13. 12
I’m on the ground in the living room, having a nice glass of Scarabus. It’s an Irish whiskey with a very earthy tone to it, making it quite intense. Chester hates the smell of it, saying it smells like mold. I tend to drink it when he’s not around. I used to think it’s because I can’t stand his whining, but now I’m inclined to believe it’s because I’ve always cared more about how he feels than I was willing to admit.
Hindsight and stuff.
Remy walks out of the kitchen, having poured himself a glass of cold white wine. We’re going to get our minds off of everything by watching TV. I don’t feel like watching TV, I don’t feel like sitting still. I need to move, I need to do something. All day long I’ve been incredibly annoyed, and it’s showing.
Remy sits behind me on the couch, while I’m on the ground, sitting in the corner where the two sides of our couch meet. He puts a leg on either side of me, places his glass on the coffee table and starts massaging my shoulders.
Even that seems to irritate me. How dare he be considerate.
Huffing, I take another swig of my whiskey.
“This is how it’s going to be all night?” Remy asks me, his hands getting knots out of my back.
I shrug. “I guess.”
“What’s gotten your panties in a twist?”
I huff again. “I don’t know, okay?”
“Are you on your period?”
“When in all the time since you’ve known me have you ever seen me have a period? I don’t get any, it’s a side effect of the contraceptive implant I have. And I think it’s such a lame excuse for men to think that women are on their period any time they’re not acting like themselves.”
He holds up his hands in a defensive gesture.
“What’s making you act like this then? And don’t tell me this is normal behavior, I’ve known you longer than this.”
I grunt.
“If you can’t tell me, I can’t fix it,” Remy says, being totally reasonable, which I also hate, because why does he have to reason with me when I’m being a total dick?
I murmur something he can’t possibly hear, before taking another swig of my drink.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, do you want me to go all caveman on you, throw you against the wall and force you to tell me?” he shouts. When I look over my shoulder and stare him in the face, his eyes seem to be on fire.
“Yes!” I yell back. “That’s exactly what I want!”
Before I process what it is I’ve just said, I’m being hauled up by my arms and turned around mid-air. His mouth crashes down on mine while he pulls me against him. My legs wrap around his waist and I feel like I should be holding on, but really, he’s just holding me up like it’s nothing.
“Is there a specific wall you want to be thrown against? Or can I choose which one without infuriating you more?”
I bite his lower lip almost to the point where I draw blood, and he doesn’t even wait for my answer. He takes long strides to the nearest wall on the other side of the living room and literally throws me against it. He’s right there to catch me, and if he hadn’t thrown girls through the air for a living his whole adult life I’d be afraid he’d hurt me.
Maybe I want him to hurt me a bit.
His hand grabs my hair at the roots, making me look up at him. I’m wrapped around him again like I’m attached to his body, and I feel heat spread between my legs. He supports me with one arm under my ass, but I’m fairly certain he could hold me up by simply pressing me against the wall.
“Tell me what’s going on with you, briseur de coeur.” Briseur de coeur. Heartbreaker. That’s exactly what’s wrong with me. I broke his heart, and he said he forgave me, but I don’t feel forgiven.
When I don’t answer him he pulls my head back even further, pinning me against the wall with his rigid body. His teeth rake over my jaw, until he takes my bottom lip between his teeth and bites down.
I moan.
“Tell me,” he demands.
A grunt leaves my mouth. He pushes his body even more flush against mine.
“Tell me.”
“I feel like you’ve forgiven Chester, but not me.” Now that the words leave my mouth I feel petulant, but at the same time it’s the truth.
“So my word isn’t good enough for you?” His mouth kisses a path down my throat, to my cleavage.
I whimper, because his word should be good enough, but somehow the fact that he’s slept with Chester but not with me stings, leading me to believe he hasn’t forgiven me. It’s just fucking hard to say. I’ve never been someone to talk my shit through, I just work through it, let my actions show. And it seems like it’s coming to bite me in the butt.
