Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Artemis
The houseboat rocked gently beneath my feet as I stepped aboard, the familiar creak of weathered wood mixing with the soft lap of water against the hull. Fairy lights strung along the railings cast everything in a warm, honeyed glow, and somewhere in the trees, frogs sang their evening chorus.
Remy was waiting for me on the deck, leaning against the railing with that easy grace that made everything look effortless.
The setting sun painted him in shades of amber and gold, catching the lighter streaks in his brown hair, the curve of his smile.
He was wearing a white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms.
"There's my girl." His voice was warm, that Cajun accent wrapping around the words like a caress. He pushed off the railing and crossed to me, taking my hands in his, his thumbs rubbing circles on my knuckles. "Was starting to think you got cold feet."
"Never." I squeezed his fingers, feeling the familiar calluses from years of guitar strings and fishing lines.
The anticipation was different this time—less nerves, more hunger.
Harper's bond hummed warm and steady in my chest, and soon Remy's would join it.
"Just wanted to give you time to get nervous. " I tilted my chin up, teasing.
His dimples flashed, those amber eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Me? Nervous?" He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, the gesture so dramatically Remy that I laughed despite the butterflies rioting in my stomach.
"Chere, I've been waiting for this since the first time I saw you. Ain't nothing nervous about it."
"Liar." I poked his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin linen. "Your hands are sweating."
He looked down at where our fingers were still intertwined, then back up at me with a sheepish grin that softened all his sharp edges. "Okay, maybe a little nervous. It's a good nervous, yeah? Like before you go on stage. All that energy with nowhere to go until the music starts."
"And when does the music start?" I stepped closer, close enough to breathe in his scent, my hands sliding up his chest.
"Right about now." He cupped my face in both hands, tilting my head up, and kissed me.
His lips were soft but insistent, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that made my knees weak.
One hand slid into my hair while the other found the small of my back, pulling me flush against him until I could feel every line of his body pressed to mine.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard, and his eyes had gone dark, the amber swallowed by blown pupils.
"Come inside," he murmured against my lips, his voice rougher than before.
"I want to show you something." He led me through the narrow door into the houseboat's interior.
I'd been here before, but tonight it looked different.
He'd cleaned—really cleaned, not just shoved things in closets—and lit candles that filled the small space with the scent of vanilla and sandalwood.
His bed had been made with fresh sheets, and there were flowers on the nightstand.
Wildflowers, the kind that grew along the bayou banks, gathered in a mason jar.
"Remy..." My throat tightened, emotion welling up so fast I couldn't swallow it down. He'd done all this. For me. For us.
"Too much?" He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly uncertain, that cocky confidence flickering.
"I know it ain't fancy like Harper's distillery, but I wanted—" I grabbed his shirt and yanked him down into a kiss that was more teeth than technique, more desperation than finesse.
He made a surprised sound against my mouth, then his arms wrapped around me and he hauled me up against him, spinning us until my back hit the wall and his body pinned me there.
"Not too much," I gasped when we came up for air, my legs wrapped around his waist, my fingers twisted in his hair. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
"Now who's the liar?" But his smile was blinding, those dimples cutting deep into his cheeks, and his hands were trembling where they gripped my thighs. "I love you, Artemis. You know that, right? I love you so goddamn much it scares me sometimes."
"I know." I traced the line of his jaw, feeling the faint rasp of stubble beneath my fingertips. "I love you too. Even when you leave your guitar picks everywhere and forget to do dishes."
He laughed, the sound vibrating through both of us. "That's fair." He kissed the corner of my mouth, my cheek, the spot just below my ear that made me shiver. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Starting tonight."
He walked us to the bed, lowering me onto the fresh sheets with a carefulness that belied how desperately he was breathing.
The houseboat rocked beneath us, a soothing rhythm that matched the pulse thudding in my veins.
Through the small window above the bed, I could see stars beginning to prick through the darkening sky.
