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Because for as sweet and unassuming and helpful as Remy has been over the last week, he hasn’t lost any of his intensity. Even in the peek of his smile and the light in his eyes, there’s a darkness that lurks deep inside him. A side untapped, unchanneled, unchallenged. It’s the steely quiet of his past and the abundant possibility of his future. He controls his destiny—that much is for sure. I just wish I weren’t starting to feel like I’d be okay if he controlled mine too.
“Remy,” I whisper, my whole body giving over to the feeling in one location.
The warmth and steady pressure of his tongue.
The soft certainty of his moves.
I can’t think about anything else.
My initial instinct is to close my thighs around his head—to squeeze him like a vise to assure myself that he can’t and won’t escape.
But as always, Remy knows better than me, moving my thighs apart with the soft push of his hands and challenging me with a look that could ruin women forever—strong, determined brow, twinkling blue eyes, and the most enchanting curve of his perfect, soft lips.
“Leave them open, Ria. Give me room to work.”
I nod then, feeling more confident in my ability now that I’ve been ordered to comply. I don’t have a whole lot of Dom/sub-style daydreams, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel really good to submit when the rest of your life is made up of decisions and responsibility.
Remy’s tongue strokes and prods, and my stomach tightens with all the tension that’s left the rest of my body. Languid and light, my limbs have given over to the feeling of nonexistence. I’m nothing but my clit right now—and the torturous rub of Remy’s perfect fingertips at the pinnacle of my G-spot.
My head lolls back and my eyes feel heavy, overcome with sensation. I reach out to gather a chunk of Remy’s perfect hair in my hand, and he hums a moan against me.
It feels like heaven—vibrating, pulsating, debilitating heaven.
“You taste so fucking good, Ria. I thought I’d forgotten, but now that I’ve felt you on my tongue again, I know I didn’t. Best fucking pussy on the planet.”
Okay, holy shit, that’s some Grade A dirty talk.
I have to admit, his level of skill in that arena has changed a little since our teenage days. He was good then, but he was just a boy. Now, he’s all man.
I don’t want to come like this, though, with Remy all the way down there. I want to come with him inside me, his face in my hands, his eyes staring into my own.
“Rem,” I murmur, the softness of my voice the only volume I’m able to manage. “I want you inside me.”
He sucks harder on my clit, pushing my back up off the bed and forcing my eyes to roll back. It’s all I can do to hold off the rolling wave of pleasure pulsing at the base of my spine.
“Remy!” I cry, just as he climbs up my body and covers mine with his. I don’t know how anything happens from that moment to the next, but before I can complain again, he’s inside me, a condom in place on his cock.
I can’t exactly see the protection from this angle, but I can feel it. And as much as I appreciate his care with safety, I fucking hate it. Loathe that I can’t feel him skin-on-skin without the risk of conceiving a baby the traditional way.
All that thankfully flies out of my head when he starts to move, in and out of me with his elbows on the bed at the sides of my head.
The feel of his thighs on mine is one I’m not likely to forget anytime soon. It might be a weird thing to focus on, but aside from the actual penetration, there’s nothing to me that feels more intimate.
Remy moves his thumbs over my face, then tilting my chin up gently to gain my attention. He makes short work of locking his gaze with my own, and I take even less time to get lost in it.
Vivid, swirling blue, his eyes are the kind that tell stories of their own. Of pain and loss and triumph and joy. Their beauty isn’t just surface-level—they’re vibrantly multidimensional.
He groans richly, his head falling forward to meet our foreheads as his pace slows and deepens.
My throat dries out and my back arches and my eyes fall closed without my permission. I don’t…I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like this. The need, the build, the perfect, exquisitely torturous pace.
Being connected with Remington Winslow is an experience like no other.
Being reconnected with him over half my life later is an experience beyond description.
“Rem,” I whisper, knowing with intense clarity that I’m oh so close to losing myself over the edge. “Remy,” I repeat, forming the only word I can.