“Your word is enough. I know it’s all me…”
“But you feel it nonetheless,” he finishes my sentence for me.
“Yes,” I admit, weaving my fingers through his hair and squeezing him closer between my thighs. He’s better at working with feelings, I just like to push them down. Remy doesn’t. Remy is all about passion and feelings and all the stuff I absolutely suck at.
“You want me to treat you the way I treat Chester?” He bites through my blouse down on my nipple, making me throw my head back.
“Yes,” I say.
“Careful what you wish for,” I hear Chester say. My eyes snap open, and he’s standing in the doorway that leads to the kitchen, leaning against the doorpost, clearly watching us. I did not hear him come in.
Remy looks over his shoulder, gives Chester a knowing half smile and then turns his attention back to me.
“Come to peep?”
“Came to see what that noise was.”
“That was Abby being thrown against the wall.”
I feel my cheeks heat up. Somehow it’s okay for me to have Remy throw me against a wall, but having Chester hear about it and see the after effects is a whole other story. When I lift my eyes, I find Chester smiling at me, giving me a wink and then turning back around.
“Where are you going?” I ask. Because no matter how uncomfortable I was finding him there, feeling a little caught, it’s even weirder now that he’s leaving.
“I’ve got a trail to follow, and I feel like you two have some catching up to do.”
Remy chuckles against my skin, before he pulls me off the wall and starts walking me to my room. All the way over, we plant kisses on each other. I’m clawing at him like there’s no tomorrow and I want to hold on to him with every fiber of my being.
But no such thing is happening.
Once we’re inside my room, he throws me on the bed. Missing the touch of his body against mine already, I almost get off of the bed to grab him again. But Remy starts to take his clothes off, and instead of rushing to him, I just enjoy the sights.
“Do you have any idea why I’ve been with Chester but not with you?” he asks me in a very serious tone while he’s taking his pants off. I can’t help but stare at him. Thinking about it, I don’t know, I don’t understand. Perhaps that’s part of why I’m so hurt - I don’t understand. I shake my head at him.
“Chester and I,” he starts his story off while ever so slowly taking off his underwear, “were kind of feeling each other out when I got arrested. We weren’t anything at that moment. I would’ve given him my heart if that was what he wanted, but we weren’t there yet.”
He stands at the foot of the bed. Naked, proud and glorious. But it’s not his body that keeps me hypnotized, it’s the words that are coming out of his mouth.
“You? You had me. Heart, body and soul. And you broke that. So yes, I’ve forgiven you, but the cut is deeper, and it takes a little longer for it to scar.”
I cringe at the idea that I’m scarring him, even if it’s only in the metaphorical sense of the word.
“What happened will leave a scar. Heart, body and soul. But I’ll wear them proudly. Because we fought for what we believed in, we got hurt along the way, and we came out stronger.”
I swallow.
“So now you know.” Instead of walking towards the bed, he sits down on the chair in the corner of my room, spreads his legs and leans his head on one hand.
“Now, get undressed and show me how badly you want me and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”
“Fuck, you’re bossy,” I mutter. I don’t want to touch myself, I want him to touch me.
“You wanted me to treat you like I do with Ches,” he says in a bored tone. His erect lid doesn’t look all that bored.
“You boss Ches around?”
He waggles his brows with a knowing smile. God, that leaves a mental image I’m very interested in. “Be a good girl and maybe I’ll show you next time.”
Damn him, telling me to be a good girl makes me defiant. But at the same time I still want something from him, and it seems like I’m going to have to play along to get what I want. I sigh, stand up from the bed and slowly peel my clothes off. All the while Remy watches me. Once I’m naked, I walk towards my bedside table, making sure my hips sway a little more than they usually do. With my back to him, I open the drawer of my bedside table and grab a vibrator. My heart rate spikes when I realize what I’m about to do.