"I've thought about this," Remy said, settling beside me, propped on one elbow so he could look down at my face. His free hand traced patterns on my collarbone, feather-light touches that left trails of heat in their wake. "Dreamed about it. What it would be like to bond with you."
"And?" My voice came out breathier than I intended, my body already responding to his nearness, his scent, the promise in his eyes. I shifted on the sheets, my thighs pressing together, seeking friction that wasn't there.
"And reality is going to be better." He leaned down and kissed the hollow of my throat, his tongue tracing the dip between my collarbones. "So much better. Because you're really here. Really mine." His teeth grazed my skin, just hard enough to make me gasp. "About to be mine forever."
"Less talking." I tugged at his shirt, frustrated by the fabric between us, my fingers curling into the linen and pulling. "More showing." I arched up to nip at his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble against my lips.
His grin turned wicked, that playful edge sharpening into something hungrier.
"Yes ma'am." He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside without looking where it landed.
The candlelight played across his chest—leaner than Harper's, but still defined, golden skin stretched over muscle.
A scattering of freckles across his shoulders that I'd never noticed before.
I reached up to touch them, tracing with my fingertip, and watched goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch.
"Your turn," he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. His fingers found the hem of my dress—a simple sundress, easy to remove—and started sliding it up my thighs, his knuckles brushing bare skin. "Want to see you. All of you."
I lifted my hips to help him, then my arms, and the dress disappeared over my head. I hadn't worn a bra—the dress didn't need one—and his sharp intake of breath when he saw me bare made heat flood my cheeks and pool between my thighs.
"Fuck, Artemis." He sounded almost reverent, his amber eyes roaming over my body like he was seeing it for the first time. His hand hovered over my breast, not quite touching, the heat of his palm radiating against my skin. "You're so beautiful."
"Touch me." I arched up into his hand, closing the distance myself, my back lifting off the mattress, my fingers reaching for his wrist to guide him.
We both groaned when his palm finally made contact with my breast, warm and rough against my skin.
His fingers flexed against my flesh, kneading gently, his thumb finding my nipple and circling until it peaked under his touch.
"Bossy," he teased, but there was no bite to it, just warmth and want as he watched his own hand on my body. He lowered his head and replaced his thumb with his tongue, laving the sensitive peak with broad, wet strokes that made me writhe beneath him, my fingers tangling in his hair.
But I wanted more. Wanted him wrecked the way I was getting wrecked.
I shoved at his shoulders, and he went—Loss flickering across his face until I followed him down, pushing him flat on his back and straddling his hips in one smooth motion.
The surprise in his amber eyes melted into something darker when I pinned his wrists above his head, leaning down until my bare breasts brushed his chest.
"My turn," I said against his mouth, and felt his whole body shudder beneath me.
"Fuck yes." His voice had gone rough, his hips rolling up against me instinctively, the hard length of him pressing against my core through his jeans. "Whatever you want, chere. I'm yours."
I kissed down his throat, feeling his pulse hammer against my lips, tasting salt and that honey-smoke scent that was purely Remy.
His chest was smooth under my mouth, golden skin warm from the candlelight, and when I found his nipple and flicked my tongue across it, his back arched off the mattress.
"Didn't expect that," he gasped, his hands flexing where I still had them pinned, his stomach muscles clenching as I scraped my teeth across the sensitive peak.
"Pay attention." I released his wrists to work at his belt, and he immediately buried his fingers in my hair, not pushing—just holding, like he needed something to anchor himself. The belt came free, then the button, then the zipper, and I dragged his jeans and boxers down together, freeing him.
He was hard and flushed, his cock curving up toward his stomach, a bead of moisture already gathering at the tip. I wrapped my hand around him and watched his eyes slam shut, his jaw going tight, a groan rumbling through his chest.
"Artemis—" My name came out strangled, his hips jerking up into my grip. "Your hand—fuck—"