“Rem, we had sex last night.”
“We did. Two glorious times, in fact.”
I wait for him to say more, but when he doesn’t, I’m left to put it all out there myself.
“And…well, I can’t go to sleep until I know what to do with that—where to file it in my emotional cabinet.”
“How about you file it in the folder titled First of many?”
“What?”
“We had sex last night, Ria. Fucking great, incredible, sexy sex. And I think, in my very professional personal opinion, that we should do it again. Right now, preferably.”
I furrow my brow. “Remy, be serious.”
“Maria, I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”
Hold the phone. “Wait…what? You want to do it again? Right now?”
“Right now. Only this time, I’d like you to be on top again…but with the lights on so I can see every fucking beautiful inch of you while you’re riding my cock.”
“Remy!”
His eyes smirk back at me, amused by my shock. “Hey, I thought this was open sharing time. Just putting it all out there on the table, you know.”
“You don’t think this is a little too complicated?”
“Sex?” He winks. “Nah. I think I can figure it out.”
“Rem. You know what I mean.”
“Why do we have to think about it so hard, Ri? Can’t we just enjoy each other? Don’t you think we both deserve that just a little bit?”
Just enjoy each other? I stare at my fingers that are now toying with the comforter, my mind trying to understand if I should feel as excited as I’m currently feeling over that prospect. “It was good,” I admit quietly, my eyes slowly peering back up at him.
“Good? Excuse me?” Remy questions with distaste and a shake of his head. “It was great. Fucking incredible.”
“Yeah,” I say, relenting with a little giggle. “That too.”
Remy climbs across the bed then, stopping only when his chest is pressed firmly against my own. He’s on top of me, and his eyes are intense. I remember looking at them like this in high school and wondering if they had special powers. They trap you in their swirling blue graces and beg of you to let your guard down.
Without fail, for me anyway, it always seems to work.
There’s nothing like the confident stare of Remy Winslow to convince you you’re safe. Nothing.
He sinks his hands into the hair at the sides of my head, and before I know it, we’re kissing. Just like this morning. Smooth and slow and sure of ourselves. Our tongues are familiar enough with each other to hit all the right notes without any awkward bumbles, and Remy’s fingertips on my scalp are enough to lull me right into readiness.
I separate my thighs and pull them up onto his hips, squeezing and rubbing as my arousal tightens in my stomach. One of Remy’s hands leaves my hair to grab the flesh of my thigh, and a moan I’m not expecting slides up my throat and straight into his mouth.
“Ditto, babe,” he murmurs in response, the curve of his cheeks as he smiles taking my own with it.
God, this feels good.
Remy skates his other hand down the line of my body, stopping at my hip, and then in one smooth move, he rolls us over, placing me on top.
Without the cloak of darkness or inhibition-releasing tequila, I feel a tiny bit more vulnerable up here, but with the way Remy is looking at me, I know the insecurity won’t last long.
He has a way of making me feel like the only woman on the planet. Like my existence is exactly what he asked for when he put in an application for a woman. There’s not a lot of room for uncertainty when a man like Remy looks at you like that.
Soft and sure, he lifts at the hem of my nightie, sliding it up my skin with gentle pressure from his hands until my whole body is bared, my heavy breasts swaying above his face. Up and over my head, he removes the fabric entirely and tosses it to the floor beside the bed.
His smile is bright and unchecked as he surveys me, once again placing a hand on the faint tiger stripes across my stomach.
“Fucking beautiful,” he whispers and then reaches up to pull my head down to meet his own.
Our lips crash, and our previously soft kiss turns hungry and wanton. Both of us are more than ready—I can feel the hard pulse of his cock underneath me, and I’m practically soaking him through my lace panties.
“Remy,” I say, the desperation in my whisper plain to my own ears.
“I know,” he responds with a half-tortured laugh. “We should have lost the underwear sooner.”