Sheltering Reagan Read online

  Sheltering Reagan

  Mountain Mastery Series

  By

  Avery Gale

  © Copyright August 2017 by Avery Gale

  ISBN 978-1-944472-40-5

  All cover art and logo © Copyright 2017 by Avery Gale

  All rights reserved.

  Mountain Mastery® and Avery Gale® are registered trademarks

  Published by Avery Gale Books

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publishing company.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Avery Gale

  Prologue

  Pleasure. Nothing but mind-numbing pleasure. Reagan moaned when she felt the smooth sheet beneath her. The fabric slid against her bare back in a sensual caress…a cool contrast to the heat pressing against her chest and lower abdomen. Hot skin and the rasp of soft hair arrowing down to a taut abdomen blanketed her in warmth. Fucking hell, the ridges of his six-pack sent sparks of electricity straight to her sex.

  Her nipples were hypersensitive, the faintest brush of air making her empty pussy clench in need. The clips pinching her nipples made them throb in time with every beat of her heart. The silky hair on his legs rubbed against the inside of Reagan’s thighs, as he pushed them farther apart. With her arms bound to the headboard, she couldn’t do anything to alleviate the pressure growing inside her, and it grew exponentially with every breath she took.

  Calloused fingers moved over her ribs, tracing a path down her torso until they bracketed her hips. The feeling of being restrained made her breath catch as goose bumps raced over her fiery skin. “Like being restrained, do you? I will test that, Reagan. Tying you down and pushing your limits will be my greatest pleasure.”

  When she didn’t respond, he tightened his grip. The hold might have seemed punishing if she hadn’t wanted him so badly she could barely think. “What do you want, Reagan? Tell me.” This wasn’t a rhetorical question. He expected an answer.

  Tell him? Was he serious? Reagan wanted to feel him slide his cock into her wet sheath, the ridges and veins lighting up each and every nerve ending. She panted, her breaths coming so fast and shallow she worried she might hyperventilate. And with blood pooling in her breasts and sex, there wasn’t enough to feed the part of her brain responsible for coherent speech. He expected an answer, but she wasn’t sure her brain was getting enough oxygen to work properly.

  “More.” She was elated she’d been able to string enough letters together to form a real word.

  “More what? More of this?” His tongue lashed her left nipple, making her moan in response. “No? Then perhaps more of this?” He moved up to seal his lips over hers, his tongue ravaging her mouth, leaving no part untouched. This wasn’t a kiss of seduction; this was a claiming, and it sent her spiraling closer to release. By the time he pulled back, Reagan’s head was swimming. Damn, the man could make her come just by kissing her.

  Even though she couldn’t see his face, she felt to her bones who was shifting lower, wedging his cock at her entrance. The smooth head was flame hot, and she squirmed in a futile attempt to press herself onto his length. The man chuckled, and the vibrations ignited every cell in her body. “Please.” Reagan wasn’t sure what she was begging for, but he seemed to understand what she hadn’t been able to put into words.

  “How can I say no when you ask so sweetly?” With a swivel of his hips, he pushed in far enough to make her gasp at the sudden stretch of her swollen tissues. The burn was exquisite, and she tried unsuccessfully to tilt her hips up and force him deeper. “So very greedy. I knew you’d be perfect. Your body responds perfectly to my touch; it knows we were matched by the heavens.

  “Mine.” His voice was gruff…his own desire challenging the usual smoky tone as he growled the word against her ear. The resonating timbre ratcheted her desire higher each time he made love to her. “Say it. Say you are mine.”

  “Yes. Yours.” And she was. Everything in her realized the truth. As soon as the words crossed her lips, he thrust into her depths. The scorching stretch launched her over the edge straight into a blinding orgasm where brilliant white lights singed the insides of her eyelids. Every muscle in her body contracted as electricity blazed over nerve endings like lightning. She smothered her scream against his shoulder, but his continued thrusts were stealing her ability to think.

  The sound of his harsh breathing against her ear, the sweet words of encouragement, and the soul stealing orgasm she could feel building in her core were too much to assimilate. “You belong to me. Don’t ever doubt that. You are mine, Peach.”

  The minute he called her by the sweet nickname he’d given her, Reagan came awake with a start.

  Sitting up in bed, she clutched the sheet to her chest. She gasped for breath as her mind slowly surfaced from the fog of the dream and drifted back from the edge of the release she’d been so close to. Dammit to all. Holy fucking fudge, she’d wanted that second orgasm. Her body was practically vibrating off the bed with the need to find the relief she’d been so close to.

  She’d had the same dream for the past several nights, each one progressing further into intimacy they shared. What did it mean that she was suddenly dreaming about the man she’d been watching for several months?

