Chapter 16 #2
Reagan closes the door behind us, and the atmosphere shifts immediately.
Months of tension, stolen moments in safe houses, the constant awareness of wanting each other.
But never this. Never the security of Echo Base, the certainty that we're safe, the knowledge that we have all night with no one listening or watching.
Now we have both.
She turns to face me, and the heat in her eyes matches what I'm feeling. "We're really here. We're safe."
"For now."
"I'll take it." She crosses the space between us, hands finding my shirt. "I'll take whatever time we have."
I kiss her, and there's nothing tentative about it. Nothing held back. Her mouth opens under mine, and she tastes like bourbon and want and the security of finally being home. My hands slide under her shirt, finding warm skin, and she arches into the touch with a sound that goes straight to my gut.
"Dylan." My name is breathless, urgent. "We're finally home. Really home."
"Yeah." I pull her shirt over her head, revealing skin that still makes my breath catch. "We are."
She works at my belt, fingers quick and efficient, and then we're moving toward the bed.
She pushes me down, follows me, her body settling over mine in a way that feels inevitable and perfect.
Her hands map my chest, tracing old scars and newer wounds with focused attention that makes my breath catch.
"You're beautiful," she says, and means it. “Not the scars, not the damage, but the whole package. The man who chose to protect instead of destroy, who pulled a kid out of Syria and gave him a future.”
Her mouth follows where her hands led, kissing down my chest, my abdomen. When she reaches my waist, she looks up at me, eyes dark with intent. "My turn."
"Reagan—"
"Let me." Her hand wraps around me, and the sensation is electric. "You take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you."
She takes me in her mouth, and my hips jerk involuntarily. Her tongue works me with deliberate skill, finding the rhythm that makes my breath come short. I thread my fingers through her hair, not controlling, just contact, grounding myself in the sensation.
She hums around me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. Takes me deeper, and I have to fight the urge to thrust. Her hand works what her mouth can't take, a perfect coordination that has me white-knuckling the sheets.
"Reagan." Her name comes out strangled. "I'm close."
She doesn't stop. Increases her pace instead, doubling down, and the edge rushes up faster than I can control. My orgasm hits hard, and she takes everything, swallows, then slowly releases me with a satisfied sound.
When she crawls back up my body, she's smiling. "Better?"
"You have no idea."
"Oh, I think I do." She kisses me, and I taste myself on her lips.
I roll us, reversing positions, pinning her beneath me. Her hair spreads across the pillow, dark and wild. "My turn."
Her remaining clothes disappear quickly.
Her jeans, her underwear, until there's nothing between us but skin and want.
I kiss down her throat, her collarbone, lower.
She threads her fingers through my hair, guiding me, encouraging me.
When I reach her breasts, I take my time, learning what makes her breath hitch, what makes her moan.
Her nipples are sensitive, darkening under my attention, and she makes desperate sounds when I use my teeth.
"Dylan." My name is a plea. "Please."
"Please what?" I move lower, kissing across her ribs, her stomach. "Use your words."
"You know what I want." She's breathing hard, her body taut with anticipation. "Stop teasing."
"Not teasing. Enjoying."
I settle between her thighs, kissing the soft skin there. The first touch of my tongue makes her cry out. She's already wet, ready, and the taste of her is addictive. I work her slowly, learning her responses, finding the rhythm that makes her hips buck and her hands fist in the sheets.
"Oh god." She's panting now, thighs trembling. "Dylan, I'm going to—"
"Do it." I increase pressure, add fingers, and she breaks apart with a sound that's half sob. The orgasm rolls through her in waves, and I hold her through it, gentle now, letting her ride it out.
When she comes back to herself, her eyes are dark with satisfaction and renewed hunger. "Get up here."
I move back up her body, and she kisses me hard, tasting herself on my lips. Her hand wraps around me, stroking with practiced confidence. Heat builds fast.
"Reagan." Her name comes out rough. "Slow down or this ends too fast."
"Then don't go slow." She guides me to her entrance, and the heat is overwhelming. "I want you. Now."
I push inside slowly, giving her time to adjust, and she's tight and wet and perfect. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and we both groan.
"Move." She digs her nails into my back. "Dylan, please move."
I start slow, but slow doesn't last. The need is too great, the intensity too high. Our rhythm builds quickly, bodies finding synchronization that feels like it's always existed. She meets me thrust for thrust, taking everything I give and demanding more.
"Harder." She's gasping, eyes locked on mine. "I need harder."
