Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Remy
It doesn’t matter how many times I score a goal—each time that lamp lights up, I get the kind of endorphin rush that has thrill seekers jumping out of airplanes. It’s how I feel right now, standing in my kitchen with Grayson, knowing that he’s mine. It feels huge and all-encompassing, like I’ve won the Stanley Cup of relationships. And the truth is, I really think I might have.
Not only is Grayson a fucking snack, but he’s kind. He’s steady. He’s the guy who puts aside what he wants in favor of a friend. Now, I just have to figure out a way to keep him.
Step 1: doing filthy things on my couch.
“You know,” Grayson says, dropping his spoon into his now empty bowl, “I kind of feel like I need to brush my teeth before I—what was it you said—fuck you within an inch of your life. That pasta salad was ninety percent fish and mayonnaise.”
Laughing, I circle the island and pull him to stand. “Nope. I’m tired of waiting. I don’t care if you taste like ass.”
“Mm, not a bad idea,” he says, and leans down to lick my neck. I start walking backward, pulling him along.
“Couch,” I instruct.
He hums a little bit, bending at the knees to lick at my collarbone. When I try to move back toward the couch again, he stops me. I’m about to complain, when he cups his hands over the backs of my thighs, yanks me flush against him, and stands up. I scramble to grab on to his shoulders, laughing.
“Jesus,” I mutter, when he nips at my neck. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I twist my fingers through his hair and tug. “I don’t know whether to be embarrassed or turned on that you can pick me up so easily.”
“Turned on,” he answers, laying me down far more gently than I’d anticipated. “Definitely turned on.”
I aim a pointed stare at the crotch of my board shorts. “Mission accomplished.”
He grins, pushes me back until I’m lying flat on the L-shaped portion of the couch, and wastes no time ridding us of our little clothing. I have a list of about a hundred things I want to do with him, but between the visual of him standing naked above me right now and the fact that he can pick my hockey-playing ass up and carry me around, I’m at the point where I just need to be fucked. Pronto.
“I stashed a condom and lube over there.” I point toward the console table. “The drawer on the left.”
“Not yet,” he says, planting a knee and one hand onto the couch so he can lean over and start licking me again. My eyes practically roll to the back of my head when he spends an obscene amount of time on my nipples, and I know my grip on his shoulders is probably rough enough to bruise, but I can’t figure out the mechanics of relaxing. Not when he’s apparently set on using his mouth to rid every bit of saltwater from my skin.
“Are we…are you going to do the…” His lips are on the inside of my upper thigh, so close to my dick and yet so far away. “Are we doing the edging again, because…”
I’m panting already, thoughts scattering each time his tongue finds a new patch of skin to taste. What the hell was I saying?
Hands on the backs of my thighs, he pushes my legs up and back. He’s stepped off the back of the couch now, and after the copious amount of gay porn I’ve consumed lately, I know exactly what he’s about to do. I replace his hands with my own, keeping my legs pulled back and my ass exposed to him. Shivers of anticipation race through me as he leans over to give me a quick kiss on the mouth before he kneels down on the floor and buries his face in my crack.
I’m blissed out—moaning and mumbling incoherently as he works his tongue into me, hands flattened on my abdomen to keep me from wiggling away.
“Holy shit, that feels so fucking good, so fucking good,” I repeat, sounding like the broken record of rimming. I can’t tear my eyes away from his dark head between my legs and his long, white fingers on my stomach. He flicks his eyes up to meet mine and continues fucking me with his tongue. I tell him again in case there is any doubt: “That feels so fucking good.”
Minutes later—or perhaps hours, I have no goddamn idea—he leans back and kisses his way up my inner thigh. It’s sweet, especially given the fact that he was just giving me a first-hand experience on just how many nerves there are in my ass. I thought I felt incredible after being edged, but apparently that was nothing compared to rimming. If he kept that up any longer, I was going to come without any contact on my painfully hard, and painfully lonely dick.
“That felt so fucking good,” I tell him, because I’m not sure he heard me the last dozen times I said it. He’s still kissing his way slowly up my body. I let my legs go and open them up as widely as I can, trying to accommodate his massive frame. Touching the top of his head, I slide my fingers through his hair, still damp from our swim. “You going to come up here and kiss me?”
“Sure, if you want me to,” he says, as though there is any possibility I wouldn’t want that.
“Come here,” I instruct. “And best not touch my dick right now, because I don’t want to come until you’re pulverizing my insides and I’m dangerously close right now.”
He laughs, and is still laughing when he kisses me. He doesn’t taste like ass or even like mayonnaise. He just tastes like Grayson. My Grayson.
“You’re a bit of a cock slut, you know that?” he murmurs, only breaking our mouths apart enough for the words to escape. I smile into his mouth and pull him back in.
