Chapter 25

twenty-five

Regan had to wonder if she was on some sort of practical prank show, as she pulled open the door to a bar that Audrey had asked her to meet her at.

Actually – no, she hadn't asked. She'd dropped Regan a pin along with the text:

Come and meet me . !

Even though they'd been on much better terms for the last month, Regan had never met Audrey to get a casual drink in their entire lives. Sure, they were texting more frequently, and it was amicable but there was no way she would have possibly anticipated Audrey wanting to meet up with her for a casual hangout after work.

Especially not when it seemed Audrey was possibly drunk?!

Cautiously, Regan approached the bar, where she could see her sister sitting on one of the stools.

Audrey's fine, silky blonde hair was pulled into one of those ponytails that Regan often thought could only be accomplished by social media influencers or something. She wore diamond earrings with a matching necklace – jewelry that wasn't flashy but was definitely expensive as hell. The sleeveless dark blue dress she wore was undoubtedly designer, and the cream-colored blazer she'd definitely worn over it to work was draped over the back of her chair without a single wrinkle to be seen.

Regan had never seen Audrey at work at her fancy PR firm, but… yeah, this was exactly what she would have imagined her sister wore in her everyday life.

The wine bar itself was one that Regan would never have stepped foot in; she doubted she could afford to buy a bottle of anything in here. And, in her sports bra and overalls, she didn't exactly belong with the other clientele.

She cleared her throat as she approached her sister, alerting her to Regan's presence.

Audrey spun on her stool so quickly, she nearly fell off of it. Quickly, Regan jumped forward to try to help stabilize her, baffled by the fact that – yeah . Audrey really was drunk!

"Regan! Hey, you!" Audrey's cheeks were rosy, and her green eyes were a little glassy, and Regan felt like her world was flipped on its fucking axis.

"Uh, hey… you." Slowly, she removed her hands from her sister's arms, making sure that Audrey wasn't going to slip off of her stool again. "What's going on?"

Audrey ignored her question and turned to lift the briefcase that had been draped over the stool next to her, as if she'd been saving it. "Come and sit," she commanded, in that imperious tone. It was a little less imperious, though, when she was clearly not in full control of her faculties.

She turned sharply, waving at the woman tending the bar.

"Marlie, this is my sister, Regan. She'll have what I'm having." Audrey used one of her hands to swirl the red wine in her glass. Thankfully, there was very little left in said glass, or it would have sloshed right out.

Swearing she could hear horror movie music play in her head, Regan perched herself on the stool. "So–"

"Actually," Audrey started again, looking up at Regan with a considering frown. "Do you even like wine, Regan? Because, ha , I have no idea if you do. It's a Sangiovese, made and imported from a vineyard Armando and I toured in Italy last year." She laughed again, mirthlessly, as she tapped her fingertips against the bar. " Actually – only I went on the tour. But Armando had a ticket, so…"

She shrugged, as if to say there you go , and lifted her glass again, taking a large gulp to down the rest of the liquid.

Regan could only stare for several beats, finding herself at a loss for words. Mostly because what she wanted to say was what the fuck ? But she bit that back.

"Um… wine is… fine. No punning rhyme intended." She smiled apologetically at Marlie as she poured a glass for Regan and refilled Audrey's, wondering exactly how difficult it had been for her to manage Audrey so far. God, Regan hoped her sister was going to tip well.

"Wine is fine. Indeed, it is." Audrey sighed in agreement, as she nodded toward Regan. "So – go on. Drink up."

Regan tugged the glass toward her carefully – this was the last place she needed to accidentally drop a glass and cause a scene – but kept her cautious gaze trained on her sister.

"Tell me what you were up to today," Audrey stated rather than ask, turning an expectant look at her.

Still feeling vaguely like there was a prank being pulled on her, Regan blew out a slow breath. "Nothing much. I'd just finished baking a batch of cookies when you'd texted."

"That's right . I saw on your Instagram that you do that, now," Audrey's voice dipped into something low and thoughtful.

