30. Remy
30
Remy
T he water is barely lukewarm, but I can’t get my body to cooperate. I’m stuck on the floor with my brain in the clouds.
I think Win just sucked my soul out of my cock.
I’ve never— I repeat, never— been blown like that. The women I’ve been with were by no means mediocre; they knew how to please. But this bastard had to prove he’s a grade-A-level sex magician.
His eyelids droop, head lolling forward. Spent. Exhausted. Lips red and puffy. The sight of them wrapped around my cock is forever imprinted in my mind.
Hooking up was such a fucking mistake. Not because I didn’t enjoy myself. I did. Way too fucking much. Going down this path is treacherous for my heart and my head.
Anything with him is dangerous.
But I’m a moth to a flame.
He tips to the side —
I catch him by the shoulder, lifting his face with a finger beneath the chin.
“You alright?”
He licks his lips, grey eyes unfocused. “Cum drunk.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on, drama king, let’s get you cleaned up.”
He gives me a lopsided smirk. “Oh, I’m the drama king? Pretty sure that title belongs to you, sweetheart.”
I hoist his dead weight up, both of us stumbling into the glass. He giggles. Fucking. Giggles.
Dumping a glob of body wash into my palm while holding him upright, I attempt to wash him.
“You weigh a fuckton.”
“Calling me fat?” he slurs with a grin. I level a deadpan glare at him. Asshole knows he’s got a damn model’s body. I prop him against the wall and resume massaging soap into his heated skin.
“If you’re fishing for compliments, fine, you’re gorgeous. Now, do me a favor: don’t fall and crack your head. I’m too tired to make a trip to the ER.”
“Wait, how do I get more compliments—” His bullshitting is cut off by a sharp gasp when my hand grazes his softening cock. “I’m gonna advise staying away from my dick unless you’re planning on round two.”
I arch a brow, scanning his slumped figure. “Babe, you’re barely conscious.”
Suddenly, grey eyes open fully, a bright smile blooming on his face.
Dear Lord, why did you have to make him so fucking beautiful?
“What?” I sigh.
“You called me babe.”
Fuck me, I suck at this. I wasn’t supposed to give in, yet here I am, folding like a flimsy house of cards. Did I ever stand a chance ?
Rather than respond, I guide him under the water again to rinse. He tries to reciprocate, but I swat him off and spin him around to shampoo and condition his hair. I'm massaging his scalp when he lets out a whimpered moan that goes straight to my balls.
Then he falls silent. I assume he’s half asleep until I’ve finished and we step out to towel off. There’s a serious set to his jaw and a little line between his brows. Maybe he regrets it? My stomach knots.
He grabs his wet jeans—
“You can’t wear those.”
Pausing, he shoots me a confused look. “Why not?”
Is he serious?
“They’re wet .”
His eyes narrow. “I mean… I don’t have anything else, so unless you expect me to walk out of here naked.”
Out of here. I blink at him.
“Give them to me.”
He’s staring at me like I’ve unzipped my skull and plucked out my brain, but I don’t care. I snatch his clothes, stomp down the hall, and toss them in the dryer. Grabbing a pair of sweats from my dresser, I return to the bathroom to find him leaning on the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest.
“Here.”
He takes the pants gingerly, examining them. “I hope you don’t like these.”
“Why?”
Wobbling a little, he pulls them on. “Because you’re never getting them back.”
I’m surprised my eyes haven’t gotten stuck with how often he makes me roll them. Once he’s decent— not by much because I can totally see the outline of his dick-piercing through the grey cotton— he picks up his shoes and disappears through the bedroom. Assuming he went to get water or something, I brush my teeth.
Mitz meows from the living room.
Bags rustle in the kitchen.
I put on a pair of gym shorts and rush out to find Win putting groceries in my fridge. Mitz sits on the counter, tail twitching as she watches him skeptically.
That makes two of us.
He shuts the refrigerator and glances over his shoulder.
