Remy

25. Remy

REMY

The reminder isa slap across the face. A necessary one, because while her hands have been on me, pinching my gaping flesh, stapling my wound, my dick has ignored the pain and the fucking sorrow to jut eagerly against the crotch of my tattered pants like an unleashable hound.

How the hell could I forget? Hmm, I wonder.

Maybe it’s the softness of those careful fingers. The tempting sweetness of her strawberry scent. Or the unholy pajamas that would be entirely cookie-cutter on someone else, but on her? They’re a wet dream waiting to fucking happen.

I avert my gaze and scoot from the vanity to shove a punishing hand through my hair.

“You did forget.” Her tone holds surprise. “So that was legitimate flirting? And now this—” She waves a lazy hand in my direction. “—is genuine disgust at the reminder of my virginal status?”

“It’s not disgust.” It’s self-loathing.

“Don’t worry, Remy.” She gives a sad smile. “I’ll lose the V-card soon enough.”

Anger floods my veins, my temples, my goddamn chest. “That’s great, Ollie. Just make sure the guy knows that fucking you will be the last thing he does.”

Shock slackens her features. “You’re kidding, right?” She keeps her emotions in check, but I see the frustration bubbling to the surface. “You won’t have sex with me but nobody else can either?”

Yep. That seems to be the way this unhinged situation is developing.

She snatches her cell from the counter and turns on her heel as she makes for the door. “You can be a real piece of work sometimes. But I’ll let it slide because of what you’ve been through.”

Each foot of space she places between us is like the shortening of a live fuse.

She’s not the only one annoyed at my behavior. I’m fucking fuming—at the lust coursing through my veins, at how my feelings toward her are so mindless at a time when she shouldn’t be smothering my thoughts.

“You’re welcome for the staples though.” She snatches the door handle. “I guess I’m not entirely useless.”

“You’re not fucking useless,” I snarl.

“Actions speak louder…” She yanks the door open. “I’ll find my own way home.”

Like hell.

I lunge, the taut skin on my thigh pulling as I close in behind her, plastering my palm against the door to slam it shut.

I trap her in the cage of my arms, my chest pressing into her back, everywhere we touch awakening a monster inside me. “Rejecting you isn’t effortless.”

She stiffens.

“Watching you from inside the funeral home while you wait in your car is far from a cakewalk,” I snarl into her hair. “Telling you how I feel through texts that you think are taunts isn’t my idea of fun.” I drag the delicious strawberry scent of her shampoo into my lungs. “And then having you in my home, with your hands all over me, while I force mine to remain at my side…Fuck, Ollie. You have no idea what you do to me.”

She raises her chin. “You sure make it look easy.”

Is she kidding?

I’ve lived for the thought of her for months. Been fucking blinded.

There’s only Ollie. Only those beautifully emotional eyes. Those sweet, lush lips.

I lean into her ass, my cock hard against her softness. “Does this feel easy to you?” Her gasp sinks into me, waging war with my control. “Does any part of this feel like I wouldn’t burn the world to the ground just for a few seconds between your fucking thighs?”

She remains facing the door, breaths increasing, body like a stretched rubber band about to snap.

How does she do this to me? Command me. Control me.

I’m a slave to her, every part of me bound and exposed.

“I want you,” I growl in her ear. “I want you so fucking much it’s more painful than a bullet wound.” I nuzzle her neck, consumed by her. I revel in the softness of her hair. The sweetness of her scent. The brutal rasps of her breath.

“But you still won’t sleep with me,” she whispers.

I tense. “No.”

She yanks at the door again, opening it an inch.

I slam it shut with a snarl.

“Why are you doing this?” She turns, those deep hazel depths blinking up at me. “Is it the grief? The alcohol?”

I don’t know. The only thing I understand is the mindless intensity thrumming through me. The need for her. I swear to God, I see it staring back at me, too. The illusion is a sickening punishment.

“You’re driving me insane, Remy. I don’t enjoy feeling like this. I don’t like wanting you.”

She wants me? Even after all she knows?

Fuck.

Just… fuck.