Again, even though they'd definitely turned a corner, Regan couldn't help but be surprised that Audrey knew about her baking or that she kept up with Regan's socials. "Uh, yeah. These are for a retirement party, actually."

Emma's gram had not only gotten Regan a referral for this party, but two other potential events in the last week. Which Regan was still having trouble wrapping her mind around; people were paying her to bake? People liked the things she created enough to want her to cater parties?!

She was approaching this new avenue with as much caution as she could, but she was undeniably thrilled by it.

Audrey pursed her lips as she nodded decisively at her. "You know, Regan, that's great. That is really wonderful, that you have this passion."

Her eyebrows arched high on her forehead as she took a little sip of wine. "Thanks. It's been–"

"Now, tell me: are you dating anyone?" Audrey asked with as much laser-focus someone could have when they weren't sober.

Choking on her sip, Regan quickly sat the glass down; that was why she wasn't supposed to touch the wine glasses in fancy restaurants. "What? Why – Audrey, what is going on?"

There was a knowing glint in her sisters' eyes as she leaned back. "Ah, so you are dating someone."

"I'm…" Regan's cheeks heated, her heart skipping a beat at the very thought of Emma. "Yes. Yes, I am."

Her tone sounded just as awed as she felt, at the confirmation. Yes, she was dating Emma. How crazy was that?

"We've never talked about our personal relationships. Have you realized that? Never. Not once." Audrey frowned, her eyebrows knitting tightly as she shook her head. "I don't like that."

Good god, what had happened to set this off? She needed to know. "It's… I mean, we haven't talked about anything real , ever," she slowly said, with as much tact as she could manage. But they'd barely had any semblance of a relationship for most of their adult lives, which wasn't news to Audrey.

Apparently, her words didn't provide any sense of peace to her sister, whose frown etched even deeper into her face as she stared into Regan's eyes. "I know that. I'm telling you that I don't like it, and that it would be nice if things were different. And I know we – we bonded, or whatever you'd call it, at brunch, and we've texted a little. But I want to know more about you. All right?"

Yeah, Regan had not been prepared for this in any possible way. "All right," she warily agreed.

"So, tell me." Audrey waved her hand, imploring Regan to speak.

Regan chewed at her bottom lip, unsure of how to broach this topic with Audrey, given that she'd only ever shared it with Charlotte freaking Thompson. But also finding that she wanted to tell her.

She wanted to talk about Emma, badly. She wanted to gush about her and about them and their date and everything else that had taken place over the last week.

She wanted to talk about how Emma had surprised her with a little karaoke set up in their living room on Saturday night, when Regan had returned home from work. How Emma had shrugged that adorable little embarrassed shrug, as she'd murmured, "I just don't want you to feel like you're the only one that cares enough to plan dates, or that I don't listen to your interests. That's all. Besides, karaoke at home isn't the same as going out in public."

Honestly, it had been better. Because it was just the two of them, and Emma had done this entire set up for her . And she'd said that's all , like she wasn't being insanely sweet and more romantic than anyone else had ever been in Regan's life!

Then, best of all, Emma had – after two margaritas – finally let loose and started really singing, too.

She wanted to talk about how, on Tuesday, Emma had watched her work on her latest map for the D hell, maybe Audrey didn't even want her to say it.

Audrey didn't lift her head, even as she shook it in firm dissent. "Yes, I do. It's planned. It's paid for. The guest list is finalized. Armando's family is flying in from Spain. Mom and Dad have invited half of the country club. My friends and I are flying out for the weekend to Napa for my bridal party on Friday."

"So?" She refused to back down, because amongst that whole list, she didn't hear anything that sounded remotely like a real reason to get married. "Who cares ?"

Audrey whipped her head up to stare at Regan with narrowed eyes. "Everyone cares," she hissed back. "Armando and I work at the same firm; he's – indirectly – my superior. Mom texts me every other day to remind me of what needs to get done before the wedding. Everyone cares, Regan."

