The Night I Caved [Flashback]

The Night I Caved [Flashback]
I almost managed to ignore him. Almost.
After fifteen solid minutes of passive-aggressive silence, me fiddling with the straw in my drink while Reagan entertained a few friends who’d stopped by..I finally stood up.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, short and clipped. More for breathing space than any real need.
But I barely made one step before a hand closed around my wrist. “Come with me,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
He was already on his feet, fully in Reagan Milano mode. Tall, dominant, his intensity crowding the air around us. “I’m bored. And I know you are too.”
“Let go of my hand first. Then try that line again without sounding like a kidnapper.”
He grinned. “Fine. Want to get out of here for a while, Miss Domingo?”
I shot him a look. “Reagan…”
“Trust me.”
Two words. Two damn words that sent my pulse straight to my throat. He didn’t wait for a yes. His grip tightened, and suddenly I was being pulled through the crowd, swept along like a current I couldn’t fight.
I glanced at Naomi. She gaped, then gave me two thumbs-up. Joy already had her phone up, recording.
“If I die tonight, my body’s in the lake behind the engineering building,” I muttered.
Reagan only laughed under his breath.
The second we stepped outside, the night air wrapped cool against my skin. Streetlights reflected off the wet pavement, and I realized he was leading me toward the motorcycle lot.
“We came in a car. Why are we—”
“Sebastian borrowed my bike earlier. I want to take it. With you. Get on.”
The matte-black beast in front of me looked like it belonged in a cologne ad. A spare helmet dangled from the handlebar. Reagan leaned against the seat, one brow raised.
“I’m wearing a skirt, you idiot.”
He glanced down, as if noticing just now, then smirked. “I promise I won’t look.” He paused, then added shamelessly, “Much.”
I hissed at him through my teeth. Still, I shoved on the helmet and climbed aboard in the least graceful way possible.
The moment I wrapped my arms around his waist, the scent of leather and soap hit me hard. My heart slammed against my ribs. He revved the engine, and the low rumble vibrating under us made me swallow hard.
God.
Bad decision. Terrible.
But my body wasn’t agreeing.
We tore out of the lot, the growl of the bike turning heads. I buried my face against his back, unsure if it was to hide the heat in my cheeks or shield against the night air cutting sharp against my skin.
We stopped at a small hill, the night wind heavy with damp earth and wildflowers. The city below sparkled, a thousand secrets flickering in the dark. Reagan killed the engine with a slow, almost lazy motion, too calm for a guy who’d just dragged me out of a bar.
I climbed off first, awkward thanks to my skirt and the fact that my pulse hadn’t slowed. He didn’t laugh. He just leaned against the bike and held out a hand. I didn’t take it.
“Why here?” I crossed my arms even though the air wasn’t nearly cold enough to justify it. “Do you make a habit of kidnapping girls from bars and hauling them up to lonely hills?”
Reagan smirked. “Only the ones wearing crescent-moon necklaces and smelling like libraries.”
I swallowed. Damn him.
We let the silence stretch, nothing but the rustle of leaves and the sweep of wind between us. But it wasn’t awkward. Not with him. Just… too much. Like a room with the music turned up too loud. You couldn’t breathe, but you didn’t want to leave either.
“I needed a break from everyone,” he said at last. “And you… somehow, you always manage to shut my head off.”
My eyes locked on his. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Gretta.” The way he said my name felt different, heavier. “You do realize I like you, right?”
I laughed under my breath. “You also like vodka, sarcasm, and making people uncomfortable. Doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
He stepped closer. Just enough to make my chest tighten.
“I could have anyone on this campus. But I came to your flat. Sat on your couch. Ate that sad excuse for a sandwich you made.” Another step closer. “You know why?”
I couldn’t answer.
He stopped a breath away, close enough that I caught the scent of leather, soap, and night. “Because you’re the only one who doesn’t bow to me. And it’s driving me insane.”
My mouth opened but nothing came out. His eyes stayed locked on me, dissecting every layer like he had all the time in the world.
“If you tell me to stop,” he said softly, “I’ll stop. I’ll walk back to the bar, find someone else, and disappear from your flat.” His head dipped, his lips brushing the air by my ear. “But that’s not what you want, is it?”
My pulse hammered at my throat. “I should hate you,” I whispered.
Reagan smiled, slow and quiet. “Yeah. You should.”
His hand came up to my face, fingertips cold but touch featherlight, like he was afraid I’d vanish if he pressed too hard.
“You want me to kiss you tonight?” he asked.
I stared at him.
In the dark, with the city lights scattered below us like counterfeit stars, Reagan looked like something caught between a nightmare and a fantasy, temptation wrapped in dominance.
His presence was already a demand. His silence spoke louder than a shout.
I didn’t answer. Even my breath refused to move. He didn’t need me to. He always knew when to close the distance. And he did.
Slowly.
His nose brushed my cheek first. His breath was warm, his lips hovering at the corner of my mouth but refusing to land. He just waited. Gave me space. Gave me choice.
But he knew damn well I never really had one.
The kiss came like a whispered sin. Deep. Deliberate. The kind that detonated in my chest.
He kissed me like he already owned me, like fighting it was pointless.
My hands balled into fists at my sides. Rigid. Resisting.
Then he pulled me closer. His body solid and hot against mine. His breath caught in the kiss, and in that split second I hated how much I loved it.
My fists loosened.
I caved.
God. I caved like a ship without an anchor.
My hands climbed to his neck, dragging myself deeper into the kiss.
He growled low in his chest, and I felt it vibrate through me. His hand found my waist, yanking me closer until there was no space left to breathe.
The kiss shifted. From soft to greedy. From confession to possession.
His mouth kept finding mine, again and again, like he was memorizing me through taste. And I let him.
There’s no graceful way to explain how my body responded to Reagan Milano. No logical way to love a man who shattered the calm of my world.
But up there on that hill, with the city lights flickering like false stars, logic didn’t matter anymore.
All I could think was this: God should’ve made Reagan Milano a warning label.
Because every piece of him made me want to sin.