Real(99)

“Don’t fucking leave me ever again,” he murmurs, his tongue retreating to trace my top lip, my bottom, then pushing deeply inside me as he spreads his hands along my ass and squeezes me possessively.

I’m drunk. The sensations his kiss and licks bring me are deep, and they tremble in my core like consecutive earthquakes, each one bigger than the last. I rub my nipples on his massive chest, and my sex throbs to feel him inside me. He looks so sexy in his exercise clothes, drives me so wild with the way he smells when he works out, I want to strip him. Take him.



“I’ve got about a thousand songs in a new playlist that says ‘Brooke,’ all about me missing you, loving you, hating, and adoring you,” he rasps as I feel him reach under my dress for my panties.

This is exactly why I wore a dress, and in record time, I’ve pulled it off me until I’m in my bra and Remy has successfully pulled my panties off both legs.

“I’ve got some too, I want to spend all day putting them to you,” I whisper.

He hauls me back, naked on his lap, taking my mouth again. He has me so wound up with his kisses, I’m afraid I’m going to climax the instant he thrusts inside me. Oh, god, I need it so bad, I don’t even realize I’m curling my legs to straddle him, rubbing myself over his hard-on. I want it. Inside me. I want him so fiercely I can’t stop trembling. “I love you,” I breathe.

It’s incredible. I lived my entire life without him, but we made this crazy connection, and I just feel empty without him.

He drugs me with another kiss as I undulate my body against his, teased with his hardness, his hot mouth, his groans. He’s making me want him in the wildest, most intense ways. He pulls free, reaching into his running shorts.



“I want to play you Avril Lavigne’s ‘I Love You’ again,” I say as he tries pushing them off without sacrificing my spot on his lap. “I’ll get my headphones when we finish,” he murmurs, successfully shoving them off one leg, and now his arms bulge as he works to get them off the other.



I moan in gratitude at the thought of being able to hear music again with joy, especially when all I could think of was listening to “Iris” again and fearing how deeply it would cut me. Every single song, without Remy to play to, cut me open. I’m inundated with emotion as I nuzzle his hair, sliding my fingers in it. “And also ‘That’s When I Knew’ by Alicia Keys.” I start to sing this heartbreakingly romantic song in his ear and he makes an odd sound between a chuckle and a groan.



“You don’t sing for shit, baby,” he murmurs.

We stop laughing when he enters me. I gasp. He groans. His mouth crushes mine, and our thirst is unquenchable. He rocks his hips powerfully, his muscles clenching, his thighs underneath me, his abs against mine, his biceps around me. I love feeling his strength when he makes love to me, in his rocking motions, in his arms, in his powerful erection. I love…

Here I go again.

I love everything about him.



“Brooke Dumas,” he murmurs, licking into my ear, his eyes sparkling. “I’m Remington.”

I laugh, then moan and dissolve into him.

Seriously, he’s so fucking sexy I can’t stand it.