" I don't care," she emphasized, holding Audrey's gaze with her own. "You're tying yourself to this guy for the rest of your life – or you're going to go through a divorce that is probably going to be lengthy and expensive. Both of which sound like really shitty options to me."

Audrey let out a trembling breath, her glassy eyes growing even glassier, before she blinked and turned away from her. "It's not that easy."

"I didn't say it was easy; I said you don't have to marry him."

Audrey dug her teeth so hard into her lip, Regan was concerned she'd draw blood. Still, she tightly shook her head. "No. I'm not that person; I'm not flaky or undependable. I'm not you. I can't just… just walk away from my commitments like that."

Regan didn't know why she was surprised by the statement, or why she was surprised it dug into her, sharply reminding her that she and Audrey still had a long way to go.

She slowly dropped her arm from where she'd still had it draped around her sister, in an obviously ineffective attempt to offer comfort.

"Maybe that's why you texted me tonight," she challenged, as she drew away. As she spoke, she grew more certain, though, because it was the only thing that made sense. "Actually, I think it is."

Audrey turned to face her, eyes red-rimmed, her expression drawn tight.

And Regan stared, the sharp bite of pain from Audrey's comment fading as she scanned her eyes over her sister's face. Mostly because it was replaced by… pity.

"I think you texted me because out of all of the people in your life, I'm the only one that isn't going to encourage you to marry some d-bag just because Mom and Dad think you should, or because he's attractive and successful, or because it already seems like a done deal." Emboldened, Regan knocked her knuckles lightly against the bar. "Yeah, I think that's exactly why. Because you had to know if you told me anything about Armando, that I'd tell you what I thought. And, on some level, you wanted to hear it."

Audrey hastily reached up, swiping her hand over her cheeks to wipe away any fallen tears as she shook her head. " No , that's not–"

Regan cut her off, on a roll. "You know, Audrey, you and I might be very different. I might not have Mom and Dad's approval in any way, but I'm happy with my life." She leaned in, imploring quietly, "Why do you still feel like you need to make them happy, when you know that they don't care if you are?"

Audrey's breath caught in her throat, hitching, before she hurriedly slapped her hand over her mouth in an obvious attempt to cut off any more threatening tears.

In yet another unexpected turn, Regan felt her stomach twist in sympathy.

"That's – I'm done," Audrey announced, her voice hoarse even though Regan could hear how much she tried for a steely tone. "I need to go home."

"Okay." Regan watched her sister shakily reach into her bag, pulling out her credit card.

She watched her for another long moment, wondering – for the first time – who in Audrey's life really cared about her true feelings, if Regan was the person she'd called tonight?

With that in mind, she unlocked her phone and tapped a few buttons, before locking it and looking up at Audrey, who was staring down at her credit card in utter consternation.

"I ordered you a car home. It'll be here in five."

Audrey's still-teary eyes widened, and she swallowed visibly hard. "You didn't have to do that; I – I'll pay you back."

Regan waved her off, as she slid off her stool. "I don't want your money; I just want you to know that I love you, whether you get married in forty-five days or not."

What a wild night.

Regan's thoughts whirred in an unstoppable loop as she walked down the hall toward her apartment.

Regan – 7:42PM

Sutton… I don't even have the wherewithal for adoring nicknames right now. I know you're sleeping, but you are the only person that is going to fully understand the magnitude of what I have to share. I HAVE to tell you about what happened tonight with Audrey. You would never in a million years guess what the developments are on this side of the ocean

She slid her phone in her back pocket with one hand as she reached for the apartment door with her other.

Even with all of the insanity with her sister, she could still feel the vibrating excitement inside at the prospect of seeing Emma. Even though – per her text to Sutton – Emma didn't necessarily know the gravity of what had happened with Audrey, she still couldn't wait to tell her. She couldn't wait to tell Emma everything .

"Hey! I'm home," she called out, quickly kicking off her shoes.

"I'm in the living room," Emma called back.

Regan grinned, nearly tripping over her own feet with the haste to get to Emma as quickly as possible.

