She moans as she reaches up behind her, locking my head to her neck as the crowd dances around us. I grab her h*ps and pull her harder against my c**k and, holy God, I want her.
Heart pounding, I spin her once. Then, her gold eyes lock to mine, I see they’re liquid with wanting. I’m shaking with need as I grab her chin in one open hand and gently nuzzle her.
“Do you know what you’re asking for?” My voice is husky with arousal. “Do you, Brooke?”
She doesn’t reply, so I grab her ass and haul her closer, my mouth almost on hers. I want to have her now. Tonight. I want to wrap my hands in her hair while I pound inside her, I want to smell her desire all over me and drown my tongue in her taste. She slides her fingers up my chest, into my hair.
“Yes.” As she pushes up on her toes, she pulls me down by the head, and suddenly her body slams into mine. My arms fly out to steady her.
“If it isn’t Riptide and his new pu**y,” some dipshit sneers behind her.
Over her dark head, I see the motherfucker.
Scorpion.
A human-size insect, wearing his usual shit-eating smirk, while his three goons flock his side.
The thing about fighting is you never know when to stop. They just shoved Brooke, and I want to shove each of them back to the ground, then break their arms in half. I f**king can’t—and even if I could, right this moment I’d rather take her away from these motherfuckers than stay here and punch their faces in.
“What’s your girlfriend’s name? Whose name does she call out when you f**k her, huh?”
Gathering a piece of her top in my fist, I use it to guide her out of the dance floor, then I turn her to me and block Scorpion’s view of her with my body. “Go back with Riley and ask him to take you to the hotel,” I quietly tell her.
She meets my gaze. “You can’t get in a fight, Remy.”
“We’re talking to you, douche-nozzle,” I hear from over my shoulder.
“I heard you, ass**le, I just don’t give a f**k what you have to say,” I shoot back.
I sense him move and swing around in time to see his fist coming and duck, then I shove him hard enough to slam his ass to the floor. Grabbing the other one by the shirt, I push him back a couple of steps. “Take a hike or I’ll cut your f**king balls off and then feed them to your mother!” I growl as I grab the other two and shove them back, and when the first one stands and approaches me from behind, I let my elbow swing back, high.
His nose cracks under my bone, and he howls.
“Sorry, dude, my bad,” I say.
Scorpion is grinning. I find myself bloodthirsty enough to grin back. You happy I’m about to break your skull in two, motherfucker?
Then, suddenly, Brooke materializes from out of nowhere with two bottles, and she’s whipping them up in the air and crashes them over the two bastard’s heads. Glass explodes and rains down on the floor, then she runs back to the bar so f**king fast she’s like a little bullet.
I would be highly amused if every single protective instinct inside me hadn’t shot off the charts, and if she hadn’t run back with a third bottle—a third f**king bottle!
I grab it from her hand before she can do anything and nudge her back toward the bar, where I slam it down hard. Then I toss her over my shoulder and charge back to the private rooms. I swear if I don’t get her out of here right now, I’m going to end up killing someone.
Brooke squirms and tries to pry herself free, slamming her fists into my back, complaining, “Remington!”
I tighten my hold on her ass to still her and see Pete chatting with a group of women. “Scorpion’s out there with his f**king goons—I’m out,” I growl at him, then charge outside and shove her into the back of the car.
Our driver jumps behind the wheel and quickly pulls into the traffic. I’m struggling with myself in the backseat while Brooke tries to catch her breath, and holy god, I’m trying to erase the image in my head of watching her recklessly charge two fully grown, bloodthirsty men. “What in the hell did you think you were doing?” I explode, shaking with rage.
For her part, Brooke doesn’t look one bit concerned—she looks f**king delighted. “I just saved your ass and it felt amazing,” she says breathlessly, looking like a goddamn vision in that gold little top.
God! I want to f**king shake some sense into her, and at the same time I want to push her skirt up to her hips, bend over between her legs, and sink my tongue in her until she moans my name and makes me forget everything that just happened.
I don’t f**king like Scorpion looking at her.
I don’t like him talking about her.
I f**king don’t like him pushing her.
And I can’t even put into words how I feel about her smashing the brains off his minions with a couple of f**king bottles. Jesus.
