RR&R 01 Real (17 page)
I especially resent the fact that their dreams for my worldwide stardom shattered the day that my knee did, and I know that they don’t truly believe that I will ever be able to live a “full” life now.
It would be so much easier to deal with them if Nora would do more than just send a monthly postcard too.
Heading back to the hotel, I spot Diane at the gift shop, and we share a quick lunch.
Pete tells me our guy isn’t doing well today,” she says, her tone both questioning and sad.
She nods.
I see,” I say, weakly, and set my fork down. “Is it because he doesn’t handle alcohol well or is it some sort of anger issue?”
“
I’d say it’s an anger issue but I don’t know for sure.” Lifting her iced tea, Diane leans back and shrugs. “I’m the one who knows least about it. All I know is Remy is a handful.” She nods meaningfully, and sips through the straw. “A
handful.
Which is why I really, truly want you to reconsider before you … well, of course, unless you already …?”
“
Nothing happened, Diane.” I rub my forehead and ask for the check.
It takes hours to get the room into a semblance of order, and once I’ve got all the glass in piles near the door, I call housekeeping and request a dozen plastic bags to haul it all out. Once that’s done, I jump in the shower.
wanted
to sleep with Remy, and now that we’re sharing a room for the first time, I’m not moving out and leaving him alone here.
Remington
to tell me.
My heart shudders. I think the sedative has worn off, since he stands perfectly upright, with only one hand braced lightly on the doorframe, maybe for support. I straighten up higher on my arms. “Are you all right?” I ask, my voice concerned and cottony.
His voice is gruff and craggy. “I want to sleep with you. Just sleep.”
My stomach turns.
He waits for me to reply, but I can’t. I want to cry and I don’t know why, but I attribute it to being hung over and dangerously close to falling in love with a man I don’t even know.
He comes over, lifts me, and carries me down the hall, back to the master room, to the wide, unmade king bed.
him
… makes me feel way too good. Too safe. Too happy.
I desperately want him to tell me what’s wrong. What happened? Can’t he control himself? Why did they react like this? Does he have a problem with violence and unresolved anger issues? Who the fuck
hurt
him? I think of why he was kicked out of boxing, how he’d been angered with Scorpion at the club, dangerously close to sabotaging his career again. But I don’t think he wants to talk right now. He seems lazy and gentle, and the darkness, the silence, feels so holy, I don’t want to break it.
Instead, I lie next to him while every pore in my body screams for us to physically connect. I try not to want it, because I know that this is not the moment. I don’t know what kind of sedative he was given, or how long it lasts, but I know that later he might not even remember that he’s here with
me
. Even
I
might not remember. I’m so tired and hung over I don’t trust my thoughts at this point.
“
Just sleep, okay?” I whisper at his throat, even though I swear I ache for this man somewhere beyond my body, beyond even my heart.
“
Just sleep.” He pulls me closer to him, and I can feel his erection between us, fiercely hard and pulsing with life, making me shiver inside. “And this,” he murmurs.
He slows me down with his tongue, his fingers twined in my hair, guiding my head to the slow, drugging rhythm of his mouth. God, I want him to touch me in all the parts where he can fit. Everywhere. Anywhere. I’m so swollen and lubricated, I thrum, and he’s so hard between our abdomens, I know how much he wants me too. But we said just “sleep” … and “this” … and now I don’t want “this” to stop.
He kisses me so slowly and so deeply that I run out of breath. He only unlatches my mouth to allow me to catch my breath, and then, he brushes his tongue back against mine, stroking my lips, the roof of my mouth, and my teeth. He suckles, sucks, turns, twists. I fall in love with his kiss so fast, that soon I don’t know where my hands are, where I’m lying.
My entire body is consumed by the way he fucks my mouth until my lips are raw and swollen and it hurts to kiss him back even though my frenzied body demands more. When I’m sure I’ve tasted blood from either his lips or mine or both, I draw back to breathe and pant, noticing his cut has reopened. He’s the one bleeding from kissing me. I moan softly and lick him gently, and he groans with his eyes closed. He sifts his fingers down my hair and pushes my face to the crook of his neck, cuddling me, his chest rising hard and fast under mine.