“I should hate you.” She stares up at me, undaunted by my proximity. “Any stable-minded woman would want to take to your head with a two-by-four.”

I huff a laugh. “Instead my girl prefers to shove me into a retort.”

Her brows rise.

She heard it. I fucking did, too.

My girl.

The words may have only come out due to alcoholic lubrication, but it’s true.

She’s mine.

Having her might not be within my realm of reality, yet that doesn’t mean I haven’t claimed her.

She shakes her head, her nose scrunching. “I don’t like how you make me feel.”

The admission hits with the efficiency of a kick to the balls. “And how is that, Pyro?”

She winces. “Entirely out of control.” She grabs at the chain around her neck as if the loose length chokes her. “Like your proximity has a direct link to my personal thermostat. My entire body feels in tune with yours. You make me think things that aren’t healthy. It’s not right.”

My dick throbs back to life. “You’ve bewitched me, too, Pyro. Despite my shitty, godforsaken life, the hardest battle I’ve fought is trying to keep my hands off you.”

“It’s wrong. I don’t understand it.”

That makes two of us.

I shouldn’t be drawn to a woman like her. Shouldn’t be completely rattled by someone whose lithe body could be taken down by a rough gust of wind.

Her eyes turn pained. “The last thing we should have is chemistry.”

“Yet here we are.” Me with a raging hard-on, while her pebbled nipples press through the thin material of her camisole.

She stares and stares, unravelling me with each punishing pound of my pulse, her thoughts out of reach with the possibilities destroying me until she finally whispers, “My virginity isn’t a big deal.”

Fuck.

I grind my teeth. “It is to me.” I want to spell it out. To force her to understand. “I won’t make that memory with you.”

She stands her ground. “I’ve been penetrated before. Maybe not by a man, but with toys. Often. You wouldn’t hurt me.”

Jesus Christ.The image is an onslaught. Her naked body. Her needy whimpers.

“This isn’t about pain.” It’s about my fucked up childhood. About saving her from regret. About—shit.

Why do my reasons feel pathetic against the mesmerizing bat of those dark lashes?

I can’t withstand it.

I’m too fucking weak.

My hand gains a mind of its own, lowering from the door to sweep down to her hip.

She sucks in a breath, as if the contact came with a jolt of electricity.

“Then tell me what the problem is,” she rasps. “Tell me or I’m leaving.”

That shouldn’t be a threat. She’s already dealt with my injury. Her work here is done.

But those eyes… Those tempting lips… Her goddamn fucking curves…

What I wouldn’t give to grasp her chin and smash my mouth to hers.

“Tell me,” she whispers. “Please, Remy.”

My traitorous palm lowers to the hem of her tiny shorts, a lone finger sneaking a trail across her leg to her inner thigh. It’s a mindless movement. A drunken one. But God, does it feel good.

“The reason doesn’t matter.” I run slow circles along the heated skin of her inner thigh, infatuated with how her heavy breaths match each rotation.

It’s a simple touch.

The slightest fix for my addiction.

I’ll stop soon.

“They matter to me.” She squeezes her legs together, her eyes closing for brief seconds. “Especially when I want this.” She tilts her hips toward me, my fingers traveling farther toward heaven.

Blood surges in my veins.

My dick fucking throbs.

I need to tell her to leave. To run.

Yet the thought of her not being here makes me livid. Makes me break out in a cold sweat.

“I’ll never fuck you, Ollie.” I succumb a little more to my addiction, sliding my hand higher, creeping closer toward that sweet spot I’ve jerked off thinking about for months on end, unable to stop myself. I need more. Need everything. But I’ll settle for second best. “I can make you feel good though, if that’s what you want.”

She struggles through a heavy swallow. Nods.

Victory washes over me, the adrenaline in my veins so thick I can taste it. “Say the words, Pyro.”

“Yes,” she rasps. “Please.”

Fuck.

My touch climbs higher, inch by agonizing inch as blood rushes straight to my dick.

I anticipate the feel of her underwear. Soft cotton or silken lace that I can tear right off of her. Only I don’t come in contact with her panties. There’s nothing. My fingers glide from toned thigh all the way to smooth, velvety sex.

