25. Remy
25
Remy
C ushion-soft, pouty lips kiss across my cheek to my jaw. Sharp teeth nip my earlobe, the pain instantly soothed by the flick of his wet, warm tongue. My hands find his waist, muscle flexing under my palms as I reel him onto my lap. He smiles into my neck—
“Did you switch medications again without telling me?” Andrea asks around a mouthful of breakfast potatoes. “You’re acting weird as fuck.”
The lovely illicit daydream evaporates. Win shouldn’t have put his sinful mouth anywhere near me. He’s infected my defective brain and I’m too susceptible to his unique form of torment. He says he’s the addict? Yeah, right. I’m the fucking junkie flirting with heroin after years of sobriety.
Fingers snap in my face.
“Remy Sullivan are you in there? Did aliens finally take you to their ship for anal probes?” Her nose wrinkles. “Actually, don’t answer that. ”
Despite my unintentional all-nighter ignoring my relentless erection, I agreed to meet up with my best friend for brunch. Declining would’ve been suspicious.
I stab one of her potatoes with my fork. “My meds are the same and unfortunately I’m still on this shithole planet.”
She sags in relief.
Peace only lasts ten seconds.
“This is about Win, isn’t it?”
Motherfucking fuck me upside down .
I shove the potato in my mouth.
She fists her knife and leans across the table, rattling our plates and mimosas.
“Do I need to shove this up his ass?”
I cringe. “What’s with you and assholes today?”
She points the knife an inch from my nose, egg and avocado dripping off the tip. I retreat with a grimace. “Can you get that out of my face?”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
She waves the knife like she’s wielding a magic wand. “Avoiding the question, you sneaky little shit.”
Stealing a forkful of eggs benedict, I contemplate the best route to derail her. Bring up who she left the club with? Maybe the haunted house tour she asked me to go on—
“You fucked him, didn’t you?”
My fork clatters to the table, elbow bumping my champagne flute. I barely stop it from crashing to the ground but end up drenching my arm in orange juice and bubbly.
She just had to go there. No, Win and I never got that far when we were together, but we did more than enough for me to imagine it. Curse her for kicking open the floodgates on fantasies I was trying in vain to keep at bay. Win on his back beneath me. The little pants he makes when he’s close. His mouth everywhere. Sliding into his tight—
I dump the remains of my mimosa down my throat and slam the glass down. “No!”
Her brown eyes narrow. “Something happened though, because you’re red as a tomato.”
I’m not surprised; my face is on fucking fire.
She props her elbows on the table, squinting as she digs the tip of the knife into her pointer finger, twisting it back and forth. Either she’ll cut the truth out of me or save me from my tortured existence.
She does neither because my stupid mouth opens.
“He came over last night.”
She blinks once. “Oh.”
“Oh?” I demand with a manic laugh. “ Oh? I’m in fucking crisis here, woman! My psycho-stalker ex-boyfriend has been texting me nonstop and you know what my dumbass does? Invites him into my apartment to eat and cuddle! Fucking cuddle! Then he kisses my cheek goodnight and I magically want to forgive him for breaking my heart! I need a fucking Win-tervention!”
I’m out of breath, gripping the table so hard it's shaking, the silverware lightly tinkling with the vibrations.
Andrea nods a few times and sets her knife down to fold her hands. “Ok, ok. It’s not that bad—”
“You’re right, it’s a fucking disaster!” I wail. “Even my cat is obsessed with him.”
She winces. “Shit and Mitz hates everyone.”
“I fucking know!”
Slumping in my chair, I stir the dregs of syrupy French toast around my plate. She sighs, reaching over to take my hand.
“You want him. ”
It’s not a question. I squeeze my eyes shut; his face blooms to life behind my lids and my heart screams.
“I shouldn’t.”
She pats the back of my hand. “Doesn’t change how you feel, babe.”
I groan, “We’re not good for each other.”
“Why not?”
Gaping at her, I yank my hand free. “Did you forget the fact that we’re both fucked in the head?”
She gives me an unfazed shrug. “Who isn’t?”
“Nothing about our relationship is healthy,” I protest and cross my arms.
A slight smirk lifts her lips. “You’re relationship, eh?”