.
Pete and Riley ride up front with Diane and Lupe, and I’m in the back of the plane with Remington. He’s with his beats on, but I’m not, and instead I try to listen to Pete and Riley’s heated conversation. Remy hasn’t trained in four days, even when Riley woke us up that morning. I went to change and waited downstairs, but Remy never appeared. He didn’t come out of his room any of the following days either.
Except for me.
There’s something going on between us, and I’m afraid to give it a name. For the past four evenings, he’s come get me from my room and carry me back to his, and on this last one, I even stayed the full day.
We kiss each other like it’s all we’ve been waiting for during the day, which in my case is the complete truth. Melanie has texted after my drunken message about having sex with Remy. She wants to know if I’ll be popping out little Remys soon. And I just don’t know what we’re doing, but the way he kisses me feels like I’m his crack and he gets high on me. As soon as we hit the bed, his mouth fuses with mine and doesn’t let go. His arms hold me pinned to his body as if I ground him. I feel like his anchor, and he feels as powerful and exciting as a free fall.
His points can’t keep him in first place forever,” Riley mutters now, and there’s no mistaking the impending doom in his voice. “He’s already down to second, verging on third. He can’t lose a single night and he can’t miss a fight anymore.”
Remy can’t miss any more fights. It’s all about points in this championship, so if we’re going for first, then he can’t miss any more fights and he
certainly
can’t afford to lose.”
“
He’s not eating,” Diane says ruefully.
“
He’s not training,” Coach adds bitterly.
“
And his eyes are still black.”
If he goes out with those devil black eyes to fight, one little part of him disagrees with what the referee says, and he might take the fucking
asshole out.”
Rem is not every athlete, if he doesn’t train he gets speedy,” Pete tells me.
I roll my eyes, sick of the term already. “Anything
doesn’t
drive him speedy?”
“
Actually, yes. Peace and quiet. But he’s not turning into a monk anytime soon, is he?”
Seriously I don’t see what’s so wrong about him taking time out. Some of my athlete friends get completely depressed and crash after competition. What comes up so high has to come down, and neurotransmitters sometimes get a little wacky. “Look, your body can only be pushed so far, especially the way
he
pushes. So he missed a fight? Big deal. His strength will likely improve with a couple days’ rest and he’ll kick ass in Denver.”
I
don’t know, I guess we’ll all have to remain wondering.
beautiful
creature who tortures me with wanting him.
I remember moaning. Remember the way he smiles against my lips at the drawn-out sound, and the way he turns very serious and intense as he comes back to taste me and sucks my lower lip and then bites and suckles the skin at my throat. I remember his body pressing against mine and my pussy throbbing with the nearness of his erection. Our tongues. Hot and desperate, flicking and probing. I want him so much it’s all I can think about. I think I begged him last night, “Please…” but I was so drugged with lust I’m not even sure. What I do know is that he stops sometimes, when his breath is crazy fast, and takes a cold shower.
But he comes back, wearing drawstring pants or tight sexy boxers, and once again envelops my body with the sheer size and protective shield of his, only to bend that dark head to mine and continue torturing me. He fucks my ear with slow, deep flicks of his tongue. He does the same to my mouth. Laps and tastes my throat. My collarbone. He gets me so hot, my teeth chatter from the way the air feels so cold on my flesh. Arousal drips down my thighs. My nipples become hard as diamonds. He works me to a lather, to the point where a mere sip of his mouth makes me moan from deep inside, like I’ve just been penetrated.
He’s taking it so slowly with me I feel like a teenager and a virgin, though I certainly am neither. But I feel claimed, and bonded to him like animals do. I feel like I’ve been already caught and trapped and he’s merely priming me, leaving me to simmer in my juices, anxiously waiting for the moment when he takes his first bite of me.