"Do you just want to get a pizza or something for dinner? I planned on throwing some spaghetti together or something, but you wouldn't believe–" All of the words she could have possibly come up with escaped her as soon as she walked into the living room.

Nothing existed in her brain anymore.

The interaction with Audrey? Gone. Thoughts of dinner? Nope, what was that?

Because Emma was sitting on their couch wearing her glasses and one of her button-ups that she typically wore to work. But instead of how she usually wore it – appropriate for the office – the top five? Six?! Buttons were undone.

Leaving her breasts, encased in that sexy lacy red bra that Regan recognized from months ago, showcased for Regan's gaze to feast on.

Her throat ran dry – parched. She was parched. A woman in a desert kind of parched.

"Emma," she breathed, and she swayed where she stood. "What are you… you're just… what?"

Emma slowly raised an eyebrow at her. The look was both teasing and a little unsure, and Regan had no idea how she managed that combination. She had no idea why Emma would feel uncertain at all. "You mentioned last night when we were…" She trailed off, clearing her throat.

"Touching ourselves while on the phone with each other so we could hear each other come," Regan supplied helpfully, her voice raspy. "I find it so cute that you're so shy when we talk about it."

And she did. The dualities of Emma made Regan feel so soft. She was someone who was fearlessly sharp and had spoken her mind to Regan for years, yet became bashful when they talked about sex…

Regan loved it. Though, she wondered if she would love just about anything about Emma at this point.

Emma's exhale trembled on a visible shiver. "Yes, that. You said – not for the first time – that you were dying to see my breasts. And you've been very vocal about your feelings on my glasses, so…"

"Are you trying to seduce me?" Regan knew that was what was happening, because it was right in front of her fucking eyes, but she still couldn't believe it. Her blood rushed with delight and surprise and arousal – so, so much arousal.

Emma's lips pursed. "I guess I am," she answered, dragging the words out. "I don't really know; all I know is that last night, when we went to our separate beds and I came against my own fingers, I've never been so dissatisfied while still feeling sated. Because I… I want your touch. And I'm so tired of hearing you come, but not being the one to cause it. Not really."

She could see how hard Emma swallowed, across the room. "And it's all I've thought about, all day."

Regan was breathless with the heat that sparked through her, the need pulsing between her legs as if there was a switch Emma had flicked.

In a way, she supposed, there was.

How else was she supposed to react when Emma was sitting there, waiting for Regan to come home, so that she could make Regan's fantasies come true?

Still, she clenched her hands into fists so tight, her nails bit deeply into her palms. She needed that, to steady herself. To make sure she didn't run across the room and throw herself at Emma right this fucking second .

"I… you wanted to make sure we weren't going too fast," Regan cautioned, her breathing already growing erratic, and she couldn't stop staring at Emma's tits.

Her cleavage looked so incredible; Regan wanted to bury her face there and it was fine if she suffocated. She didn't really care – in fact, she could die happy.

"We're supposed to keep each other in check," she reminded Emma from their conversation last week. It took every single ounce of will power Regan had, to recall that conversation right now.

And that had been what they'd done every night.

When their kisses grew so heated, when they strained against one another so needily, one of them would pull back. When their hands started to wander and their touches grew more desperate, pulling on shirts and pants, they'd break away from each other.

It had become an unspoken agreement, really, that they'd quickly go their separate ways so that they could take things further, without taking them further .

"If you feel like it's too soon–" Emma started, but Regan couldn't let her finish.

"I don't!" She jumped in, vehemently shaking her head. Feeling crazed already. "It's not too soon, for me. Fine, it's only been like a week since our first date; big deal. We live together. Every night we hang out is a date . Dinner together, movies, tv shows, activities – we've spent more time together in the last few months than couples who have been together for a year. It's not too soon," she repeated, meaning every single word.

The relief was evident on Emma's face, as she breathed, "Thank god."

That was it. That was all the confirmation Regan needed.

She pounced at Emma, bounding across the room and jumping into her lap. Her legs bracketed Emma's thighs, and she settled on top of her, gripping her shoulders.