  Looking at her bedside clock, Reagan sighed in defeat. She needed to get up and take another shower. Maybe she could wash away the memory of how his hands felt as they skimmed over her bare flesh. Hopefully, the scent of her body shampoo would wash away the lingering scent of his musk from her memory. She was embarrassingly wet, but the feeling that she’d been denied something special taunted her as she shivered in the cold room.

  While she waited for the water to warm up, Reagan sent a quick text to Kelsey asking for a ride. If she had to shower in a sixty-degree bathroom, she needed the water as warm as possible. Since her co-worker had to drive by Reagan’s apartment, she didn’t ordinarily mind stopping. Promising to be waiting outside in fifteen minutes, Reagan finished her shower in record time. There wasn’t enough time to dry her hair. She’d be lucky if she didn’t catch her death standing on the curb this early in the morning in the flimsy jacket she called a coat.

  Rushing out the door, she wondered what the dreams meant. Rafe N
ewell had barely spoken to her beyond polite greetings and telling her she smelled like peaches. Pushing the questions to the back of her mind, Reagan climbed into Kelsey’s warm car and settled in to listen to the other woman recount all the intimate details of the date she’d had the previous night. The woman had no filters. Reagan wished her own car wasn’t on the fritz again, but wishes didn’t change facts, and they damned well didn’t pay the bills.

  Chapter One

  Reagan Walsh bit her bottom lip as she watched Rafe Newell’s long legs eat up the distance as he crossed the tarmac. It should be a crime for any man to be so good looking. Six plus feet of pure dominant male. His dark hair looked like it was a couple of weeks past a scheduled trim, the soft waves curling at the collar of his white linen shirt. With his tie loosened and suit jacket slung over his shoulder, his sauntering gait made him appear more like a GQ model than a world-renowned plastic surgeon.

  “You’re drooling, Reagan.” Kelsey Jones was the first person Reagan met when she moved to Montana. Over time, they’d become friends because they spent so many hours together at work. The two of them usually spent their lunch breaks dreaming about finding better jobs, but there didn’t seem to be much on the horizon for either of them.

  Reagan kept hearing rumors the small regional air carrier they worked for planned to merge with a larger company on the west coast, but her boss hadn’t confirmed or denied the chatter. Being the paranoid person she was, Reagan had recently accepted a part-time waitressing job at a nearby kink club. She’d nearly tripped over her own feet the first night when she’d seen the man who starred in all her sexual fantasies walk into the club’s opulent main room.

  “I am not drooling.” She caught herself before she could smooth her fingers over her mouth to check, a move she was certain would earn her a bark of laughter and weeks of relentless teasing from her friend. “Oh my God, he’s coming in.” In all the months she’d been watching him, he’d never deviated from his set path. Pilot Rafe had proven to be as predictable as Master Rafe was unpredictable.

  “Places to go, people to see. I’m outta here. Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Kelsey’s sing-song voice was tinged with something other than fun as it faded into the back room. Reagan was alone when Rafe pushed open the glass door of the cargo company’s small office, and she could have sworn all the air was suddenly sucked out of the room, leaving her gasping for oxygen.

  He’s probably lost. Don’t panic. And for fucksake don’t babble. Reagan forced a smile in greeting and sent up a silent prayer Kelsey had been kidding about the drool.

  “Good afternoon, Reagan.” His deep voice sent shock waves of need all the way to her core.

  “Dr. Newell, h-hi. W-what can I do for you?” Damn her nervous stutter.

  His panty-dropping smile sent a surge of heat searing through her, and she felt her cheeks flame. “Are you working at the club this evening?”

  Landon and Savannah Nixon had gotten married a few days earlier and were celebrating this evening with a reception at Mountain Mastery. Reagan had been asked to serve during the last half of the party and to help the caterers clean up since she was familiar with where things belonged in the club’s enormous storage room.

  “Yes, Sir.” His eyes widened, and she saw heat flash in them before it was masked behind his usual cool, indifferent expression.

  “Very good, Peach.” His smooth voice flowed over her like warm honey, and Reagan felt the warmth all the way to her toes.

  He’d given her the nickname the first night she’d worked at the club. She’d leaned close, trying to clean up a spilled drink, and inadvertently sent her long chestnut hair tumbling over his bare arm. He’d wrapped the waist length strands around his hand and tugged her closer enough he could bury his nose in the silky locks. Whispering against her ear, Master Rafe had told her, “You smell like peaches. Are you as sweet and juicy as a ripe peach, Reagan?” His question had shocked her, but she hadn’t gotten an opportunity to answer. Master Nate’s admonishment that she was working caused Rafe to release her, but not before he’d ignited something deep inside her. Reagan’s knees had been quaking so violently she’d worried her legs wouldn’t hold her up.

  “Reagan?” His use of her real name startled her out of the foray she’d taken into the memory. Damn, had he asked her a question? “Where were you?”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t play coy, Peach. I spoke to you twice before you responded. Tell me what was so enchanting it changed your respiration rate and dilated those pretty brown eyes.”

