“You see all that just from looking at my stomach?”
“I see all that every time I look at you.”
“Wow.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. It’s hard work living up to a superhero every second of the day.”
I scoff. “Oh, please.”
“A real-life Wonder Woman, Ria. That’s you.”
“Remy, stop it.”
“Why?” he asks with a sly laugh. “Worried you’re going to start to feel good about yourself? Worried you might realize your own power? Worried that if you really let go of everything else and just enjoy yourself with me right here, right now, you’ll be ruined forever?”
“Honestly?”
He nods.
“All of the above.”
“Do you want to do this with me?” he asks then. Blunt and unfiltered, his delivery leaves no room for dancing around the answer. “Because I can tell you, I want to do this with you. I want you, Maria. I want to feel you. Be with you. Be inside you. More than I’ve ever wanted to do anything with anyone.”
My heart is beating so hard I swear it’s shaking my rib cage, but I give it to him straight. When it comes to Remy and me and all my fantasies, not a single fucking one has started with me saying anything but, “Yes.”
Remy doesn’t say anything else aloud, but let me tell you, he definitely fucking says something.
Diving forward, he closes his lips over the pink lace of my thin bra, and my back arches dramatically off the bed. I can’t even blame myself. At the very least, most women who birth a baby got it on approximately nine months ago. I mean, it’s kind of part of the process.
But me? I haven’t had sex in three years. Three. Years. I honestly can’t even let the thought sit in my head too long or it’ll make me pass out.
I’ve come pretty often thanks to my own pursuits, but the true nature of this partner activity has been lost on me for a while.
But I’m not lost now.
Holy shit, I’m not lost now. Remy knows how to make a woman feel found.
He moves carefully down my body to the button of my pants, undoing it with one hand while the other explores and caresses. His lips work over the skin of my stomach, and amazingly, I’m not feeling so self-conscious about it anymore.
Within a moment, my pants and panties are gone.
Remy’s hands skate down the sides of my body and down the length of my legs until they close around my ankles and squeeze. My heart jumps as he spreads my thighs gently, placing my calves on his shoulders and looking at me bared in all my glory. His eyes are hungry, powerful. I can hardly control the shake of my hands as he leans forward and swipes just one single lick up the center of my heat.
Sweet merciful everything, I don’t know if I’m going to survive this.
Because for as sweet and unassuming and helpful as Remy has been over the last week, he hasn’t lost any of his intensity. Even in the peek of his smile and the light in his eyes, there’s a darkness that lurks deep inside him. A side untapped, unchanneled, unchallenged. It’s the steely quiet of his past and the abundant possibility of his future. He controls his destiny—that much is for sure. I just wish I weren’t starting to feel like I’d be okay if he controlled mine too.
“Remy,” I whisper, my whole body giving over to the feeling in one location.
The warmth and steady pressure of his tongue.
The soft certainty of his moves.
I can’t think about anything else.
My initial instinct is to close my thighs around his head—to squeeze him like a vise to assure myself that he can’t and won’t escape.
But as always, Remy knows better than me, moving my thighs apart with the soft push of his hands and challenging me with a look that could ruin women forever—strong, determined brow, twinkling blue eyes, and the most enchanting curve of his perfect, soft lips.
“Leave them open, Ria. Give me room to work.”
I nod then, feeling more confident in my ability now that I’ve been ordered to comply. I don’t have a whole lot of Dom/sub-style daydreams, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel really good to submit when the rest of your life is made up of decisions and responsibility.
Remy’s tongue strokes and prods, and my stomach tightens with all the tension that’s left the rest of my body. Languid and light, my limbs have given over to the feeling of nonexistence. I’m nothing but my clit right now—and the torturous rub of Remy’s perfect fingertips at the pinnacle of my G-spot.
My head lolls back and my eyes feel heavy, overcome with sensation. I reach out to gather a chunk of Remy’s perfect hair in my hand, and he hums a moan against me.