“I really am,” I agree, patting his butt with my free hand. “You’ve converted me. Once you go Gray, you never go back, as they say.”
“As they say, yes.”
He sits up enough that there is room for us to smile goofily at each other for a second. I pat his butt again to let him know that my dick has relaxed enough for him to put his inside me.
I lie there essentially boneless as Grayson situates us. Like usual, I’m perfectly content to let him take the reins and lead. He pulls me right to the end of the couch, and because we’re on the end piece of the sectional, there’s still plenty of room for him to kneel, legs spread wide between mine. My feet are once more hooked around his back and his body is cradled against my hips.
“I’m glad I paid extra for this kind of couch,” I tell him, leaning up to chase his mouth.
“Had this in mind, did you?” he asks, two lubed fingers sliding slowly in and out of me as we kiss lazily. Every time his scruff scratches across my cheeks, a zing of pleasure shoots through me. I squirm as much as I’m able with so much of him on top of me and his fingers inside me. I’d like for him to hurry the hell up, but I know if I ask, he’ll just go slower.
When he deems me prepped enough, he steps one leg off the edge of the couch and holds my hips in a firm grip as he pushes inside. One perfect, slow glide and I can feel every inch of him in me. Fucking heaven.
He gives a few shallow thrusts, watching my face for any sign of discomfort. When there isn’t any, he dispenses with the care and gives us both what we want. With one hand planted on the couch near my shoulder and the other clamped around my hip like a vise, he pounds into me. Arching up, I groan my approval. Yes, yes, yes.
When I start sliding across the couch cushion, he moves to adjust his hands.
“Hold me down,” I request suddenly, unsure of where the words even came from. Grayson groans, leaning down to kiss me roughly, scruff abrasive on my chin.
He pushes my hands above my head, overlapping my wrists and wrapping his larger hand around to hold me in place. Oh hell yes, I think desperately, arching my hips upward as he begins to fuck me in earnest. I squeeze my legs around him and use my heels on his lower back to angle my pelvis as high as I can. The only thing I can think—with him above me, beautiful blue eyes intent on mine and sweat beading on his forehead—is deeper, deeper, deeper.
Grayson comes first, hips snapping forward frenetically and his eyes fluttering closed. I strain against his hold, mindlessly trying to reach out and touch him, but he keeps me pinned to the couch as he fucks me through his release.
“Gray,” I moan. “Grayson.”
He leans down and kisses me hard, pushing my head back into the cushion. Our kisses are rough—desperate—as he wraps the hand not holding my wrists around my dick and starts to stroke. I writhe beneath him, balls drawing up tight as he brings me closer and closer to release. I want to touch him so fucking bad.
“Oh, fuck.” Cum splatters across my abdomen that Grayson so recently licked clean. He continues stroking, dick still lodged inside me, and hand holding mine prisoner. I’m not sure I could move even if he wasn’t still holding me down. I don’t even want to.
He touches me until my cock goes soft in his hand. Another kiss, this one gentler, and he releases my hands. Immediately, I reach for him and reacquaint myself with the softness of his hair. There’s really no way for us to lie here comfortably, and Grayson still has one foot on the floor. This is the problem with sex in random places. I want to fall asleep wrapped up in his chest hair, but we still have to walk upstairs.
“Think you can carry me up to bed?” I ask, only half kidding. He chuckles, shifting his hips backward until he slides out of me. As always, I feel bereft. Cock slut, indeed.
“I could,” he says .
“Better not. Throwing out your back right before the playoff race starts probably isn’t wise.”
He snorts. “You’re not that heavy.”
I do end up making it upstairs with the use of my own legs, but barely manage to give myself a cursory cleanup before I crawl into bed. Grayson takes a little longer, before flicking off the light. I listen for his footfalls as he crosses the room toward me. Something about the way the mattress tilts as he slides in next to me has my throat feeling tight with emotion. The moment he gets settled, I crowd into him, maybe not wanting to cuddle all night, but definitely wanting it right now. Grayson is like a human furnace, and I’ve got a definite chill after the sweat and saltwater has dried.
He lets me situate myself to my liking before wrapping an arm over my shoulders and threading his fingers through my hair. When I press my mouth to the nearest bit of skin I can find, he tastes like the beach.
“So, is it okay if I tell people about us? About you?” he whispers through the dark, fingers still dancing across my scalp.
I tilt my head just enough that my lips aren’t smashed against him. “Of course. If you want to.”
“Yeah. I want to tell Troy.”
“Tell Troy to spread it around that you’re not available. I’ll be calling every bar in Colorado, too, to make sure the bartenders all know to back the fuck off.”
He laughs, rich and smooth in the inky black of the room. His arms tighten as he gives me a little squeeze.