She sucks in a shuddering breath, one hand holding her cell against the door, the other quickly moving to grasp the handle for support.

I swipe down her middle with a groan, my fingertips becoming drenched in her pleasure. “You’re so fucking wet.”

She whimpers. “When it comes to you I’m full of toxic responses.”

“Is that right?” I circle her entrance, loving how her head falls back and bangs against the door.

“You make me crave unhealthy things, Remy.”

“Like?”

She shakes her head.

“Tell me.” I glide a finger inside her and she gulps in a sexy breath, increasing my pulse.

She’s tight. Such a mind-numbingly perfect fit for my cock.

I’d have to prep her. Stretch her.

God, she’d feel me everywhere.

“I…” She moans, the sound rumbling off the walls. “I’ve been searching online for things that don’t usually turn me on.”

I keep my mouth shut as a sardonic laugh rumbles in my throat.

I’ve spent weeks reading her internet browser history thanks to the tracking software. But I thought all those porn searches were her fucking with me.

Rough.

Submission.

Breath play.

Sex with dangerous men.

“Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” All sense of playfulness is gone as I slide another finger inside her.

I don’t want her to say yes. Don’t think I can handle knowing we have something else in common.

“I’m not proud of it.” She holds my gaze.

Goddamn.

“Do you want to know how many times I’ve fucked my hand thinking about you, my pretty little Pyro?”

She shakes her head. Adamant.

I lean close, my mouth near her ear. “Good. Because I’ve already lost count.”

She shudders everywhere—shoulders. Thighs. Breath.

It’s too much.

Too tempting.

If life were simple, I’d give her everything she wanted. Rough touches. Tangled, sweaty limbs. I’d show her the danger she craves, as long as I’d also be able to savor her. To cherish and revere.

I’d create the perfect balance. Make her scream and beg. Demand and plead.

She’d never leave the fucking bedroom.

If only she wasn’t her and I wasn’t me.

I curl my fingers inside her with each gentle intrusion, slowly increasing the pace.

Her lips part. Her inhale stutters.

I lean close, nuzzling into her neck. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good.” Her moan is guttural. “God, I could come already.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t want this to end.”

“You might want to think twice about that. If this drags out much longer I’ll have no choice but to palm my cock. I bet one stroke is all it will take to have me making a mess of you.”

She falls quiet.

I pull back, meeting her wide eyes. But her expression isn’t filled with disgusted shock. What’s leveled on me is stunned curiosity. Bewildered enthusiasm.

Jesus fucking Christ, this woman.

I increase the pace of my fingers, her needy whimpers a torturous tease. “You’re going to come for me.” I place my hand atop her sternum, slowly sliding up her sweat-slicked skin over her necklace, all the way to her throat.

Her hips tilt farther, demanding more, her gasp, gasp, gasps rasping in my ears.

There’s no way this woman wasn’t made for me.

Made to torment me with temptation. To punish me for my sins.

“Be a good girl and show me how you get yourself off.” I bury my face against her cheek, close my eyes, and concentrate every molecular cell of my being on keeping my dick in my pants. “Ride my hand, Ollie.”

She does. Oh, fuck, how she goddamn does.

Those hips roll in the smoothest, rhythmic dance. Her legs grind against mine.

“Remy...” My name is a moan. A fucking delicious spell.

I squeeze her neck, scraping my teeth along her jaw. “Don’t stop drenching my hand.”

I want to taste her. To suffocate between those thighs and die a happy man.

She gasps. Harder. Faster.

“That’s it.” I apply pressure to her clit and she bucks toward me.

“Remy…”

My name has never been more melodic. A verbal narcotic.

“That’s my good girl. Keep fucking me, Pyro. Give me what I want.”

Her cell clatters to the ground and she grasps the wrist at her throat, her nails digging deep. I keep licking. Biting. Abstaining like a motherfucker.

“Rem…” This time her call is cut short, her lips falling open on a held breath.

Her pussy clamps around me. Her insides flutter.