  “Peaches. Umm, I was just remembering my first night at the club. You said I smelled like peaches.” He didn’t respond, but his lips twitched in amusement. “I’m sorry. Did you want me to do something for you this evening?”

  The minute the words slipped past her lips, Reagan was certain she’d made a mistake. The blatant sexual innuendo mortified her. Covering her face with her hands, she shook her head. “Oh, God. I swear I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Hmmm? Pity.” She didn’t need to see his face to know he was amused. She could practically hear the laughter in his voice. Sucking in a deep breath, she put her hands back on the counter. “What time do you get off work?”

  Reagan glanced at her watch before answering. “In fifteen minutes. I’m the last one here, so I will begin locking up in a few minutes. Did you need something, Sir?”

  “Do you have plans for dinner?”

  “D-dinner?” God bless it, she sounded like a stammering fool. And everything about Rafe Newell made her as jumpy as frog legs in a hot skillet.

  “Yes, the meal one usually eats in the evening?” He grinned at her, and she felt her cheeks flame again. Using the backs of his fingers, he brushed over the hot flesh. “You flush such a beautiful shade of red. I wonder what other parts of you I could turn that lovely hue?”

  She glanced down at the ugly khaki uniform shirt she wore with her well-worn jeans and sighed. “I’m not really dressed to go out.” It wouldn’t matter if she had time to go home and change since she didn’t have anything remotely nice enough for a dinner date. At one time, she’d had a closet full of beautiful clothes. But those, along with the shoes and jewelry she’d sold, were all part of the price she’d paid for her escape.

  When she looked up, he was studying her closely. “I’m interested in the person beneath the clothing, Peach. Did you drive to work?”

  “No, Sir. I rode with Kelsey.” And she bolted when she saw you headed this way.

  “And where is Kelsey now?” The small lines between his brows were the only indication he wasn’t pleased.

  “Umm, she had to leave, I guess.” Reagan wasn’t going to tell him the other woman had laughed at her more than once for staring as he’d walked by. Kelsey had a way of making Reagan feel like a girl from the wrong side of the tracks watching a party from afar.

  “And she left you here alone without a ride?” When she didn’t respond, he shook his head. “Sweetheart, I do believe you need to reevaluate your dependence on co-workers for rides. How would you have gotten home?”

  “It’s only a few miles. I usually walk to the bus stop and then…” She didn’t finish because she could have sworn she heard him growl.

  “Lock up and let’s go get something to eat. Then I’ll take you to your place so you can get whatever you need for work.”

  Rafe reined in his growing frustration. Didn’t it figure that the day he’d finally decided to ask Reagan to dinner, she’d be talking to the one woman he made every effort to avoid? He’d had a clear view into the office as he walked across the small airport’s open tarmac and seen the two women standing at the counter. Reagan’s attention had been focused on him, her expression a perfect mixture of desire and apprehension. He doubted she understood what a siren’s call that combination was to a man as sexually dominant as Rafe.

  His reputation as a sadist had been exaggerated by the club’s rabid rumor mill, but it wasn’t entirely witho
ut merit. Most sadists gained their sexual pleasure from causing pain; Rafe’s came from pushing a submissive’s boundaries until they were a heartbeat from snapping. He wanted subs to experience the blurring of the line between pleasure and pain. Gaining a submissive’s trust—having her surrender her body into his care—was a heady feeling. The significance of that gift couldn’t be overstated.

  Sending a willing submissive into sub-space was the goal of every scene. The subs he played with understood what he expected. They were also certain he’d go to the mat to take them to entirely new levels of sexual satisfaction. Opening a sub’s eyes to higher, more intense levels of pleasure would put a smile on any Dom’s face. But one of the first things newbie subs discovered was that he only played at the club. He didn’t date club members—ever.

  Rafe had the feeling Reagan Walsh was going to be an exception to every rule. She’d caught his eye months ago when he’d walked by as she was washing the wall of windows at the front of the local airports only cargo carrier. She’d been watching him in the glass reflection, and when he’d spoken to her as he passed, she’d smiled sweetly and nodded in response. He had gotten the impression she was shy rather than unfriendly; something about her intrigued him. The next week, he’d made a point to fly in at approximately the same time, hoping to see her again. They’d repeated the same dance of distance for two more weeks before he’d shown up an hour late one Thursday and missed her.

  Cursing his scatterbrained assistant for overscheduling him before a three-day weekend, Rafe had been in such a foul mood he’d almost re-boarded his jet and returned to San Francisco. One of the perks of flying himself was being able to leave as soon as the ground crew finished refueling. But his co-pilot was already glued to his date in a lip-lock Rafe worried might melt the asphalt from the parking lot. Muttering under his breath, Rafe decided there was no reason to spoil their fun just because he’d missed saying hello to a woman he still hadn’t had the courage to talk to.