Remy (16 page)

“No, Remy, don’t ask this of me.”

“It’s just to make sure I don’t hurt you.”

“You’d never hurt me.”

I get hot just thinking about the ways she keeps on trying to protect me. I’m fucking sure she knows I’m her mate. If we were in other times, and I couldn’t hunt for a day, I know damn well she could hunt for both of us.

Coach yells from the corner, “Too slow, Riptide, too damn slow. Hit it!”

I glance at the hard bag and punch.
Whack. Whack.
Concentrating on hitting. It comes from your core, and as long as you direct it properly, there’s no fucking way there won’t be power in that punch. I work my core more than anything. Everything I do works it, even jump rope.

I spend all day at the gym, and when I get to my sparring partner, I see Brooke and Melanie at the door. My chest swells with happiness and proprietariness. She signals that they’re leaving, and I pull off my headgear and smile.

I get a rush making her happy. I turn back to my partner and focus. My life had never felt so right. So good. I’ve never felt so accepted or so fucking understood.

That night, Pete summons me to discuss my finances. Brooke is having dinner with Melanie. I glance at my phone but get no text from her.

We’re at the hotel bar.

A woman walks up. “You have amazing eyes.”

I ignore her and turn back to Pete, drilling him: “At what time did she say she’d be back? . . . You sure Riley’s getting her? . . . Why the fuck are they taking so long?”

“Riley texted they’re on their way back,” Pete tells me after like the tenth question, and he sends me up to my room.

I’m withdrawing into myself. I’m restless. My gut feels tight and I don’t trust when I feel this. I grab my headphones and sit down, tapping my foot. I listen to Chevelle’s “The Red.”

When she finally comes in, my chest tightens. Her cheeks are pale, but her eyes well with emotion when she sees me. I don’t know why my gut tightens.

She jumps on my lap, pries off my headphones, and slips them over her head. She frowns at the song. Yeah, she hates those rock songs, and I need to kiss away that frown. I kiss her nose, cradle her jaw, and rub her lips with my thumb. She jumps, drops the headphones onto the desk, and runs to the bedroom.

My gut tightens again, and I sit there, turning off my headphones, restless. I can feel the darkness teasing into me. I’m trying to calm myself. She’s here. She’s back. She’s all right.

I watch her return. Something in her eyes that I can’t pinpoint is feeding my monster ten times over.

“Remy, would you hold me for a bit?”

I study her, confused about what I feel. Then I realize she looks anxious and in need. “Come here.” I shove my chair back and extend my arm, and she wiggles against me as I engulf her. I chuckle softly, instantly calmed in a way that only happens when I touch her.

“You missed me?” I cup her smooth cheeks and tip her head to me.

“Yes,” she gasps.

I gather her to me and set my smile to hers. We stop smiling as the heat crashes through me.

My fingers outline her breasts, my mouth on her jaw, then I’m at the back of her ear, inhaling her, growling softly when her scent fills me. Winding me up and relaxing me. “Remy . . .” I hear the need in my name as she pushes my T-shirt up my shoulders.

I grab it in my fist and toss it aside, then strip her down to her skin, then yank her down to me again, my covered erection grinding in between her thighs. She strokes my chest and kisses every part she can.

“I missed you so much,” she says, running her lips over my jaw, grabbing my hair as she presses close to me.

I engulf her in my arms and stroke her back, then seize her face. “I missed you too.” I set a kiss on her sweet lips, and her nose, and her forehead.

She trembles, pressing so close. I want to open up and let her in any way I can. “But I missed your voice. Your hands. Your mouth . . . being with you . . . watching you . . . touching you . . . smelling you . . .” She takes my lips more desperately.

I try to slow down, but her mouth tastes amazing, and I need to remind myself that she is mine, mine, so I unbutton her and strip her bare as quickly as I can.

I draw her back to my lap when she’s naked.

My whole body clenches when I feel her pussy nestling my erection. She seems undone.

She slides between my thighs and I yank my sweatpants partway down my hips until my hardness pops free, and her fingers are all over me, rubbing, squeezing, caressing.

