Remy(84)

“Yes,” she pants against my ear, thrashing as I fill her. “Oh, yes.”

Pinning her down by the hips, I groan and start moving in her, our bodies hot, slicked with sweat. She moans, I groan and pulse inside her, our bodies moving together, fast and hungry for more, slapping as she tilts her hips upward and I push downward, wanting as close as I can get.

I tongue her ear, her neck, then her nipples, one at a time, my hands rasping up her sides, her fingers gripping me closer, her lips in my ear as we lose it, out of control.

I love you, she gasps

No, fuck, no, I love you.

She thrashes and shudders beneath me, coming fast and hard, and as her pussy clenches my cock, I start ejaculating inside her, clenching my arms around her shaking body and letting her take me with her. I growl softly in her neck, biting the curve of her neck as I go off inside her for a third time, and she moans in pleasure until we’re both panting and sated, my tongue rubbing out the spot I just bit.

I shift to spare her my weight when she whispers, “Don’t pull out. Please. I need you in me.”

I roll to my back and bring her with me, and she sighs and cuddles, catching her breath while I slide my hands down her body and to her ass. I nudge her head back with my nose, murmuring, “I still want you,” and when she looks up, I take her mouth and start kissing her, using my hands on her ass to start rocking her over my cock.

With a guttural sound in her throat, she grabs my hair and pushes her tongue hungrily against mine, starting to ride me.

“That’s right, baby,” I croon, grabbing her hips and moving her on me, sucking her tongue, nipping at her bottom lip. “That’s right, take me, ride me, show me how much you need me.”

She sits back and rides me harder, and I rise up to feast on her tits and clench her ass cheeks as she moves recklessly on me. “Remy,” she gasps, and I know she’s close. She’s hot and wet and tight as fuck around me, and I groan as my body tightens and the pleasure gathers at the base of my spine.

I stick my tongue into her mouth with a heavy groan, and we kiss and caress each other until we come. When she sags against me, she keeps me inside her and tucks her face into my neck, and I bury my nose into her hair and smell her. We don’t speak for some time, but we don’t need to. I know her, and she knows me. I’m inside her, and she’s wrapped around me. Our bodies say it loud and clear.

We lay in bed for a while, quiet. Brooke alternates between kissing my throat and teasing a fingertip round and around my nipple, while I smell her hair and neck, and quietly pet my little firecracker.





PRESENT


SEATTLE


Brooke

I wake up snuggled into his hard body the next morning, and he smells like he does, and he makes me feel like he does, and I realize I still haven’t shown him his wedding present. My tummy grips with nerves and excitement when I remember I haven’t showed him my wedding present. Butterflies.

He always gives them to me.

I feel like a virgin every, single, time, he touches me, and kisses me, and makes love to me.

Quietly and with a chest overflowing with happiness, I look up to find him with his eyes closed, but a smile on his lips. I smile because I know he’s awake . . . as relaxed as I am. “Mr. Remington Tate, you got yourself married yesterday,” I whisper as I run my fingers up the hard muscles of his tan chest, up the thick tendons of his throat, his scruffy jaw, those beautiful dimples, teasing past the closed eyes, and to the standing-up ends of his spiky black hair, caressing him quietly while inwardly I’m swooning.

Watching him waiting for me at the altar yesterday, as I walked slowly—painfully slowly—up to him in my father’s arms when all I wanted was to run; he took my breath away.

Remington in a black tuxedo, his hair as dark and spiky as ever, his broad shoulders filling his jacket, fitted to his narrow waist and hips, and the way those dancing blue eyes watched me as I walked up to him . . .

Nothing existed as I stared into his eyes. Nothing ever exists for me when I stare into those eyes. It’s not the color, or the hue, it’s what I see in them. Every marvelous, complex thing that makes up Remy.

“Our baby will be six months soon, and you still give me butterflies,” I whisper quietly.

He’s a man. He might not know about butterflies, but I know enough for the both of us. And I’ve got a zoo full of them right now as he opens his eyes and looks at me. With those same blue eyes I want to stare at all day.

He angles his head to mine and feathers a kiss across my lips, and warmth surges through my being as his rough, delicious voice ripples through me, “You’re mine. My obsession. My dreams. My hope. My heart,” he whispers, his rough hands running up the sides of my body like they did all night.