His body trembles as I trace a finger across his hip, moving in front of him once again.
He’s a feast for the eyes and, boy, do I feast. I touch. I handle. I kiss until his masculine groans become strained, and I drop to my knees. My palms against his toned thighs, I press the most gentle of kisses to his crown.
Above me, his face half in shadow, half washed in the glimmering light, he tips back his head with a curse.
‘Rose.’ My name is a thing with thorns as I slide my lips down, down, over him, hollowing my cheeks for the return. His skin is hot to the touch and he smells so heavenly, a mixture of bath oil and man as I take the weight of him into my hand.
His responding moan is taut and desperate, his body seeming to vibrate with restraint as I work him, as I lick, suck and swirl, need twisting inside me, the heady sensations unspooling like silk.
‘You look so beautiful on your knees.’ His accent thickens, his words like velvet as he brings his hands to my head, almost in gentle benediction. ‘And you suck me so well.’
Desire builds in my veins, demanding more. More kissing, more sucking, more of this man inside me as I begin to work him harder, his hands directing me, sliding the fallen hair from my face, punctuating his shallow thrusts with a whispered catechism of, ‘yes, yes, yes.’
His chest rises and falls rapidly as he suddenly slides his hand under my arm, encouraging me to stand. ‘Tu vas me faire jouir.’ My insides begin to pound at the knowledge of the one word I’m able to pick out. Jouir. Come. His thumbs stroke a path along my cheekbones, his whisper fervent. ‘I need you.’
As though to emphasise the point, he flexes his hips, pushing against me. ‘I’ve dreamed of this all week while you slept so peacefully next to me.’ His mouth is just mouth a breath from my ear. ‘Now it’s time for to make these dreams real.’
Bedroom, I think as I turn, when Remy twists me back, my hands falling to the marble vanity.
‘Do you remember the mirror, Rose?’ His hand spans my collarbone, his touch skating across my nipple, barely touching. It throbs all the same. ‘You were so beautiful. I knew then I would never get my fill.’
My cheeks heat at a sudden deluge of memories; the scarf around my neck. The way it fluttered against my skin. How his gaze lingered and burned.
‘This is pretty.’ Pleasure spirals through me as he toys with the edge of my robe, the woman reflected back a dark, desirous thing.
A woman half undressed, half falling apart.
‘It was a gift. From you.’ My answer is no more than a whisper as his hand moves across my bare breast to the other. His forefinger and thumb pinch the hardened bud over the silk.
‘I know. I wanted to bring a little brightness into your life.’ His eyes rise to mine, his thumbnail circling. ‘Who knew it would be the other way around. That you would be my brightness.’ His gaze dips once again. ‘So, so, lovely,’ he whispers in the space between his kisses. ‘But not as lovely as you.’
His hands glide around my waist, loosening the knot of the belt. The silk flutters against my legs as he slides it from my shoulders, his mouth following his touch in a shiver-inducing caress.
‘Do you have any idea what you do to me? What I want to do to you?’
‘Please, I need you, Remy.’
He stills. His hands on my body, his lips on my skin. ‘Tell me again.’
‘I need you,’ I whisper, pressing back against him.
‘Now I know I’m no longer dreaming.’
His touch slips down my body, pausing to make a slow circle around my navel, two fingers sliding to where I know I’m already wet. He pushes them inside and I writhe against him, desperate to be filled.
‘I want to fuck you with my tongue. Fill you.’
My answer is in the way my legs almost buckle from under me as he begins to create some kind of magic against the swollen bud between my legs. I whimper, bucking up into his hand, unable to get close enough. I feel wired yet hollow all at the same time
‘You are so wet, ma Rose. Just for me.’ With those whispered words, Remy pulls away, rubbing my arousal between his fingertips, the moisture glistening in the light. My eyes reflect back in the mirror, dark and wanton as he brings those digits to my lips, painting me with my own arousal.
38
Remy
‘What are you waiting for?’
The tip of her tongue darts out to taste, a graze of her teeth following, her arousal still sticky and sweet between my fingertips.
What did I do to deserve her? To deserve this?