“I want to kiss you here. . . .” Brooke’s voice shakes with desire as she looks into my lust-tightened face, into eyes that I can barely keep open from the want. “I want to drown in you, Remington. I want your taste . . . in me. . . .”

She takes me in her mouth. Ecstasy burns through me as a sound rumbles up my throat. I need this so bad I rock my hips, slowly, up to her mouth, giving her what she wants and taking what I need. Her tongue runs all over me and her eyes are halfway down as she watches me, and I watch her back, amazed, undone . . . losing myself in her, praying she can rescue me from the dark already starting within me, the high of being manic.

I FEEL LIKE a million fucking bucks.

Who the hell wants to sleep? I feel like climbing a mountain with Brooke on my back, taking her to the top, then flying down on a damn fucking parachute.

I prowl the kitchen and peer into the cupboards. I not only feel like a million bucks, my body feels like a million bucks. My fucking cock feels like a million fucking bucks and I want to give them all to Brooke Dumas.

I stick a granola into my mouth, orange juice, a spoonful of peanut butter. I pound in some more so Brooke can rest, but I am so fucking wired and so fucking hard just knowing she’s in my bed. . . .

I want to feed her and then fuck her and then feed her and then fuck her again and make her feel like a million bucks too, all in that order.

I start with the food and bring a huge bowl of cherries and granola to our room.

She’s there, lying in bed with the sheets at her waist, her tits pressed into the mattress. Fuck I want those tits squished against
me.

Setting the food aside, I jump on the bed, and as I run my hands all over her satin skin, I growl, “You look especially good, Brooke Dumas. Good, and warm, and wet, and I wouldn’t mind having you on my breakfast platter.”

Nudging my face in between the mattress and her chest, I drag my tongue up between her breasts, then lick her collarbone, and her sweet taste seeps into me and drives me wild. “All that’s missing is a cherry on top, but I’m sure we have some.”

I grab a cherry and rub it against her clit.

Groaning with a half smile, she rolls to her back, her legs spread open, her pussy all wet and mine, her eyes all melted for me.

“Who’s your man?” I kiss her, rubbing the cherry around her clit. “Who’s your man, baby?”

“You,” she moans.

“Who do you love?” I prod as I roll her clit under the pad of my thumb and ease my middle finger into her pussy. She stares up at me with half-mast gold eyes, liquid with wanting.

“You drive me crazy, Remy,” she whispers as she wraps her fingers around my cock and pulls me closer.

“If that’s a lie, I’m going to make it true,” I think it fair to warn her.

I grab her hips and shove myself in between her thighs to rub my cock against her sex. I bend down the length of her body because I want to eat her. Lick up from her tiny toes, up the arch of her foot, her delicious calf, her precious knee—where I will linger and give it some love—then up her lean, toned thigh, up to her sweet pussy—which I hope will be soaked like a raining heaven by the time I get there.

Getting down to business, I go forward and nibble my way up the inside of her thigh. She starts laughing and kicks me on the shoulder, but I catch her leg to still it.

“Remy! That tickles.” She’s laughing, trying to pry her leg off my grip.

I cock a brow and run my finger up the arch of her foot, then up the inside of her leg. “This?”

She laughs and kicks again, twisting to get free.

So I swiftly change plans, grasping her wrists and pinning them above her head as I spread my big body over hers. I know she loves it when I hold her down. She can’t move unless I let her, and her eyes are darkening and she’s panting softly beneath me.

“Remy . . .” she says, sobering, her gold eyes both playful and caring as she looks up at me. “Are you speedy?”

I smile wickedly and drag a finger along the inside of her arm. “What do you think, little girl?”

“I think you’re very speedy.” She tugs free and runs her fingers over my hair as she looks into my eyes. My, probably, black eyes.

I bite her thumb gently and then lick it before I let it go. “So what are you going to do about it? Do you want me to lift the bed with you on it? Or do you want me to take you on it?”

She laughs and rolls over, flinging a pillow in my direction. I shove it aside and I grab her by the ankle, pulling her back easily to me. “Get over here.”

She laughs and fights to get free and I watch as she edges to the side of the bed, a peek of her pink pussy teasing me, driving me insane with want. I’m crackling with energy. I think I can fly her out of here if she wants me to.