“I’ll get my clothes tomorrow, I guess,” he says, resignation lining his features. A sad smile and dark circles under his tired eyes pull on my heartstrings.
He pads to the door—
Nope.
Absolutely not.
He’s not doing this.
I march over, grab his hand and drag him to my room.
“What—”
“Nice try, asshole, but you’re not escaping that easily.”
I push him back on the bed.
“I thought you—”
Crawling onto the mattress, I flop on my side and yank the idiot against me, securing an arm around his waist and threading our fingers.
He’s stiff as a board.
“You’re not being a very good little spoon.”
He relaxes slightly. I bury my nose in his damp hair, inhaling the mixture of his natural musk and the scent of my shampoo. A primal monster buried deep within surfaces.
“Win, Win, Win,” I sigh. “What am I gonna do with you? ”
Finally, he liquifies, his breathing slowing. “Hold me until I fall asleep.”
Fucking. Hell.
I swallow hard. “Planned on it.”
It doesn’t take long for his soft snores to fill the silence. I prop up on an elbow, careful not to disturb him and brush raven strands away from his forehead.
Something vibrates on the nightstand, but my phone is in the kitchen. I groan, rolling back to grab Win’s cell, squinting at the screen. What would his passcode be? I don’t want to risk locking him out, but I don’t want to wake him either.
My stomach grumbles.
I’m not meant to fall asleep, apparently.
I skim my lips across his temple and slip out of bed to scavenge through the fridge, taking his phone along for the ride. Mitz trots behind me, glancing up with a little purr of excitement. “Yeah, yeah, after we snack you can cuddle him too. Just don’t sleep on his face, it’s rude.”
She chirps, weaving between my legs as I rummage through the goodies Win brought. Most of it looks like ingredients for an Italian dish, but the bastard knows me and stocked up on a whole bunch of desserts. I greedily devour a cannoli—
I’m mid-chew when a sound startles me.
Win’s phone again. Ringing. Mom.
She’s probably flipping out since he hasn’t texted her. I swipe to answer.
“Winnie? Honey, where are you? Richard said you left upset and we’re worried. I’ve tried calling you but—”
I clear my throat. “Hey, Marceline, it’s Remy.”
“O-oh. Hi sweetie, is Win with you?”
My cheeks burn. “Yeah, he came over. He fell asleep but he’s ok. ”
“Thank god,” she sighs. “He didn’t… take anything, right?”
“No. He’s sober.”
She's quiet for a moment, but the static crackle of her barely contained emotion stings my eyes. “Thank you. For answering and being there for him. He hasn’t had anyone in his corner since you.”
It’s a stab in the chest.
“Yeah,” I croak. “Of course.”
“Goodnight, Remy. Have Winnie call me in the morning, ok?”
“You got it.”
The second she hangs up, I drop the phone like a hot pan and brace my shaking hands on the counter. What does she mean? Has he really been all alone? Never even made another friend? That’s impossible. Surely, he had at least one person in California. I blow out a long breath and pick at the remains of my dessert.
A strangled cry makes me drop the cannoli.
Another. This time, I hear my name.
I sprint back to the bedroom.
Win’s hands are balled into fists, shielding his face. He’s shaking and curled in on himself. “ No, please don’t—” He flinches, moving enough to reveal his eyes are squeezed shut.
A nightmare.
I round the bed, unsure whether I should touch him or not.
He thrashes. “ No! Stop!”
Fuck it.
I drape myself around him, whispering, “Shh, I’ve got you. I’m right here.” His whimpers begin to taper off, but the trembling persists. So I keep rubbing his arm, kissing his forehead and hushing him until peace finds him again.
“What’s haunting you, beautiful boy?”
I sigh, dropping my face into the crook of his neck. I’m afraid to leave him and shut off the lights. What if his nightmare returns? Is this how he felt whenever I called? It’s fucking torture. But his pleas and cries didn’t sound imaginary. Whatever plagues his dreams sounds more like a memory.
Which makes it so much worse.