
presses himself between her thighs and then goes back to teasing
her, but not with his fingers this time. It earns him a whole lot
more whimpering and soft cries as she pushes up against his shaft.
Her need is growing desperate. He intends for it to grow to inferno
proportions. It's how he's felt for months.

"Now… now," she insists in between
pants.

He'll have none of it, though he can tell
she is more than ready. John ignores her and continues his
onslaught against her sensitive skin before he nudges just an inch
inside of her and then another. Jesus, this is going to be harder
than he thought. The urge to plunge forward and take her with
violent lust is almost overwhelming. He stops pushing and goes back
to touching her everywhere and kissing her, which he could do all
night.

"Now, do it now. I can't wait another
second," she demands.

Reagan arches her hips against him, tugs at
his hair and tries to pull him down. John just smiles and is
brought back down to earth as he remembers this is for her tonight.
It gives him the fortitude to hold back.

"Easy, Reagan. I don't want to hurt you.
This is your first time," he states huskily.

"So? I don't care. Just do it. Hurry. I've
been riding horses my whole life so I probably don't even have a
hymen. Medical studies… ohhh, God. Just do it, now!" she
orders.

She is trying to give him a short medical
briefing which makes him turn his head to hide his smile so that
she doesn't think he's laughing at her.