“Matt was the first person in two years to ask me out like that, Remy. Other than you, that’s the most interest I’ve had in a very long time. But, if it makes you feel better, you can piss on my leg and mark your territory before we fly home in a few days.”
“Cover you with cum so that people can smell me on you from thirty clicks away.”
Another laugh, this one little more than a soft rumble in my ear.
“But seriously, Gray, tell whomever you want. Change your relationship status on social media, I don’t care. Hiding while things were only physical was fine, but I want to post pictures of us together and not have to pretend you’re just my bro. I want to hold your hand when we go for a walk on the beach, and hug you for far too long in airport pickup. I want people to know you’re mine.”
“You did a lot of thinking these past couple weeks, huh?”
“Yeah.” I sigh, shifting closer and letting my leg fall in between his. “I was worried, because I apparently can’t be trusted to understand my own feelings, as evidenced by the fact that I got married to someone who probably would have made a better friend than a wife. Everything with you was so new and exciting, and there was a big part of me that wondered if the way I was feeling was only because of that. But that’s bullshit. I’m scared I’ll mess things up again, but that’s not a good enough reason to not try.”
“It takes two people to mess up a marriage or a relationship, Remy,” he says gently. “It also takes two people to make it work.”
“Yeah. Neither Amanda nor I tried very hard, I guess. She was my best friend and I loved hanging out with her, but I was never, like, clamoring to get home from road trips so I could be with her. Alex thinks that probably should have been my first clue that things were wrong.”
I’m starting to get too warm now, the heat from Grayson and me turning our little pocket of space into a furnace. Instead of moving away, I burrow a little deeper. I’m already sweaty anyway, and his chest is the perfect pillow.
“Maybe,” he agrees, smoothing his hand over the back of my head and down my spine. And that’s why snuggling is worth being overheated—casual touches that I’d otherwise miss out on.
“You down to meet my mom tomorrow?” I chuckle a little bit at the ridiculousness of me essentially asking him to meet my family only a day after we get together.
“Sure.”
“She’s going to ask you to do housework,” I warn him. “She’s going to take one look at you and see nothing but a big, strong laborer.”
“I don’t mind helping with chores if that’s what it takes to date her son,” he says, as his hand makes another pass down my spine. I fidget a little bit, adjusting my face and enjoying the soft feel of his hair against my cheek.
“It’s a pretty long drive, so we should get some sleep. Don’t be surprised if I wake you up the same way I did this morning.”
“I will be unspeakably disappointed if you don’t.”
I’m in one of those ridiculously good moods that feels like my body is filled with sunshine as I drive toward my mom’s place. Grayson is in the passenger seat, dark sunglasses on and fingers tapping a beat on his thigh as the radio plays “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl).” His shorts are pulled up a bit because of the way he’s seated, and I keep getting distracted by the sight of his dark leg hair. I keep finding reasons to reach across the center console and rest my hand on that leg, pleasure tingling through my fingertips at the scratch of hair against calluses.
Grayson spends most of the time looking out the windows, head practically on a swivel as he tries to catch everything. I point things out as we go, enjoying playing tour guide and telling him stories of growing up here. The ride is so enjoyable, I don’t even have a second to feel nervous about the fact that I’m bringing someone new home to meet my mom. A male someone.
It’s not until we’re pulling slowly up my mom’s narrow, winding drive that the first bout of nerves hit. I peek over at Grayson and put my hand back on his leg. Everything is going to be fine. She’s going to love him.
“Do we need to get our stories straight?” Grayson asks suddenly, putting his hand on top of mine and rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.
“Our stories?”
“Yeah. Like…what do you want her to know about me. About us.”
“Oh.” I shrug. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on telling her about how I apparently have a kink for being manhandled, but everything else, yeah. She already knows we played together, and that you let me stay with you in Calgary. I didn’t specifically say we were together, but I’m pretty sure she picked up on it anyway. When she called me last week to finalize the plans for her opening up my house, she kept referring to you as my partner.” I look over at him, smiling a touch sheepishly. “I never corrected her.”
“Partner is good,” he murmurs. The car jolts over a pothole, and I press my foot down on the brake, slowing the vehicle even further. If you want to visit my mom, you have to earn it. “I still think we should have stopped somewhere so I could have brought something for her.”
I shake my head, leaning forward over the steering wheel and squinting at the drive. I don’t want to get my car’s suspension realigned after this. “No, she’s not big on gifts, and her garden is insane, so she has access to as many flowers as she wants. My mom’s love language is household chores—you’ll see.”
I honk the horn a couple times as soon as the car is in park. Grayson sends me a wide-eyed look of surprise at my evident rudeness, but when I crack the driver’s side door open, I can hear my mom cackling out of sight in the garden. She’s rounding the house at the same time Grayson reaches my side of the vehicle, and holds her arms wide as she walks toward me.
