“No more tears, I can’t take it. Let’s have dinner.” I link her hand in mine and lead her to the kitchen.
I grab out all of the ingredients I need to make blackened chicken with fettuccine Alfredo. Lainey opens the delicious bottle of wine she brought. We spend the rest of the night dancing in the kitchen while we are cooking, talking, laughing, kissing, and making my house finally feel like a true home.
19
Lainey
This must be what heaven feels like. I am surrounded by the masculine smell of cedar, soap, and something that is uniquely Remington. His even more rugged arms have slipped around me, holding me close, and I have never felt this kind of peace before. I look down at his left forearm and try not to drool at the combination of muscle and tattoos.
Remington asked me to stay the night last night after we had the best dinner and spent a couple hours relaxing and watchingParks and Recsnuggled up together on his couch. It was late and he didn’t want me to drive home. I didn’t want to leave, either. After our talk earlier, when I asked if we could take things slow, I knew he was not just trying to get me to stay so he could have sex with me. That’s not who Remington is.
We got ready for bed together, and it was not ever even a question as to where I was going to sleep: In his bed, in his arms, was the only option. He gave me an extra toothbrush and one of his T-shirts to sleep in. Being that he’s six-three it fits me more like a nightgown. When I walked out of his bathroom, his eyes darkened as they roamed a hungry glance over my body, lingering on my bare legs. He gave me a quick, firmkiss, walked into the bathroom, shut the door hard, and turned on the shower.
When he came back out, I was scrolling on my phone. It slipped right out of my hands when I looked up at my boyfriend.Holy freaking shit ... This man!?I get to callthis manmy boyfriend? We need a new word, there isnothingboy about thisman.
He walked out of his bathroom with only black basketball shorts on, sandy blond hair slightly damp and messy from toweling it dry. His muscles have muscles. His abs have abs. And that sexy V thing that I thought was a myth? Nope, it’s a real thing, and Remington has it—complete with a tattoo on the right side of his ribs running down to his hip with flames and script in black and grey ink. That tattoo reads “bringing calm to chaos.”
I also got to see the full sleeve on his left arm for the first time. It goes from his wrist all the way up his arm, wrapping around his shoulder—and it isstunning. Again, there are no bright bursts of color. All black and grey tones, which fits Remington perfectly. His upper arm has a fireman’s face with helmet and face shield in place surrounded by flames and Celtic designs. His inner bicep has the Fox Grove fire department logo, and there is an American bald eagle flying across his shoulder in a forest scene. There is a large, intricate cross on his inner forearm and the American flag wrapping around the front of his arm. There’s so much detail to all of his tattoos. Trees, flames, rivers of intention and hours upon hours of complex artwork fill up his skin. He is a walking canvas, and my eyes are hungry to take in every little detail.
I am gently running my finger along the very realistic stitching of the flag when Remington’s arms pull me even closer, a rumble from his chest and his hard length announcing that his body is very much awake. Hot kisses arepeppered up my neck until he gets to my ear, and whispers, “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Mmmm, good morning,” I whisper, pushing myself back into him and he grips my hip, trying to still me.
“Lainey,” Remington warns.
“I’m sorrrrry,” I whine, annoyed with myself and my stupid requests.
What were they again?
As if he can read my mind, Remington says, “Baby, if you keep rubbing that perfect ass against my cock, the last thing that will happen is us taking things slowly like you asked last night. I promised you snuggling and a French toast breakfast. And you are literally making it very hard to stick to that promise.” He kisses my neck again and I moan.
He throws the warm covers off of himself and launches out of the bed. I can’t help but let out a giggle as I look down at themassiveproblem tenting his shorts right now. “Please for the love of ... don’t laugh at my pain right now. I am trying my best here.” Remington adjusts himself as he walks into the bathroom. I hear him turn on the water and start to brush his teeth. Snuggling back into the pillows, I suck in a deep breath and float in my feelings of happiness for a few minutes before I force myself out of bed, too.
After Remington leaves the bedroom, I go through my very short morning routine of going to the bathroom, washing my hands, and brushing my teeth. Looking in the mirror, my hair is messy but manageable, and my eyes have a new brightness to them, one that has been sparked to life by the presence of one man.
I meet Remington in the kitchen. Still shirtless and in his shorts, he has coffee brewing, a teapot warming on the stove, and is whipping up the ingredients for French toast. It already smells amazing and has my mouth watering. I walk up behindRemington and wrap him in a hug as he works, pressing my cheek against his strong, warm back.
“Can I help you with breakfast?” I offer.
“Nope,” he says, shifting so he is facing me, holding me in his arms. Tucking the hair behind both of my ears, he frames my face in his hands. His rich, honey-colored eyes look extra pretty right now with the morning light picking up little flecks of bright gold that are normally well hidden. “I have been excited to make you your favorite food since you texted me about it. So all you need to do is take a seat at the counter and enjoy your cup of tea while I cook for us.” Remington kisses me and I want more. I roll my tongue along his lip, and he lets me in, then he takes control and devours me just the way he knows I like him to. We stand there in his kitchen kissing, touching, and getting lost in each other until we pull apart breathing heavily.
I bite my lip and blush. Remington gives me a look that tells me the last thing he wants for breakfast is French-freaking-toast, gives me one more fast kiss, and puts me on one of the three barstools lined up at his island countertop. “No more distracting me. I need to feed my woman.”
Swoon.
I think my nipples just cut his T-shirt open.
I think I might climb over this counter and keep distracting him.
Hearing him call me “his woman” ... nobody has ever called me that before. I never knew that’s something I would like or want. Now it feels like anecessity.
“Say that again ... please.” I look at him shyly. I am not used to asking for what I want, but Remington makes me feel brave.
“I need to feed my woman?” he asks, confirming my new kink.
“Yes,” I say in a breathy whisper.
“Do you like it when I call youmine, Lainey?” Remington dries his hands on a dish towel and walks to me in a confident prowl, spinning me so he can stand between my legs.