I scrape my hands down my face and then rub the back of my neck, all my limbs shaking. “For the love of f**king god, don’t ever, ever, do that again. Ever. If one of them sets a hand on you, I’ll f**king kill them and I won’t give a rat’s f**k who sees me!”
When she only stares at me with a defiant little gleam in her eyes, I catch her wrist and squeeze so she understands she can’t f**king take on men like them, releasing her when she gasps. “I mean it. Don’t f**king ever do that again.”
“Of course I will do it again. I won’t let you get into trouble,” she counters.
I can only stare at her, a thousand things I’ve never felt in my life hitting me all at once. “Jesus, are you for real?” My chest feels like a knot as I drag a hand along my face and stare outside, trembling when I think of all the years nobody has given a shit whether I get in trouble or not. “You’re a stick of dy***ite, do you know that?”
Her cheeks flush a deeper red as she nods. She looks as beautiful as a f**king rainbow. I want to stop with this arguing, take her up to my room, and make love.
Going up the elevator, I stay away. I want to finish what we started at the dance floor. I want to grab her, kiss her, hold her. I want her to promise me to never do that again. Never risk herself for me, or anyone, again.
“It’s okay,” she says, touching my shoulder, and all I can think is, God, Brooke. You’re so sweet and so innocent. Are you going to do this when I’m black?
I’m all knotted up inside as I see her fingers on me, and in my mind, I bend my head and lick my tongue up her fingers, all the way up her arm, her shoulders, her neck, to latch onto her mouth. Before I can, she steps back to her corner and stares at me, her eyes wide and confused.
I flex my hands and try calming down.
“I’m sorry you had to see those ass**les,” I say, pulling on my hair for a second. “I’m going to f**king break all Scorpion’s bones and pull his goddamned eyes out when I get a chance.”
She nods, and I’m calmed somewhat, but even then I’m fighting the urge to put my arms around her.
“Can I come to your room until the guys get back?” she asks.
I hesitate, then the thought of her leaving her scent all over my room makes me nod like a true masochist, and she follows me. In my suite, she settles down on the living-room couch and I flick the TV on as a distraction. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No,” she says. “I never drink the day before flying or I’ll get doubly dehydrated.”
I bring two water bottles from the bar and sit next to her.
“Why did you get in trouble when you were pro?” she asks.
“A fight like the one you just prevented,” I answer in a thick, textured voice. Then I stare off into the screen, jaw clenched as I remember. I’d awoken to find the TV ablaze with news about me. I’d been manic. I’d been provoked. I’d acted—like I always do. My life was over, just like Brooke’s when she tore her ACL.
Yet she sits here, next to me, my female.
My strong, beautiful female who defended her male tonight.
The need to pull her in my arms eats me. No woman has ever made me want to cuddle and nuzzle her to me, but if I cuddle her to me, I’ll kiss her pretty mouth, and if I kiss her pretty mouth, I’m not going to stop there.
I’m still jacked up, my testosterone flooding my veins, my body tight with weeks of pent-up wanting. But I need to get closer, and I find myself slowly stretching my arm out over the back of the couch. So f**king close, I feel her soft hair against my forearm.
She watches me through her lashes like she wants me to get even closer, and I realize some sort of heavy kissing is on the TV, annoying me enough to make me turn it off. I want it quiet enough that I can hear the sound of her breath, hear it quickening just for me. My hand goes to her nape, and I gently caress the soft skin at the back of her neck with my thumb. She trembles.
“Why’d you do that for me?” I ask her, my voice husky.
“Because.”
She holds my gaze, her amber eyes so alive and mesmerizing, there’s a fire at the pit of my gut as I squeeze her nape, insisting, “Why? Somebody tell you I can’t take care of myself?”
“No.”
Her mouth is more tempting to me than anything I’ve ever wanted and had to live without. I close my eyes and drop my forehead to hers. I’m hungry for her scent, I can’t stop breathing her in. I hear her breathing me in too when a light touch of a fingertip brushes across my lips. My chest knots up with hunger and my tongue darts out. I’m anxious for a taste. For her. She shudders. Undone, I groan and suck her finger deeper into my mouth, my eyes shutting as I savor her.