I give her what she wants, and the sound she makes is pure satisfaction. Her second orgasm builds fast—she tightens around me, movements turning desperate.
"Come with me." She pulls my mouth down to hers. "Don't hold back."
Her words push me over the edge. My orgasm hits like a freight train, overwhelming and complete, and she follows seconds later. We ride it out together, bodies locked, sharing breath and pleasure and something deeper than just physical release.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, skin slick with sweat, breathing slowly returning to normal. Reagan's head rests on my chest, my hand tracing lazy patterns on her back.
"That was perfect," she says eventually.
"Yeah." I kiss the top of her head. "It was."
"We're good at this. Us. Together."
"We're good at a lot of things together." My hand stops moving on her back. "Question is whether we can sustain it. This life. The missions, the danger, the constant threat."
"I killed someone six weeks ago. Shot him in the throat while he was trying to kill Khalid." She pauses. "I'd do it again. Not because I want to kill people, but because protecting the people I care about matters more."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes, it is." Her hand finds my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "I chose this when I chose you. When I chose to expose the Committee. This is who we are now."
"The monsters fight back too."
"I know, but we're still here. We're still breathing. We're still making them pay for what they've done. That's something."
She's right. The leadership escaped prosecution, but the organization is bleeding. Morrison's legacy is destroyed. Protocol Seven is condemned internationally. We didn't get the clean victory, the total destruction of everything the Committee built.
But we got this. Reagan, Khalid, the team, a facility that represents everything we're fighting for. People to protect. A purpose beyond survival.
And the Committee knows now—they're not untouchable. We proved they can bleed. Every defector, every prosecution, every exposure chips away at their power. Webb and the others at the top might stay insulated for now, but their empire is cracking.
"You're thinking too much." Reagan kisses me, soft and sweet. "Stop thinking. Just be here with me."
"I'm here."
"Good." She settles back against my chest. "Because I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. We're in this together now."
Sleep comes easier than it has in months. Reagan's weight against me, her breathing steady and even, the security of Echo Base surrounding us. For the first time in years, I let myself believe that maybe this is sustainable. Maybe we can have this.
Maybe we can win.
I wake to an empty bed and the sound of Reagan's voice in the next room, already on a call with one of her sources. Business as usual, even after everything.
I pull on clothes and find her at the desk, laptop open, notes scattered everywhere. She's chasing a new lead already, pursuing the next thread that can't wait.
"Committee financial officer in Nevada," she explains without me asking. "He's nervous. Wants to talk but needs assurances. I'm working on getting him protective custody."
"Another one flipping."
"Another one deciding he doesn't want to go down with their ship." She makes a note on her pad. "This is how we win, Dylan. One defector at a time."
A knock at the door interrupts us. Khalid stands in the hallway, already dressed for training, energy radiating off him in waves.
"Mercer said he'd work with me this morning. Hand-to-hand combat." The kid's excitement is barely contained. "Can I?"
"Yeah." The answer is immediate. "And Khalid, listen to him. Mercer knows what he's doing."
"I always listen." Khalid grins, the expression transforming his usually serious face. "I just don't always obey."
He's gone before I can respond, racing toward the training spaces with enthusiasm that only comes from finally having a home.
Reagan watches him go, then turns to me. "We're doing this. Building a future here."
"Yeah." I cross to her, pull her up from the desk, kiss her properly. "We are."
"Good." She kisses me back, then pulls away. "Because I have work to do. And you have a training session to supervise."
"Later?"
"Later." The promise in her voice makes it clear what later means. "Always later."
I leave her to her investigation and head toward the training area where Khalid's already warming up under Mercer's watchful eye. The kid's form is improving, technique getting cleaner, confidence building.
Kane appears beside me, watching the same scene. "You did good, bringing them here."
"They proved themselves."
"They did." He's quiet for a moment. "The Committee leadership is still out there. The organization is damaged but not destroyed. This fight isn't over."
"I know."
"But you're okay with that."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I didn't get the clean victory. Didn't get the leadership in prison, didn't destroy everything they built." I gesture at Khalid, at Reagan visible through the door still working. "But I got them. Got this team, this place. That's enough."
Kane nods slowly. "Yeah. It is."
Khalid's getting faster. In another year, he'll be formidable. In two, dangerous. The Committee took his family, his home, his childhood.
We're giving him the tools to take something back.
The leadership might be insulated for now. But their organization is bleeding, their people are flipping, and we've proven they're not invincible.
That's a start.