He scents the back of my ear. Then I feel his hand, scraping down my hair, softly petting me. His tongue follows, lightly lapping the place on my neck he bit in the shower. He drags it along the curve of my shoulders, my ear, awakening every inch of my skin.
I feel like he’s a lazy lion, bathing me with his tongue, licking and nuzzling me.
He’s done this other nights too. The unexpectedness of his raw petting drives me crazy with lust and love, and I’m getting addicted to this moment after the orgasm where I will be so relaxed and he will still have the energy to position me in a way where he can spoon me or hold me, and do all his manly, possessive lion-like OCD things with me.
Sometimes he washes his se**n off my skin, but other times he gives me a series of slow, drugging kisses as he reaches between my thighs and fingers his se**n back into my pu**y like he wants to always be there.
Sometimes he asks me, with cocky blue eyes and in that sexy, lust-filled murmur he uses after making love, “Do you like it when I smear your skin with me?”
God, I love how he calls his se**n “him.”
I love everything this guy does!
It’s still a novelty to me, to be sleeping with him. I’ve never slept with anyone before.
Every time we reach a new city, I wonder which side of the bed he’ll want, but Remington seems to always go for the one closest to the door, and I like the one farthest since it’s always closest to the bathroom. Although now that I think of it, even on the first night we slept together, it seemed to happen automatically.
He lays down on the side of the bed where he can put his right arm around me, and I can roll to my right side and drape myself all over him like a warmed gummy worm.
The first nights we were together, I wore his plain black t-shirt to bed but I don’t even bother anymore since he always takes it off me. He sleeps butt-naked and I can never even see him without wanting to jump his sexy bones. Remy is made to advertise everything that is manly, muscular, and sexy. I think that’s where a lot of his millions have come from. Advertising boxing gloves, some whip-fast jump rope, a sports drink, and a brand of sexy, tight, white boxer briefs.
He looks positively delish in those.
Tonight we’re both na**d and deliciously entangled, and my sexy blue-eyed lion now seems content to have petted me for a long while, until I feel groomed down to my bones.
He’s pinned me to his side while his head rests on the bed headboard, and I notice one of his long, thick legs restlessly moves under the sheets. He doesn’t seem even the least bit tired.
“Are you getting … speedy?” I ask groggily, turning in his arms, hating that I’m now also using the term.
“I'm just thinking.” Smiling to comfort me, he plants a soft kiss on my lips. “But if I ever get out of hand with you ...” He reaches into his laptop carry case, which is on the nightstand, and retrieves a syringe with a clear liquid. He hands it to me with the cap on.
Wincing, I ease away from it like he’s going to use it on my butt. “No, Remy, don't ask me this.”
“It’s just to make sure I don't hurt you.”
“You’d never hurt me.”
He groans and rakes his free hand through his damp hair, pulling in frustration. “I can. I can very well get crazy over you.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know how you make me feel! I…” He snaps his mouth shut and a muscle jumps restlessly in his jaw as he clenches. “I get jealous, Brooke, when I'm normal,” he says, his expression fiercely bleak. “I don’t want to know what I’m going to do when I'm black. I get jealous of Pete, of Riley, of your friend, of anyone who gets to spend time with you. I'm even jealous of me.”
“What?”
“I'm jealous of being with you and not remembering what I did to you. What you said to me.”
My insides diffuse with tenderness. “I’ll tell you, Remy.” Reaching out to turn his sexy dark head to me, I kiss his jaw.
He’s still restless.
“Come here, Rem.” Taking the syringe, I set it carefully on the nightstand on his side, then I pull his head down to my chest and kiss his forehead as I massage the back of his neck with strong, nimble fingers. He groans and plops his face down on my br**sts, instantly relaxed.
“Thanks for bringing her up,” I whisper, into his hair.
“I can bring up your parents. Do you want me to?” He sounds sober when he asks, nuzzling my bare puckered nipple.
“No,” I laugh.
He’s so protective and so unexpectedly giving that I just want to crawl into his big, lean body and curl myself in a ball and live inside his big gentle heart, because that’s the only place I’m interested in living in.
“Your sister.” He seems entranced with my nipple, looking at it and rubbing a thumb over it as I keep working on his nape. “I’m going to get her back to you, Brooke.”
My stomach tangles. I definitely, definitely want him to forget I even mentioned Nora. “No, Remy, I think she’s going to be all right and we should just leave her alone, please. Just fight for me and you. All right?”
He stays in my arms for a bit, but when my hands start slacking and I’m dozing off, he gets up.
“Come sleep with me,” I thickly whimper. “Don’t get up.”
He comes back with his iPad and I snuggle to his side as though magnetized. He uses my hip to prop it up and turns off the lamp for me.
“You’re going to hurt your eyes,” I complain.
“Shhh, Mother, I’ve just lowered the glare.”
My frame tenses when I see her. It’s Nora. In a deep, innermost part of me, I’d hoped it had been a nightmare, and that the chick with the blood-red hair, the pale face, and the black scorpion tattoo had been someone else. But no.
It is. Nora.
This sad-looking waif of a girl.
And I have to save her from herself.
As Nora takes her seat across the ring from us, I clench Melanie’s arm and shove a little paper I’d been clutching into her palm. “Okay, you need to take her this, very discreetly, so those big types near her don’t really notice the exchange.”