“Is that the fruit of my loins, come to visit?” she says, wrapping her bony arms around me and squeezing so hard I can feel my lungs compress. I hug her back just as hard, inhaling her flowery smell.
“I’m adopted,” I remind her, and she lets out a shocked, theatrical gasp. Pulling out of the hug, she puts both hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. Her black hair is tied back in some elaborate knot at the base of her head, but ringlets have escaped here and there to give her something of a manic look.
“Who told you that?” she asks. I roll my eyes and she laughs, eyes tracking over to Grayson and widening. “Oh lawd, that is a lot of man.”
“Ma!” Face burning, I glance over at Grayson. He’s got his sunglasses tucked into the neck of his T-shirt and is grinning at us.
“I’m Grayson. Thank you for the gifts you made me, ma’am. I tried the tea this morning and it was delicious,” he says, sticking out one massive hand and engulfing her tiny one as he shakes it. She uses her free hand to stroke his forearm, shaking her head and craning her neck to look him in the face.
“Lawd,” she says again. “You can call me Dora, and no need for thanks. Plenty more where that came from. You know, you’re so tall I think you could clean my gutters without even needing a ladder.”
“Oh my god, Ma, he just got here. Can he have a tour first, maybe a glass of water, before you enlist him?”
“Listen to him, getting all worked up,” she says conspiratorially to Grayson, winking at me. “Come on around the back, I was just gathering some herbs to make something for old Janice down the road. She’s got awful gout, and I know just how to cure it.”
She takes hold of Grayson’s hand and reaches out for me to take the other. As we walk around back, she holds Grayson’s hand up and scrutinizes the back of it.
“Nice, strong hands. Very important in a man.” I groan, but she changes track before I can interrupt. “Have you ever had your palm read before? I can do it later, for you. Tarot, too, if you’ve an interest.”
“Oh, sure,” Grayson responds, not sounding sure at all.
“She’s originally from Louisiana,” I explain. “Creole witch. She didn’t go through a formal adoption; just summoned me like a demon.”
This makes my mom laugh, and she pulls my hand up to kiss the back of it before she lets us both go. I look around the yard, happy to see it hasn’t changed much since I’ve been gone. There’s a small metal patio table incongruously placed in the center of the yard, uneven paving stones around it. A few summers ago, Mom and I had got it into our heads to try our hand at landscaping. It was an unequivocal fail, but damn if we didn’t have a good time doing it. I glance around the massive yard, trying to see it from the perspective of a guest.
The garden is absolute chaos; no neat and orderly rows here. My mom is the only person who knows where one plant ends and the next begins, and the flower beds are even worse. Various half-finished projects litter the lawn: birdhouses, a bench I made from used hockey sticks that is dangerous to sit on, and a lawn mower that hasn’t worked in this decade. The inside is worse. Back in Canada, Grayson’s house is orderly and neat, decorated with muted colors; nothing like the color explosion that took place inside my mom’s place.
“It’s a little bit of a mess,” I whisper to Grayson apologetically. He looks at me incredulously.
“It’s fantastic.”
He trails after Mom as she gives him the most insane tour known to man. Four times we backtrack through rooms we’ve already been to, and several times she thinks of something she wants to give him and ambles off to dig out whatever it is. By the time we get back to the garden, Grayson’s got an armful of oils, homemade tea, a room-freshening spray, a knitted hat, and a giant crystal that’s supposed to help him sleep at night.
I watch him as he goes to deposit his treasures in the car, unable to stop a sappy grin from spreading across my face. I’m so glad he’s here.
“Well, now,” Mom says, wrapping her arm around my waist and giving me a side hug. “What have we here?”
“Nothing. ”
“Mm. I like that boy. He’s got a good aura. He’s got warm eyes and a kind soul.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “He does.”
“And what’s got you all worked up in a tizzy, then, huh?” Another squeeze. I lean into her a bit.
“I don’t want to fuck up with Gray like I did with Amanda. It feels different, but what if that’s only because he’s a guy? Things are easy now, but what if he wants to get married someday? I don’t want to do that again, Ma. Hell, what if long-distance is too hard and shit hits the fan before we even get to the point where we’re talking about marriage? I don’t know. I really like him and that’s freaking me out. You know what I thought about this morning, first thing when I woke up? I thought about how it would be nice if he lived here with me during the off-season. We’ve literally been dating for a single day —I shouldn’t be thinking that.”
We both watch as Grayson closes the back door of my car, wiping his hands on his thighs as he turns and starts walking back our way.
“Oh, Ree, honey, you’ve always been good at questions and bad at feelings. Stop thinking so hard and trying to solve problems before there are any. A relationship doesn’t always have to feel like work. Sometimes it can just be beautiful.”