I start trembling at the end of the bed, all my emotions, all my raging hormones, all my cells, all my being, buzzing at his words. My entire body throbs with love, lust, and the physical agony of being denied my Remy fix for weeks. Shaking, I reach out and lovingly stroke three fingers down the hard line of his jaw. “This,” I say, the word breaking from my lips, “is what I see in my bedroom. This face. This face is all I see, all I see, Remy.”
“Damn you, take this shit off and let me look at my Brooke.”
He grabs my wig and tosses it aside, then he holds my gaze as our smiles fade. The air between us pulses and leaps like our need is a living, breathing thing between us. “Why would anyone want to cover this hair?” Quietly, he eases the net off the top of my head, and the low rustling sound is all that is audible in the room.
Slow, deliciously expert fingers delve into my bun and work to loosen my hair, and the contact of his fingertips against my scalp sends frissons down my spine.
By the time he frees the mahogany strands so they fall on my shoulders, my thighs have dissolved into a puddle along with the rest of me. A thin sheen of sweat coats his thick throat, and his pecs glisten, too. His torso is so tight and so solid it seems as impenetrable as a steel wall, as if nothing can ever hurt him. His arm muscles bulge as he strokes his hands down my hair, and I’m as unraveled as my bun.
When I speak, my voice is as husky as I’ve ever heard it. “I was supposed to be an old groupie.”
“My,” he says, in a whisper that is so much deeper and rougher than mine.
“What?”
“My sweet . . . disobedient . . . favorite little groupie.”
Being called his again . . .
A sound escapes me, and he hears me. Bolts of heat race to my sex as he edges one hand under my dress. Vividly tender blue eyes watch me as his fingers brush up higher inside my thigh, and my heart gallops full speed.
He looks at my mouth, and oh god, I’m flooded with need. He ducks first to taste my mouth, parting it, lipstick and all while, under my dress, his finger slides over the fabric of my panties. His tongue slides over mine, and as he lays me back on the bed, I shiver as I open my mouth and moan softly.
It feels right, right, so right. . . .
He teases the edge at the crotch of my panties; then he eases it aside and his finger directly caresses me. A thunderstorm of desire rages in me as I softly kiss him. He tastes like him, and also of my stupid lipstick, and I’m dying as he guides me open with his finger and then here comes his tongue. Hot and moist, going around mine, then coaxing me to follow him and drink from his mouth as he slowly eases that middle finger inside me.
My body arches to his.
He whispers, into my mouth, “If you can come to my fight, you can come in my arms.”
My breathing goes as he drags his finger inside my channel. I feel me squeeze around him, my body greedy to have anything of his inside me. He adds his thumb to tease my clitoris, and when he edges back to watch my face as he plays with the wettest, hottest part of my body, his mouth is smeared with my lipstick, his jaw is tight with desire, his eyes brilliant blue, his beautiful face staring down at me, and god, I swear he looks as sexy as if some other woman kissed him. I’m jealous of myself and of my lipstick as I thrash and toss my head. “Remington . . .”
He groans and gives me another kiss, this one fast and hard, with a nip of his teeth, before he draws back and withdraws his finger.
Without any hurry at all, he tugs open each and every one of the buttons of my floral dress. Every cell in my body is frenzied as I sit up and help him undo the bottom ones while he undoes the top.
“Quickly, oh, god, touch me,” I gasp.
“Shh,” he croons as he parts the dress right through the middle, easing the fabric aside so he can take me in my white cotton underwear. My nipples poke out through the fabric of my bra, and my panties are damp, and I didn’t think it was even possible for his eyes to get any darker or hungrier than they previously were.
“God, I could eat you.”
Before I know it, he finds the center clasp of my bra with his thumbs, and as he shoves it aside and rubs his fingers around my areolas, he nibbles his way along my mouth, bottom lip, top lip, until he ducks his head and takes one nipple in his mouth.
Oooh, I hear. And it’s me. Making all these noises. Undulating against him.
He rubs the tip of his tongue over the point of my nipple and ripples of pleasure shoot through me. He slides his hand back into my panties, and I drive my fingers into his hair. He seems so hungry, and I’m so thirsty, the instant his middle finger eases into me, I’m so swollen, so wet, so desperate, feeling his mouth sucking on my breast like he’s starved for me, I start coming.
My fingers clutch his hair in a fist, and I make an oooooohing sound as my head falls back as my muscles start contracting and releasing, contracting and releasing, and he moves his finger slowly, dragging out the pleasure for me, as he sucks my breast even harder, unleashing torrent after torrent of pleasure in me.
“Oh god,” I cry, and I rear up to cling to him and turn my face into his neck, where I run my tongue over his delicious taut skin, drinking him desperately. “Oh god, I’m dying for you to make me yours. To feel you. You. Inside me.”
He watches me as I catch my breath, the possessive gleam in his eyes galvanizing me. “I’m not done with you,” he tenderly tells me, making me lick up his wet finger. “I’m going to fuck your mouth with mine, your pussy with my fingers, with my tongue, with any part of me I can. And you’re going to kiss my cock like there’s no tomorrow.”
