His own deep inhalation reaches my ears, and I find myself touching his mouth with a lone fingertip. His lips are so plump and firm, but at the same time, smooth and silky. I feel a quick, damp flick as his tongue flashes out to lick me, and a shudder shoots through my spine. He groans and pulls my whole finger into his mouth and closes his eyes as he sucks it.
“Remington…” I breathe.
“Honey, I’m home!”
We spring apart at the sound of a slamming door and Pete’s sarcastic voice.
“Just wanted to make sure you guys got here okay. Scorpion sure seems to have a hard-on to get your ass back in jail.”
The lights flare on, and Remington drops my finger as if it’s a loaded gun and rises and goes to the window, and he’s breathing hard, audibly hard. As hard as I am.
I’m instantly on my feet. “I’d better go.”
Pete takes in the scene with an impassive face, and he doesn’t say anything as I rush across the room to leave. “I’ll just wait for you here, Rem,” Pete says calmly.
Remy doesn’t respond but follows me to my room.
I feel his body warmth on my back as I slide my key into the slot. I hear him breathing behind me, still a little unevenly, against my hair. I want him, but I can now see past my open door to the first of the queen beds, and Diane’s feet are in it.
My ni**les are two hard points pushing into my bra, my panties soaked from all night of desperately wanting him. I want him, so bad, I feel a knot of need and frustration doubling in size in my throat, because I can’t have him. How will things change if we do anything? It just can’t work. It can’t be. I’m his employee and this is only temporary and a one-night stand with him is no longer an option. Is it? I like him too much. Oh, god. I like him. Too. Much.
“Goodnight,” I whisper, forcing myself to look at his handsome face.
The violent tenderness in his eyes seeps into every pore of my body, and he grabs me and plants a kiss on my lips, quick and dry, but it bursts open a wealth of longing inside me, like it did the first night he kissed me in Seattle, and he whispers, “You look beautiful.” He runs his thumb with desperation along my jaw, and tilts my chin up, kissing my lips, dry and quick again. “So damn beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off you all evening.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m once again in my room, hearing him call me beautiful, I’m so beautiful, and I’m shaking as if I’m na**d and alone in the middle of a hurricane.
I cover myself with all the blankets in my bed and put my fist against my lips as though that can lock his kiss in them, and an eternity later, I hate that I’m still awake, and that I’m still trembling.
And I just don’t know what I’m going to do, but I want to make him mine more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Even the Olympics.
Miami is not so hot
We’re flying to Miami today.
The front seating section of the plane is talking about Scorpion and the “off-ring fight” that almost ensued last night. I sit in the back bench with him, as seems to be becoming the usual, and we’ve just brought out our headphones. He has his iPod in his hand and is already searching his songs, and I’m searching mine, not sure if the song I’m choosing will be listened to by me, or by him.
In the car on our way over, he extended out his arm and whispered, “Fix my wrist for me.”
He has the thickest, most dense wrist I’ve ever seen, and as soon as I started moving it, I just knew it was an excuse to get me to touch him, for it felt perfectly mobile, which makes my pu**y clench as I remember. Does he want my touch as badly as I want his?
“Put a song on for me,” he whispers now. Amazing, how one look from him can flip my heart over.
I nod, but I’m wavering between what to play. He’s searching around too, and I see him hesitate as well.
Neither of us is smiling anymore. Neither of us has smiled since yesterday. When we almost did something crazy and … wonderful.
I’m still looking for a song when he hands me his iPod and I plug my headphones in to listen, and the song that starts is Survivor’s “High on You.” It flashes me back to his first fight as I pay attention to what the lyrics say.
They play in my ear, sounding fun, upbeat, and joyful, reminding me how I stood watching him fight, and later, how the crowd crushed around us and how his hand touched mine, and how we both felt electrified…
I’m feeling so equally mischievous and frustrated, I just want to see what he’ll do if I do something crazy, so I search for a really fun older song I recently heard revived in an episode of Glee, called “Anyway You Want It,” by Journey, and I pass it over to him.