Immediately, she felt Emma's hands slide up her thighs. Maybe Emma was helping Regan catch her balance, but whatever the purpose of her touch – it didn't matter.

What mattered was that the sensation of Emma's fingers gliding up the backs of her thighs shot right to Regan's clit. She rolled her hips down against Emma's, before ducking her head to capture Emma's mouth with her own.

Several of their kisses in the last week had started off slow and soft. When they'd been cuddling on the couch just last night, and Emma had turned to look at Regan rather than the television, she'd felt hypnotized by the way Emma's blue eyes looked so… electric in the dim lighting of the living room. She'd been drawn in, gently cupping Emma's jaw as she'd pressed their lips together.

Right now, she did not have the patience for that.

Not when her thoughts were reeling, and she was pulsing between her legs, and she continued to roll her hips down against Emma.

There was so much she wanted to do. So, so much, she thought, desperately, as she sucked on Emma's tongue. One of her hands slid up to card through Emma's hair; something she'd learned was that she never tired of that. She never tired of feeling these long, soft strands between her fingers, or of the quiet whimpering sounds that escaped Emma's throat when she scratched against her scalp.

They'd managed to keep their heady make-out sessions relatively PG; she'd slid her hands under Emma's shirt, stroked them over her soft stomach, explored up her back, stroked down her sides. She'd slid her fingertips just under the cups of Emma's bra, had felt how stiff her nipples were against her palms through the material.

But she hadn't had the chance to really see Emma. To finally – finally! – get her shirt fully off, and her bra, too.

With that in mind, she broke their kiss. Regan honestly wasn't sure who let out the needy groan as soon as they were no longer kissing, but she wouldn't be shocked if it had been herself.

She flexed the hand she still had gripped in Emma's hair, watching in hungry amazement as Emma's eyes fluttered closed at the movement.

"I want to see you. God, I want it so badly," her voice was hoarse and rasping with need, and Regan wasn't going to hide it. She rolled her hips down, hard and intent, against Emma.

Dropping her gaze down very deliberately, she stared at Emma's chest. Flicking her tongue out, she licked her lips, and the move was entirely unintentional. She just really did feel hungry for more. Hungry for Emma.

She slid the hand she'd had braced on Emma's shoulder down, slowly. Moving over the thin fabric of her shirt until she made contact with Emma's soft skin. Hot to her touch, they both shuddered, as Regan drew fingers down over Emma's clavicle. She relished in every inch she touched, her breath ragged, as she stared down to watch her own hand on Emma.

For a moment, she paused. Holding still in the center of Emma's chest, so she could feel the pounding of Emma's heart.

She'd known – obviously – that Emma was attracted to her, that she was very affected by their kisses and touches. Hell, she'd gone to sleep every night for a week with the little sounds Emma made as she came, thinking of Regan, in her ears.

Still, it amazed her to feel Emma's heart racing the same way her own was.

Exhaling shakily, she inched her hand down…

Emma's chest was heaving with the panting breaths she let out, making the tops of her breasts rise out of the cups of her bra, and Regan didn't bother to bite back the keening whine that worked out of her, as she stroked her fingertips over the tops of Emma's breasts, before dipping down into her cleavage, and…

"I was staring right here when I registered how much I wanted to touch you," she whispered, reverently.

She could still visualize that moment, so clearly, in her head. Looking down at Emma as she'd been perched on the arm of the chair in the bookstore, starting at her face, before moving her gaze to her thighs, then – right here. And she'd wanted this – exactly this moment, as she stroked her fingertips over Emma's chest – so badly at that moment.

"Then touch me," Emma urged, her nails biting into the backs of Regan's upper thighs. Right under her ass, as they slipped under the hem of Regan's shorts.

Regan was itching to do just that, and her hands were shaking as she – reluctantly – dropped away from Emma's chest so she could undo the buttons on Emma's shirt. "I need this off. This, and your bra. I love your bras, I really do," she confessed, even though she was certain it wasn't a secret at all. "They're so sexy, but – take it off ," she demanded, tugging down hard on Emma's shirt.