“I want to kiss your cock now.”
“Not now.” He steps away and strips off his boxing attire until he’s all tanned skin, muscles, tattoos, and . . . My eyes bulge as I watch him take his huge, beautiful erection into the shower and run the tub. He comes to get me, and my eyes burn at the sight of his beautiful standing cock, so close to the star tattoo above it.
I want to kiss that part of him like I want to kiss the rest of him. No. I don’t just want to kiss. I want to lick. Suck. Savor. And claim him, mine, forever and ever.
Before I can grab him and play with him like he played with me, he takes my arm, pulls me to my feet, and then walks me to the huge Jacuzzi tub. Round and bone-colored, it sits in the middle of the room, and as he closes the knobs, I brace myself on one of his arms and dip my feet into the water, then I wait for him to follow me. He steps in behind me and lowers us into the warm water, turning on the Jacuzzi motors as we settle deep.
My eyes drift shut as he envelops me in his arms and immediately starts licking my neck. “Remy . . .” I breathe.
His teeth graze the back of my neck and then he rasps, into my ear, “Nothing in this world tastes as good as you, your skin, your tongue, nothing is as sweet and juicy as your pussy.” He lifts me suddenly from the water and turns me around, but he remains seated in the tub and his face is level with my sex. He spreads his hands on my thighs to part my legs wider and buries his head between my legs, kissing my pussy for a whole minute, stroking my clit with his tongue, then shoving his tongue into my channel. I can feel his growl vibrate all the way through me, and when he’s done tasting to his pleasure, he turns me back around and lowers me back with him.
“You get even wetter after you come,” he tells me in my ear, his voice thick as syrup, then he quietly starts soaping my hair. “And these . . . are bigger and heavier.”
He runs soapy hands over my breasts, and all my blood seems to be pumping south to my clit, and to the tips of my nipples. “Yes,” I barely manage. “They’re so sensitive, they’re always puckered.”
“They want to be sucked,” he breathes against the back of my ear, and the way he rolls that in his tongue, as though he’s already tasting my puckered nipples, makes my clit throb.
I can feel his erection on my back, and it’s so freaking hard, it pulses against my skin, and my tongue is restless in my mouth because I need to wrap it around the head of his cock so badly. I take some soap and scrub my face, trying to get rid of all this makeup.
“There,” I say, turning and quickly lathering his hair.
He watches me with a smirk, like he knows the reason for my hurry. As I kneel and run shampoo over his hair and try to wash it off with a conch by the side of the tub, I straddle him so that the huge bulge of his erection—the huge delicious bulge—is right there, between my thighs, as I wash off his shampoo. He leans over and starts sucking the wet drops of water from my nipples. I cry out, and he grabs my ass and drags me harder against the bulge while his sucking motions make my toes curl.
“Does that hurt?” he rasps, tugging the tip of a nipple with his teeth.
“No, ooh, Remy, it feels so good.”
He groans and rocks his hips to me as he repeats his sucking on my other breast.
“Shit, Brooke, I could come just sucking you, hearing you . . .”
“I could come being sucked . . . hearing you groan . . .”
He grabs one breast and sucks the other so hard, I whimper and start moving over his hips, and before I know it, I’m imagining lifting my hips, taking his cock in me, and riding him, and begging him to fill me, again and again. He halts me.
“I’m not coming in a tub. The only place I’m coming is on you,” he rumbles.
“Take me to bed to fool around,” I anxiously breathe, wrapping my arms around his neck.
By the time he carries me out of the tub and wraps me in a towel, bringing me to bed, I’m a quaking mass of red-hot need. What he says next makes me quake even harder.
“I want to tear you to pieces, I want you so much. I want to pinch, bite, and suck your nipples, all at once.” He lays me on the bed and opens the towel over me, then he immediately starts licking me dry. Oh god, I can’t breathe, think, I think I can’t even live as he starts pinching my nipples while licking me elsewhere.
“Remington . . .”
He is mesmerizing. The atmosphere around me has changed until all we have is a bed, and me, and him. I swear I can feel the thunderbolts between our bodies. He swirls his tongue up my throat, and I almost break at the feel of his familiar, deliciously raspy calluses on my skin when he drags them down my curves. “I’ve seen you . . . in my head . . . every fucking hour of every day . . .” he murmurs.
He scents my neck and cups one breast again, and I shudder when he squeezes the flesh and licks my collarbone. My fingers run down his slick back, his every muscle delineated under my fingers, and oh my god, he is holding me. In his arms. He’s wet, the air cold, but all he wants is to dry and lick me.
I grab his stubbly jaw in both my hands. “Remington Tate,” I moan, crushing my mouth against his.
He takes my lips with even more force, sucking my tongue. “Brooke fucking Dumas.” Watching me with hot eyes, he tortures my nipples with his thumbs, and I slide my hand down his body and start caressing his hard length.
“Make me kiss you.” Curling my fingers around the head of his erection, I suck greedily on his wet tongue. “Tell me to kiss you right here. If I can’t have you between my legs, I want you in my mouth.”