Chapter 57
NUMBER FIVE
LAKE
Remy can’t stop staring at my new ink as she rides my cock. She rises up and down, owning my body and my mind as she admires the new lines on my abs. It’s mind-bending: the feel of her, the heat of her, and the care. The way she’s mesmerized by the tattoo, all while she chases her pleasure.
The bed shakes. The headboard creaks. She moans. I growl. Electricity shoots down my spine, like a fuse is lit and crackling. Just a few more moments before it explodes.
I grip her hips, pull her down tighter, harder.
She rocks her hips, taking me deeper and nearly touching the hummingbird the entire time.
The makeup sex is almost, almost, worth the three miserable days apart.
“Love this,” she mutters as she gestures to the bird’s wings.
“Love you,” I bite out.
I slide my hand between her thighs, helping her along.
Her breath hitches, then she cries out. A shudder wracks her body, and she plants her hands flat on my pecs as she comes, her hair spilling across my chest.
It’s breathtaking, soul-stealing. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt. Her. Letting go for me.
“Need to get closer to you,” I mutter as I flip her to her back, slide back in, and sink to my forearms, bracketing her face. “Wrap your legs around me.”
She complies, giving me what I need, hooking her ankles around my back. Yes, this is what I need—her as close as can be. The edge of pleasure slices through me, sharp and hot.
We’re limbs and heat and sweat as I move in her till an orgasm seizes all my thoughts, taking me hostage to the only place I want to be—with her.
I collapse onto her, panting, moaning, and still needing so much more.
I press quiet kisses to her neck, inhaling her scent, memorizing her again and again. “I meant it, Remy,” I say, the words spilling out.
“When you said you loved me?”
“Yes, but also the night I hinted I’d been into you,” I admit, then ease out of her. “Early on when I drove you home one night and told you my friends knew I liked you.”
“I remember. When you said you could be…into me?” she asks, a soft surprise in her voice.
“I think I was trying to tell you something then but failing.”
She runs her fingers down my slick back, making me shiver. “You just weren’t ready then, and that’s okay. I probably wasn’t ready to hear it.”
“You are now?”
She nods, a bright, buoyant smile tipping her lips. “Very, very ready.”
Timing is a funny thing. You think you can control time, you think you can manage your emotions, you think you can protect your heart.
But then someone comes along and knocks your world off-kilter.
Challenges you. Accepts you. Loves you. I should tell her those things.
Not just let them kick around in my brain.
“You’re it for me,” I say, a bare admission.
She holds my face, her eyes shining. “Thank you for insisting on me.”
“I always will.” I let out a contented sigh, then glance down at us. “Better clean up.”
“Might as well shower together.”
That sounds like an excellent idea.
Twenty minutes and a couple more orgasms later, we’re back in my bed, Remy in a T-shirt of mine that hits near her knees. It’s perfect. I roam my hand down her arm. “So about that real date.”
She turns toward me, happiness flickering in her brown eyes. “What about it?”
“It’ll be number five on the list.”
She tenses, then lifts a finger in warning. “It better be glamping.”
I drop a kiss to her forehead. “Beautiful, I know you.”
She ropes her arm around my neck. “I know.”
Then she settles into my arms, breathes easily, and says, “I still don’t like naps.”
I laugh, kiss her head, and say, “And I know that too.”
I hold her close, and for the first time, I’m aware that hockey isn’t my one true love. She is.
My mind starts to drift when there’s a clatter in the other room, then the scrabble of paws against hardwood, and a few seconds later, a big Siamese flies onto the bed, knocking pillows out of the way.
“Way to make an entrance, Thor,” I say.
“He’s really not subtle.”
“It’s definitely not his strong suit,” I say, as the creature curls up on Remy’s pillow, wrapping himself around her head. It’s a claiming, like he’s saying she’s mine.
I get it, Thor. I really do.
* * *
When Friday rolls around, I pick her up at the arena at the end of her work day. We had a game last night—we won, thank you very much to me for the game-winning goal. And I’ve got a night off before we need to leave for a road trip. So I’m taking the love of my life to finish the list.
She hops in the car, her overnight bag already packed. Thor is hanging out with my dad, likely messing up his puzzles and landing on his plates.
“You look stunning,” I tell her, drinking in the sight of her lush chestnut hair, her bright smile, her kind eyes. I reach for her silver sun charm, touching it, touching her.
“So do you,” she says, then drops a kiss on my lips.
It’s like a shot of happiness straight to my veins, and with it fueling me, I drive up the coast to a little town where we check into a treehouse hotel in the middle of an old-growth forest.
I gesture to the small cabin several feet above us, nestled high in the redwoods. “See? It has indoor plumbing, a shower, and a deck.”
She turns to me, grabs my collar, and kisses me hard. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”
“That’s true,” I say, without any sarcasm or irony. It is true. I am. Because she deserves the best.
That night, we settle into sleeping bags on the deck, under the stars.
“We did it,” she says. “We finished Katrina’s list. I wonder why she had this one on it.”
She told me about the time she returned to the store, learned Katrina’s name, and the story behind the list. But we don’t know the why behind each item. I noodle on her question as I run my fingers through her hair. “Maybe because it gives you perspective on what really matters.”
She turns to me, her hand on my chest. “The people you love.”
We’re quiet for a minute or two, just listening to the sounds of nature as the night sky covers us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch something.
The flicker of wings. A silent flight. “Look,” I whisper with urgency, pointing to a branch twenty feet above us where an owl has landed silently, stealthily.
“You summoned an owl,” she says.
And I laugh. “Yes, Remy. I’m an owl whisperer.”
But I lose interest in the owl when she tugs me closer and pulls me on top of her, her bright eyes flickering with naughty thoughts. “There’s something I want to do under the stars.”
And she’s not at all silent as we enjoy the best benefit of sleeping under the stars—not sleeping.