Remy
Cushion-soft, pouty lips kiss across my cheek to my jaw. Sharp teeth nip my earlobe, the pain instantly soothed by the flick of his wet, warm tongue. My hands find his waist, muscle flexing under my palms as I reel him onto my lap. He smiles into my neck—
“Did you switch medications again without telling me?” Andrea asks around a mouthful of breakfast potatoes. “You’re acting weird as fuck.”
The lovely illicit daydream evaporates. Win shouldn’t have put his sinful mouth anywhere near me. He’s infected my defective brain and I’m too susceptible to his unique form of torment. He says he’s the addict? Yeah, right. I’m the fucking junkie flirting with heroin after years of sobriety.
Fingers snap in my face.
“Remy Sullivan are you in there? Did aliens finally take you to their ship for anal probes?” Her nose wrinkles. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
Despite my unintentional all-nighter ignoring my relentless erection, I agreed to meet up with my best friend for brunch. Declining would’ve been suspicious.
I stab one of her potatoes with my fork. “My meds are the same and unfortunately I’m still on this shithole planet.”
She sags in relief.
Peace only lasts ten seconds.
“This is about Win, isn’t it?”
Motherfucking fuck me upside down.
I shove the potato in my mouth.
She fists her knife and leans across the table, rattling our plates and mimosas.
“Do I need to shove this up his ass?”
I cringe. “What’s with you and assholes today?”
She points the knife an inch from my nose, egg and avocado dripping off the tip. I retreat with a grimace. “Can you get that out of my face?”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
She waves the knife like she’s wielding a magic wand. “Avoiding the question, you sneaky little shit.”
Stealing a forkful of eggs benedict, I contemplate the best route to derail her. Bring up who she left the club with? Maybe the haunted house tour she asked me to go on—
“You fucked him, didn’t you?”
My fork clatters to the table, elbow bumping my champagne flute. I barely stop it from crashing to the ground but end up drenching my arm in orange juice and bubbly.
She justhadto go there. No, Win and I never got that far when we were together, but we did more than enough for me to imagine it. Curse her for kicking open the floodgates on fantasies I was trying in vain to keep at bay.Win on his back beneath me.The little pants he makes when he’s close. His mouth everywhere. Sliding into his tight—
I dump the remains of my mimosa down my throat and slam the glass down. “No!”
Her brown eyes narrow. “Something happened though, because you’re red as a tomato.”
I’m not surprised; my face is on fucking fire.
She props her elbows on the table, squinting as she digs the tip of the knife into her pointer finger, twisting it back and forth. Either she’ll cut the truth out of me or save me from my tortured existence.
She does neither because my stupid mouth opens.
“He came over last night.”