She drives me so crazy, my every muscle is clenched and poised for me to make her mine. My blood storms through my body like fire rushing through my veins. Right now I want nothing more than to take her to heaven. I feel all-powerful, all-feared. I am Remington Tate “Riptide” and this girl is
Mine.

I reach over the bed and she squeals and tries to stay free, attempting to crawl off the bed. I laugh when I catch her ankle and drag her back to me. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re mine. You get over here and let yourself be taken.”

“No, I need to pee!” she cries, flinging the other pillow at me, then she hurries to the bathroom and closes the door.

“Gah. Come the fuck here,” I growl, knocking on the door. She’s started brushing her teeth, from the sounds of it. Finally, the water stops and I hear her unlock the door. I open it and find her toweling off her hands. I go to her, scoop her up, and she nuzzles my neck as I carry her to the bed.

She sighs. Because she knows I want her. She’s being playful, making me chase.

“What am I going to do with you?” she groans tenderly, her fingers linked on my nape. She’s smiling up at me like I’m some long-lost prince. And what she doesn’t know is that this long-lost prince is going to fuck her into oblivion.

I fling her to the bed, and she squeals delightedly. I drop down on her and ram her legs apart.

I kiss one naked thigh first, then the other, then I kiss her pussy. “This is mine.” I lick it.

Her head falls back and she moans as my thumb steals between the swollen sex lips and dips inside her
.
My mouth waters and I growl softly as I use my thumb to enter her while I rub my tongue across her clit.

She parts her thighs and releases a mew that drives the hunter in me wild with the need to conquer. She starts thrashing and I grab her and hold her still. “Give me what I want, Brooke.”

Tossing her head side to side in pleasure, she whimpers and bites her lips and pumps her hips up to my face. “I’m all yours.”

“That’s right.” I tenderly urge her thighs apart as I come to my knees. “That’s right. Now open up. Let me in.” She does, and I sink between her legs, grip her hips, and my body tightens as I enter. “Yeah,” I say when she moans, tossing her head back. “Who do you love?” I drop my voice, undone by her, and then crush her mouth when she can’t answer me. “Who do you love?”

She moans and buries her lips in my neck, biting me. She murmurs something into my skin, clawing my back.

I moan back and hiss out, “Say my name, Brooke.”

“Remington.” She kisses my ear and tugs on my earlobe with her lips, breathing in my ear, excited. She’s gasping my name in lust, but I pretend she’s answering my question.

She’s wet and hot, and she loves me, and she’s all I’ve ever wanted. Stronger than I imagined, more female than I ever imagined. Funny and nurturing, vulnerable and sassy.

I love her so much my chest hurts as I watch her arch her spine and take me inside. I groan and duck my head as she clutches me to her. I clutch her back and try to slow down, and she rubs my skin with her fingers. She knows I need it and she gives it up to me with no protest. When she’s tired, asleep. When she’s busy, when she’s sweaty, when she’s hungry. She gives it up to me whenever I want, whenever I ask for it, because I’m speedy. Because I’m me. Because I know, deep in my gut, where it sometimes hurts to look at her, Brooke Dumas loves me.

I’VE BEEN AWAKE for eighteen hours and twenty-eight minutes. My heart is pounding thirty-nine beats a minute. Brooke has been in my arms for exactly nine hours and twenty-eight, now twenty-nine, minutes. I’m jacked up and I can’t sleep.

She’s cuddled like a little kitten against me; I want to pet and lick from the top of her head to the soles of her little feet.

I’ve cataloged the room in my head. I know where everything is. I could run in it in the darkness without bumping into anything. I could carry her in my arms without danger. Everything’s in my head—perfectly visualized.

But nothing as perfectly as her face.

Her lips are parted and they shudder on each breath. Shaped like a heart, the bottom one just as juicy as the top. Her cheekbones are high and her eyelashes rest over them, soft-tipped crescents.

I just want to lie here in this bed in this darkened hotel room and drink her in all over again until I’m drunk and high on her.

I am a fucking pendulum.

Any disturbance to my balance, and I swing.

The doctors taught me this.

Once I swing high, nothing on earth will stop me from crashing back down. I fall by gravity. Natural urge of the body to restore balance.