I feel it all the way to my dick, the tortured organ seeping, jolting, fucking begging.

Her back arches off the door. Her tits thrust against my chest.

I’d give anything to cup them. Suck them. Lap at every sensitive, pebbled inch.

I lean back to watch the pleasure roll through her, a delicate hand strangling my wrist at her throat, the other clutching the door handle while her mouth gapes and her eyes close.

Nothing in this world has ever been more mesmerizing. More capable of bringing me to my knees.

But why? What the fuck is it about her that has me tied in knots?

This woman, with her painfully moral compass and subconscious death wish, has claimed victory over me while I wasn’t even aware we were in battle.

Slowly, she turns lax, her pussy quitting its quivering death squeeze, her shoulders slumping back against the door with a soft thud.

She blinks her eyes open, her cheeks flushed with lust, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip.

Fuckshe’s beautiful.

A virginal seductress.

An innocent, naive goddess trapped against the bloodstained clothes of a loathsome murderer.

Shit.

The realization of how I’ve desecrated her hits like a physical blow. How I’ve contaminated someone entirely pure with my filth.

Then the memories of what brought us here wiggle their way back into my consciousness—Flynn. Death. Destruction—and my dick wilts.

I crossed a line.

I. Fucked. Up.

I release her throat, her fingertips gliding from my skin as she stares at me with building unease. “This was a mistake.”

“Excuse me?” she whispers.

I took advantage of an adrenaline-fueled situation.

I risked our business arrangement.

I’m gambling with her life.

“For someone far more experienced than I am, I would’ve thought you’d remove your fingers from inside me before starting the cold-shoulder routine.” She wiggles, dislodging my hand from between her legs. “But it’s okay.” She sidesteps, righting the hem of her shorts, smoothing out her camisole. “I get it. You’ve had a horrible night.”

No, she doesn’t have a fucking clue.

She doesn”t realize that things have changed. How I will have to change.

That the monster I once was is nothing in comparison to who I’ll become now that the cartel have made this personal.

They took someone from me. Someone I cared about.

And here I stand with my hand soaked in Ollie’s pleasure while his body is being burned to nothingness.

I’m a piece of shit.

I turn and amble for the sink, then wash her gratification down the drain while she remains limp against the door.

“I’ll call you a driver.” I meet her gaze in the mirror.

She flinches, the rejection taking half a second to mask.

The thought of someone else taking her home sits like a lead weight in my gut, but the threats are stacking against her and I’m the one who keeps putting them there.

She needs to get away from me.

To quit asking for things that will get her killed.

“No.” She pushes from the door to snatch her cell off the floor. “It’s okay. I’ll call my own.”

“I want it to be my driver, Ollie. Someone I can trust with your safety.” I switch off the water and face her.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, hold on tight, buddy, because you’re about to be the poster child for not always getting what you want.” She swings around to face the door, yanking it open.

“Ollie,” I warn.

She pauses.

“I’m not saying you’re not allowed to be pissed at me,” I growl. “But you don’t get to put yourself in danger because of it.”

Her posture loses its rigidity. “I’m not pissed at you.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. This is on me. I’m the sober one. I’m not manipulated by grief. I never should’ve let things go as far as they did.” She clears her throat. “I never should’ve let them go anywhere.” She glances at me over her shoulder, her gorgeous features pinched. “I’m sorry.”

Fucking hell.

Why is everything with her so fucking easy yet so excruciatingly hard all at the same damn time?

“Give me a minute to get some clothes.” I walk toward her, needing to get to my bedroom. “I’ll see that one of my men makes sure you?—”

“Remy, I said I don’t need a ride.”

“I’m not budging on this.” I step around her and try to lengthen my stride down the hall, but the pull of my staples fucks up my pace. I’m forced to limp, to fucking hobble while her footsteps retreat in the opposite direction.

“Don’t defy me, Ollie.” I enter my room and make a beeline for my walk-in closet to snatch a shirt from a hanger. “Give me two more minutes.”

I yank the clothing over my head, but the only response is the faint whoosh of the elevator doors.