She couldn't completely undo all of the buttons herself, as she needed Emma to lean back so she could get to the bottom ones, and she needed it done now .

Emma hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. "I just… I'm just – a little self-conscious," she whispered, a rawness in her tone that mixed with the edge of arousal. "No one's seen me – all of me – in… a while. And even then, it was just one person, so…"

Regan squeezed her eyes closed, trying to reach for some semblance of calm. "I, um, I… we don't…"

God, she couldn't even find any words with how jumbled she felt inside, how the molten desire in her had twisted her up.

"I want to," Emma insisted, reminding her, "I decided to do this, remember?" She arched a teasing look up at Regan. Still, she swallowed, hard. "I just, I want you to know what I'm feeling."

That vulnerability in Emma's voice, that etched over her face, was the key to cutting through – a little – Regan's arousal. Making way amidst the heat inside of her for something soft, something that made her heart flutter in her chest.

"Thanks for telling me," she murmured, honestly. "I would never want to do anything you're uncomfortable with, I just…" She dipped her gaze back down, where her hand was resting just below Emma's bra, on her soft stomach. "I think you are so fucking sexy. Everything about you."

Emma nodded with her words, blowing out a low breath. "You've never made me doubt that."

Regan wondered, errantly, if Felicity had. Because – from everything Regan had gathered and been told – Felicity hadn't been the sweetest or most romantic or enthusiastic girlfriend. Regan was a much better one, in her own humble opinion.

"And, you know…" She lifted her eyes back up to meet Emma's, grinning crookedly. "I have seen you shirtless, multiple times. As you've said before. I've slept with your body against mine every night for a week. I know your stomach isn't flat, and that you aren't ripped, or whatever." She shrugged. "I want you exactly the way you are. Like… desperately," she admitted.

Taking a deep breath in attempt to stabilize herself, Regan reached back and grabbed one of Emma's hands. She guided it around, tracing Emma's touch over to the front of her thigh, as she pushed herself up on her knees. Even though it was her own hand moving Emma's, she shivered so intensely, her hips jerking with it.

She paused for a second so she could watch Emma's face and make sure she really did want to do this right now. Before she gripped Emma's wrist and guided her touch up her inner own inner thigh, until she felt Emma's fingers brush against her pussy through her underwear.

A moan rumbled through her chest, her eyes fluttering closed of their own accord, as she rolled her hips down and tightened her grip on Emma's wrist. Holding her firmly so her touch didn't disappear. Regan might die if it did.

Emma gasped, then groaned, " Regan , fuck."

Without Regan's hand guiding her, Emma flexed her fingers against Regan. Rocking against her, intently, as she breathed, "You're so wet; you're soaking my fingers and I'm not even touching you yet."

"I know," she panted back, rolling her hips down as she nodded, rapidly. "I know. I'm this wet for you every night. All of the time."

She released Emma's wrist, scratching her nails down her forearm.

"So, when I tell you that I want you , I mean it," she grit out, swearing as Emma slid her fingertips, knowingly, right over her clit. "You can feel how much I mean it."

Disappointment rolled through her when Emma's touch disappeared, only to be replaced by elation a moment later. Because Emma's hands went right to her own shirt, finishing the last of the buttons Regan hadn't been able to get to, before she reached back…

Regan's breath caught and held in her throat, the anticipation buzzing through her. Emma's eyes stayed locked on hers, as she undid her bra, and slid it off.

"Jesus," she breathed, and this truly did feel like a holy moment.

Emma's breasts were luscious and supple and immediately, Regan reached out, palming them.

They were much more than a handful; at least, much more than Regan could fit in her hands. She cupped, first, wanting to feel their weight, before she stroked her fingertips over the bottom curve.

"You're so soft," she breathed, mesmerized by watching her own hands map every inch of Emma's chest.

She circled her thumbs over Emma's nipples. Nipples that were so hard, and somehow, even softer than her skin.

