Chapter 18
REMINGTON
Iclosed the door behind her and the rest of the world disappeared.
Chelsea stood in the low light of the suite, coat already slipped from her shoulders, the dark silk of her top catching the lamplight across her collarbones and the soft swell of her breasts.
Her hair was down, loose around her face, and her eyes held mine with a quiet steadiness that made my pulse kick harder than any adrenaline rush I’d ever chased in the field.
I crossed to her without rushing. My hands found her waist first, thumbs brushing the silk, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath it. She drew in a breath—sharp, quiet—and that small sound settled low in my gut like a match struck in the dark.
I’d had women before. Beautiful, willing, skilled. Women who knew how to move, how to moan, how to make a night memorable.
None of them had ever made me want to drop to my knees and learn every inch of them like scripture.
I kissed her slow and deep, tongue sliding against hers, tasting the night air and the unmistakable sweetness that was only her. She made a soft sound into my mouth and I felt it travel straight down my spine.
My hands slid under the hem of her top. Warm skin.
Smooth. I pushed the fabric up inch by inch, reverent, until it cleared her head and her arms. I dropped it to the floor.
She wore a simple black bra—lace edging the cups—and the sight of her like this, half-undressed and breathing a little faster, made something primal and worshipful uncoil in my chest.
I dropped to my knees.
Not for show. Not for effect. Because I needed to.
I pressed my mouth to the skin just below her navel. Felt the shiver that ran through her. I kissed lower, along the waistband of her jeans, and her fingers slid into my hair, not pulling, just anchoring. I unbuttoned her jeans with my teeth, slow enough that she could stop me if she wanted.
She didn’t.
I peeled the denim down her legs, taking her panties with it. When she stepped free, I stayed on my knees and looked up at her.
Naked from the waist down. Top still on. Hair falling around her shoulders. The city lights painting gold and shadow across her skin.
“God,” I breathed. “You’re perfect.”
I kissed the inside of her thigh. Higher. Higher still. I tasted the soft skin where her leg met her body, then moved inward, slow and deliberate, breathing her in. She was already warm, already slick, and the first slow drag of my tongue along her folds pulled a broken sound from her throat.
I took my time.
I licked into her with long, unhurried strokes, learning the shape of her, the way she trembled when I circled the entrance, the way her hips rocked forward when I flattened my tongue and gave her more pressure.
I sucked gently on her outer lips, then firmer, drawing her into my mouth.
I explored every fold, every secret crease, mapping her with my tongue the way I’d map a room I intended to protect.
Her fingers tightened in my hair. Her thighs started to shake.
Only then did I slide two fingers inside her—slow, curling gently, searching for the spot that would make her lose the last of her composure. When I found it, she gasped my name and her inner walls fluttered around me.
I kept the rhythm steady. Fingers stroking deep while my tongue worked her in lazy, worshipful circles—never rushing, never zeroing in too soon. I wanted her soaked. I wanted her desperate. I wanted her to feel every second of the attention I was giving her.
When her breathing turned ragged and her hips started chasing my mouth I finally gave her what she needed—firmer pressure with the flat of my tongue, right where she was most sensitive, while my fingers kept that steady curl inside her.
She came with a broken cry, thighs clamping around my shoulders, pulsing around my fingers. I stayed with her through every wave, licking her gently, drawing it out until she was trembling and gasping my name like she couldn’t remember any other word.
I gentled her down, then started again.
Slower this time. I turned her around, bent her over the edge of the bed, and worshipped her from behind—long licks from her entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves, my hands spreading her open so I could taste every inch.
I slid my tongue inside her, fucking her with it while my thumb stroked slow circles just above.
She pushed back against my face, moaning into the sheets, and I felt like a man who’d been given something sacred.
Only when she was shaking and begging did I stand, turn her onto her back again, and settle between her thighs.
I kissed her deep, letting her taste herself on my tongue. Then I lined myself up and pushed inside her in one slow, relentless slide.
She was tight. Hot. Perfect. The feel of her closing around me made me growl. I had to stop, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard through my nose.
“Chelsea,” I rasped.
She wrapped her legs around my waist and pulled me deeper.
I started to move—deep, rolling thrusts that ground against her with every stroke.
I watched her face the entire time. Every flutter of her lashes, every parted breath, every tiny sound she couldn’t hold back.
I changed the angle until I found the spot that made her back arch off the bed, and then I stayed there, fucking her slow and deep and relentless.
My mouth found her breasts. I sucked one nipple deep, then the other, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make her clench around me.
I kissed the valley between them, the soft underside, the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
I bit gently at her collarbone and felt her nails dig into my back in response.
I worshipped every inch I could reach while I moved inside her.
When she started tightening again, I slid a hand between us and stroked her with my thumb—firm, steady circles that matched the rhythm of my hips. She came apart with a sob, pulsing around my cock, and I had to lock every muscle to keep from following her.
I wasn’t finished yet.
I pulled out, flipped her onto her stomach, and pulled her hips up so she was on her knees. I slid back inside her in one smooth thrust and she moaned into the pillow.
I fucked her like that—deep, possessive strokes—while my hands roamed.
I stroked down her spine. Gripped the soft flesh of her ass.
Reached around to play with her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers.
I leaned down and kissed the back of her neck, then bit gently at the curve of her shoulder.
I wanted her to feel claimed.
I wanted her to feel adored.
I wanted her to feel like no one had ever touched her the way I was touching her, and no one ever would again.
When she came the third time she cried out my name and her whole body locked up around me. I buried myself to the hilt and finally let go.
I came so hard my vision blurred, spilling deep inside her in long, pulsing waves, hips grinding against her ass as I held her tight against me.
We stayed locked together for a long time, both of us breathing hard. I draped myself over her back, still inside her, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder, her neck, the shell of her ear.
Eventually, I pulled out carefully and rolled her onto her back. I kissed her slow and deep, tasting the salt of sweat and the faint trace of her pleasure. I kissed her cheeks, her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose. I kissed the hollow of her throat where her pulse still fluttered.
Then, I pulled the covers over us and tucked her against my chest.
She fit there like she’d been made for it.
I pressed my lips to her hair and whispered the only truth that mattered in the dark.
“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
She didn’t answer with words. She just pressed closer, one leg sliding between mine, her hand resting over my heart like she was anchoring herself there.
And for the first time in longer than I could remember, the rest of the world went quiet.
There was only her.
Only this.
Only worship.
And it was everything.