“Brick,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
“I’ve got you, baby. Let me make you feel good.”
She levered her thighs down against the metal of the chair, shifting the angle until the head of his throbbing penis rubbed exactly the right spot. She wanted to close her eyes and focus on the sensation, but the view of him holding her like this, impaling her, was too much to look away from.
“Good girl.”
He was panting, she realized. And so was she. She rocked against him, keeping him as deep as he’d ever been. Fire. It was inside her veins, racing through her body. It was scorching her skin everywhere he touched her. He was going to burn her alive. And she was going to let him.
The pressure built inside her, an exquisite torture.
He was so thick, so hard, so damn deep it didn’t matter. His arm banded around her back, holding her impaled on him, and then he began to thrust.
“Mine,” he growled, claiming her breast with his mouth. The long, hard pulls of his mouth echoing in the needy muscles that trembled around his shaft.
“Yours,” she whispered as she rode him. His thumb pressed harder, and it was like a trigger had been pulled.
On a broken sob, she came apart on him. He went rigid under her, grunting against her breast as he came again, the picture of agonized ecstasy.
47
Brick was sound asleep, his body wrapped around Remi’s in a tangle of limbs and sheets, when his phone chimed three times in rapid succession on the nightstand.
Remi grumbled into her pillow.
Whatever the notification was, it could wait until he’d gotten at least two more hours of sleep. He buried his face in Remi’s neck. She smelled like him. It made him half-hard. But it was too early, and she’d be sore after their fun and games last night in the alley and the office. And then again in an actual bed when they got home.
Home. She was staying. She’d chosen him and this place he loved. She was committing to building a life with him here. And he was going to do whatever it took to finalize his claim on her. Starting with locking up Vorhees. The next order of business was a fucking ring. He’d force it on her finger with his cock inside her if it was necessary.
That’s where she surrendered to him, trusting him completely to take care of her body. After so many years of chasing after her, the rush of possessing her physically was indescribable. And it already wasn’t enough. He wanted the commitment. The papers. The fuss and celebration. The acknowledgment of the world that she was his.
His phone rang obnoxiously on the nightstand.
Remi growled. Smiling into her hair, he squeezed her sweet little ass before rolling over and reaching blindly for the phone.
“Hello?” he rasped.
“Brick, it’s Juanita Houston from the coffee shop. Sorry for calling this early after you had such a late night at the bar.”
Juanita ran the cafe across the street from the ferry landing and knew everything about everybody.
“What can I do for you, Juanita?” he said, trying to muffle a yawn.
Remi rolled over to snuggle up against his back, and he looked down at her, feeling his chest flood with warmth. She didn’t look angelic in the early morning light. She looked more like a nymph, recharging her energy just to cause more trouble.
The wave of love, of possession, that crashed over him threatened to level him.
“I know you asked a few of us to keep an eye out for that Vorhees fellow.”
His muscles tensed, and he jackknifed up.
“Yes,” he said, his voice terse.
“Well, you know how I don’t mind a little digging—”
Naked, Brick launched himself off the bed and headed for the closet, snatching his gun off the dresser. “Did you see him? Here?”
Remi stirred on the bed behind him.
“Oh. No, no. Not anything like that.” Juanita chuckled.
He blew out a breath and closed his eyes.
“But I think I saw his wife get off the first ferry.”
He glanced at his watch. The ferry would have landed less than ten minutes ago.
Swearing under his breath, he reached for his sweatpants.
“Was she with anyone? Did you see which way she went?”
“I got swamped with the morning rush,” she said. “But I figured I should let you know.”
“Thanks, Juanita,” he said, dragging on the pants and sweatshirt.
“Oh, sure. I’ll keep an eye out and let you know if I see her again or that Vorhees guy.”
“Appreciate it,” Brick said. He hung up and jammed his feet into sneakers, leaving them untied.
“What’s going on?” Remi asked groggily.
“Nothing, baby. Go back to sleep,” he said, pausing only long enough to press a kiss to her forehead.
“Nothing doesn’t require a gun,” she rasped after him. But he was already on the stairs.
The doorbell rang just as he hit the first floor. Keeping his gun at the ready, he reached for the deadbolt and threw open the door.
“Dad?” Brick was dumbstruck on his own doorstep.
“Camille?” Remi, dressed only in one of his tshirts, pushed past him and carefully wrapped her arms around the woman standing next to his father.
She reminded him of one of his grandmother’s prized swan figurines. Delicate and lovely. Spencer had broken it accidentally, in the midst of gangly puberty when he’d had no more control over his own body than a marionette.
The swan had shattered, its long graceful neck snapped. But instead of careless accidents, Camille’s porcelain skin bore the evidence of grisly, purposeful violence.
“Oh, my God,” Kimber, pink-cheeked and hair tousled, appeared on the porch behind his father.
“Where were you?” Brick asked.
“Uh. Out for a run.”
She was a shit liar, but he had much bigger fish to fry.
“What’s going on?” Ian demanded.
“Nothing, sweetheart, go upstairs,” Kimber said, stepping past Brick and urging her son toward the staircase. “If you go back to bed for half an hour, I’ll make you chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast.”
“With gluten and syrup?” Hadley asked, peering over the railing from the second floor.
“Get inside,” Brick snapped at William. A rage so fierce bubbled in his blood he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to control it.
His own father baited the trap. Warren Vorhees would track his wife right to Brick’s door. Right to Remington.
“Come on,” Remi said softly, coaxing Camille across the threshold.
Brick watched, helpless, as she walked stiffly, carefully, like a woman decades older. There was a pained weariness in her gaze as it landed on his face.
“I’m so sorry to drop by unannounced like this,” she said. Even through a split lip and bruised jaw, she had polish and breeding written all over her.
“Kimber, can you take my friend Camille back to the kitchen and make her some tea while I get her room ready?” Remi asked.
“Tea with bourbon. And my sister and kids made cookies yesterday,” Kimber told Camille as she guided the woman away.
Brick’s throat was closing in on itself, fury choking him. He couldn’t even look his father in the eyes.
Before he could force out any of the words that clogged his throat, Remi had walked into his father’s arms and wrapped him in a hug. “Thank you, Mr. Callan,” she whispered. “Thank you for bringing my friend to me. You saved her life.”