He starts listening with a smile, and when he realizes the chorus is basically saying he can get “it” any way he’d like, he lifts his eyes to mine. There’s a question inside those eyes, and his gaze jumps restlessly between my eyes and lips, eyes and lips, until it falls and stick on my lips. I lick them, and I notice his eyes grow so heavy, they seem weighted.
“Rem,” Pete calls from up front.
“He’s got headphones on, he can’t hear you,” I respond, for I could hear since my song was no longer playing.
“Jesus, stop turning him on, Brooke. Especially if you’re not going to…”
A laugh escapes me, and Remy, oblivious to what Pete just said, seems deeply absorbed with me and the music. I don’t know what his stare means, but he dips his head closer. “Play me another one,” he roughly commands, his somber blue eyes staring intently.
I hesitate for a moment, but inside, I’m bubbling with lust and mischief, so I go all out with another oldies song that seems fitting, and play, “All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You,” by Heart.
The moment the chorus begins, I notice that his pupils are wildly dilated. My breath catches, and I realize by playing that song, I am basically begging the man to make love to me, to say that he will…
Anxiety about the ravenous look on his face makes me slide back on the couch as he leans forward. His gaze holds mine as he dips his dark head lower, his stare so hot, it galvanizes me.
He slides his hand around my waist and brings me a little closer to him, then he angles his head and presses his lips into my ear. I think he just kissed my ear. My nerve endings sing when he grabs his iPod and puts on music for me. He plays “Iris” again, watching me as every beat steals my breath again, and the lyrics make me want to weep.
Flooded with longing, I hold his gaze as the song plays, and his eyes are as ardent and consuming as the words I’m hearing. When the song ends, he removes my headphones and pulls off his, his breath cragged and uneven as he leans into me and kisses my ear again. “Do you want me?” he asks in a guttural voice that sends the hairs on my body up in alert.
I nod fiercely against his head, and his hands clench around my hips. He ducks into my neck and inhales me. A shudder bursts through me, and I’m awash with the sudden certainty that tonight, tonight after the first Miami fight, Remington is going to make love to me.
The rest of the flight he keeps his arm around my shoulders and pins me to his strong side, and he keeps making sexual foreplay to my ear, the only place where the others can’t really see what he’s doing to me. He tugs my earlobe with his teeth, licks the shell of my ear, and has forgotten all about playing music for me. While I shudder wantonly, wet and squirming as I keep glancing at his jeans, which burst with the fullness of his erection. The volume straining the denim is so staggering that my hands itch, my tongue wants to taste him, lick him, my pu**y clenches in desperate desire.
We arrive at the five star hotel, and the heady combo of anticipation and arousal I’ve been struggling with shoots through the roof when I realize Remy has booked me into the two-bedroom presidential suite with him. As the keys are handed out, everyone else seems to notice too.
“I sincerely hope you know what you’re getting into,” Pete says in a concerned whisper, his brow scrunched worriedly at the corners.
Diane’s eyes are almost tear-filled when she tugs me aside at the lobby. “Oh, Brooke, please reconsider rooming with me again?”
Riley comes over and looks at me with all openness, patting my shoulder like I’m going to war. “He’s trying the hardest I’ve ever seen him try for you, B.”
Their attitudes don’t really confound me.
I know they’re worried this will end badly. I’m Remington’s employee and only a temporary one, and he has a bad reputation with tons of evidence behind it. He obviously has a little bit of a temper and can prove to be too hot to handle. But even though he’s so strong, I know instinctively that he’d never hurt me, and he’s never done anything to demonstrate otherwise. The rest doesn’t matter right now. It just doesn’t matter to me at all. I want him. With a force I haven’t felt in over six years. And I’m going to go for it.
Maybe I have a red self-destruct button too?
The nerves about what will happen run me raw as we go up to our rooms to ready for the fight, and suddenly I need Melanie so bad I pull my cell phone out of my purse and immediately text her, since it’s been a couple of days since I have.
Brooke: How’s my BFFFFFFFFFFFF!