"You have breasts, too," Emma murmured back, and there was a combination of amusement and heat in her tone. She could pretend Regan's touch wasn't igniting her inside the same as it was to Regan, but she could feel how erratic Emma's breathing was with every firm swipe Regan made over her nipples.

She shot Emma an admonishing look. "Not like this ."

With that, she reached up to push Emma back against the couch, urging her to recline against the cushion. As soon as Emma did, Regan leaned in, so ready.

Ready to play out every want, every thought, every desire to explore Emma's body that she'd had for weeks.

Voracious, she captured one of Emma's nipples with her lips. Emma liked her lips; she'd told Regan multiple times. With that in mind, she wrapped them around Emma's nipple and sucked, before releasing… lightly brushing over the very tip with her bottom lip.

She both felt and heard the long, whimpering moan that escaped Emma, and it fed even deeper into Regan's hunger. She'd wondered for weeks if Emma was sensitive, how responsive she was. And now, she got to taste it. Got to feel it. The way Emma's nipple got impossibly harder against her mouth, how Emma's breath hitched and caught in her throat.

One of her hands roamed lower, stroking over Emma's perfect curves – finally, finally, unhindered by a stitch of clothing – as the other continued to toy with Emma's breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers, tugging on it. Testing out different things to see what got the best response from Emma.

Because Regan would be damned if she'd waited for so long – fantasized so many nights with Emma across the hall – and she didn't take full advantage of this moment. This moment to confirm for herself how perfect this felt, to show Emma how raw her hunger truly was.

She planted open-mouthed kisses over the inner curve of Emma's breast, before she licked up the center of her chest, every taste leaving Regan both satisfied and still wanting more.

Especially as one of Emma's hands tightened in her hair, gripping but not moving Regan's head anywhere. There was a neediness in her grip, the same that burned through Regan. She felt Emma's other hand as she dug her nails into Regan's shoulder, then scratched lower, over her shoulder blade, and Regan knew she'd have scratches on her back.

The idea made her groan against Emma, her clit throbbing. Yes, she wanted to be marked by Emma. She wanted the physical reminder of their night, in any way possible. Every way possible.

She tasted Emma everywhere she possibly could in their position. Every inch of her chest, alternating sucking and lightly dragging her teeth over Emma's nipples, feeling the way Emma's hips jerked up against her.

And no matter how forcefully Regan rocked her own hips down, it wasn't enough. She was aching and so wet, her underwear was so uncomfortable, and she wanted it all off . She wanted everything off, desperately. She wanted not a single stitch left on either of them. She wanted – no, she needed – to stop running into the waist of Emma's fucking pants, every time she stroked her fingers down, wanting so badly to be able to touch Emma's thighs.

With that in mind, she forced herself to pull back.

It was hard as hell, because she didn't want to give an inch of this closeness up.

Her lips tingled, craving Emma's skin, as she stared down at Emma. Whose eyes were heavily lidded, her cheeks flushed, her naked chest moving so deliciously with every ragged breath she took.

"Bedroom," Regan managed to pant out. "Sutton and I promised we'd never defile the living room couch, and I respect that promise, and I need us to go to my bedroom – now."

She'd never been more relieved, more turned the fuck on, than she was when Emma nodded with no hesitation.

Regan's knees were weak as she slid off Emma's lap and stood, and – wait, what?

As soon as gravity took over, her overalls slid off her body, pooling at her feet, leaving her standing in front of Emma in her sports bra and ruined underwear.

"When did you do that?" She asked, pointing down at her overall straps, which were – clearly – unsnapped. "I didn't even feel it."

"When you were biting my nipple, and I felt like I was going crazy needing to touch more of you," Emma answered, smartly, her voice hardly more than a rasp.

"You're perfect." Regan stepped out of her overalls and grabbed Emma's hand tightly, pulling her up. "Let's go."

Because she was seconds away from stripping them both down and pushing Emma back down against the couch, promises to her best friend be damned.