Rolling my head back I mutter, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Andrea chuckles, the toe of her boot nudging my shin under the table. “Look, you’re my best friend and I love you eternally, but I won’t lie, I’m a little worried.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That makes two of us.”
Her brown and red space buns dance as she shakes her head. “Not just for you. I know he’s not innocent by any means but, whether you want to accept it or not, he cares deeply for you. I don’t want to see either of you hurt again.”
Meeting her gaze, I admit, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I know,” she says with a sad smile. Skimming her tongue ring between her teeth, she flashes me a loaded look. “Just don’t rush into sex with him.”
I snort, rubbing my face to hide the blush creeping into my cheeks. The mention of sex with Win makes my dick spring to life. Not that it needs an excuse; it’s been permanently half-mast since he showed up in Fort Manor.
As if the demon can sense my wayward thoughts, his name pops up on my phone. Andrea rests her chin on the back of her hand, nodding at it.
“Let me guess, your boy needs attention?”
“He’s not my boy.”
“You’re such a fucking liar.”
I ignore her as I open his text.
It’s a picture.
I hold my breath as it loads.
Bury me.
Half-lidded grey eyes stare through the screen, a hand buried in mussed black hair. But as gorgeous as his sleepy face is, I’m hopelessly distracted by the expanse of bare, inked chest. Defined muscle and intricate artwork and—
Good lord, his nipples are pierced.
I’m gonna faint.
Morning sweetheart.
Andrea attempts to snatch the phone from me. I lurch out of reach. She grumbles but I don’t catch what she says because my ears are ringing and my blood is boiling— for once not in anger.
I push my chair back and pull out my wallet, slapping some cash on the table. “I’ve gotta run.”
Andrea plucks up the bills, pointing them at me. “To Win, I assume?”
“No, I have a study thing,” I lie.
She sees right through my bullshit. “What did I say? Don’t jump into bed with him yet.”
“I won't,” I call over my shoulder as I rush out of the restaurant, hoping no one notices the growing bulge in my shorts. Once I’m safely in my truck, I type a response.
Someone woke up late.
Couldn’t sleep.
Why?
I don’t think you’re ready for that answer.
I swallow hard. It must be bad if he’s reluctant to tell me— he has no issue boldly flirting. Did something trigger him? I chew the inside of my cheek.
Try me.
Just remember you asked for it.
Another picture loads and I immediately regret falling for his trap. The camera points down his taut stomach, showcasing his sculpted abs and tattooed hand gripping the obvious outline of his cock through a pair of light grey sweats. Inked script flows through the V leading into the waistband, asking to be licked. A little stain darkens the cotton hiding the tip of his dick.
I’m sweating. Panting. Throbbing.
Cursing.
You can’t send that shit when I’m in public!
I repeat, you asked.
My cock leaks. I glance around the parking lot. Andrea’s warnings whisper in my ears but impulsive stupidity screams over her sage advice.
So last night, you had this… problem?
What happened to being in public?
I. Hate. Him.
I’m in my car now, asshole. Answer the question.
Ooo I like bossy Remy.
To quote a famously annoying stalker of mine, “That's not an answer.”
You really wanna know? Fine. Every night since seeing you. And all day if I’m being honest.
Lust clouds my judgment. My imagination whips into overdrive. I’m a helpless victim to his hypnosis.
Sounds like a curse.
I don’t mind as long as you’re the one cursing me.
My head hits the back of the seat with a groaned, “I’m a fucking idiot,” as I proceed to dig my grave.
You better not be taking care of that while texting me.
Taking care of what?
I smack the steering wheel. Maybe I’ll toss my phone out the window and run it over. Or I could just run him over.
I swear to god I’m seconds from murdering you.
Mmm, yes, talk dirty to me.
If you’re touching yourself right now, this conversation is over.
I’d never do such a thing ; )
With a growl, I chuck my phone into the passenger seat and floor it out of the parking lot. But by the time I get home, I’m no less wound up. I stomp into the bathroom and crank the shower to ice cold.
I must be a masochist because before I step under the chilly water, I check my phone one last time.
But if I were to do it… I’d make a fucking mess of myself while I call out your name.
The phone falls to the floor.
I grip my cock.
I’ve officially lost my mind.