I’m letting him in on something that I tend to keep private. I don’t let hookups see me pleasure myself, that kind of defeats the purpose of a hookup. But Remy is so much more than that. And apparently I’m showing him how much more he means to me by playing with myself.
With slightly heated cheeks, I lay down on the bed with my feet flat on the bed and my knees closed, turn the vibrator on and lay it on the bed beside me. His burning blue eyes find me from the other side of the room while I nervously suck in my bottom lip.
Then I let my hands roam over my body. Cupping my breasts, pinching my already peaked nipples. One of my hands moves further down over my belly, towards the apex of my thighs. Teasing myself, but not fully touching myself, I carefully watch the effect it has on Remy. The bored look has completely evaporated.
My fingers glide through my folds and I open my legs just a little to give myself better access. While I slick myself with my own arousal, I let my fingers glide up and down. Once I circle my clit, I want to close my eyes, but the way Remy looks at me makes me reconsider.
I grab the vibrator and tease myself some before I put it directly on my clit, making a moan escape. While it feels really good, this is not what I’m here for. I want Remy, I need him to want me. I don’t know when I changed from a woman who did everything herself into this girl who longs for the attention of a man.
But I do. I need him so much it hurts. I’ve become addicted to his presence and the way he gives his love so freely. When he loves he doesn’t hold back anything of himself, and I need that.
When I get out of my head and just feel what I’m doing, it feels good. My eyes fall closed, and my free hand keeps switching nipples. I notice I’m holding my breath, making my insides clench when I extend the time I hold it. My legs fall wider, and I start lifting my hips in a steady rhythm. Arching my back, I feel a warmth starting to spread between my legs, a slight tingle every now and again.
The bed dips, and I realize how much I was in my own world because I didn’t hear Remy coming over. When I open my eyes, he’s right beside me, lying on his side, looking at me like I’m one of the seven world wonders.
“Come for me,” he commands, and I’m willing to do everything to feel his endless love. I close my eyes again, focusing on the vibrations that pulse through my body.
I start holding my breath again, intensifying the sensation. The warmth of Remy, his nearness, is so much better than the distance he was keeping from me.
“You like it when you’re holding your breath?” he grunts next to my ear.
“Hmhmm,” I manage to say.
“You trust me?” he asks.
I open my eyes, making sure he can see how much I mean what I’m about to say. “With my life.”
And it’s true. In the short period I’ve known him, he’s managed to do what only Chester has done before. I gave him my love and my trust.
He kisses the side of my mouth, then wraps his hands around my neck and shuts off my airway. You’d think that would make me panic, but it doesn’t. It makes everything feel ten times more intense. We keep looking at each other, all my extremities tingling and my muscles spasming. I’m starting to reach the edge of what I can handle in holding my breath, but an orgasm starting.
I’m sure that if I tap out, Remy will let me go immediately. Climax is so close I can practically taste it. Little stars appear in my vision while my body tries to get oxygen in and before I can think anything about it, I tumble over the edge and have an orgasm so intense that my legs shake while I chase every last bit of pleasure.
When Remy lets go of my neck, I suck in a huge gulp of air, making me a little dizzy. I’m still too out of it to do anything, I just lie there, trying to catch my breath. Remy takes the vibrator out of my hands, shuts it off and throws it somewhere on my bed.
“That how you treat Chester?” is the first thing I ask when the words finally come out again.
“No,” he answers sternly, letting one finger glide over my sweaty sternum to my navel. “I can be rough with Chester because he’s a man, and we tend to be a little rougher with each other. But never something like this. Unless he’d ask me for it, which he hasn’t. Ches has been out of control enough for me to never, ever, step over his boundaries again.”
I nod. The way he keeps trailing his finger over my body makes me shiver.
“I’ve missed you,” I manage to say. It’s a sentiment I’m not familiar with, something I won’t easily say. And it’s hard to say it out loud, but I do so anyway. Because it’s true.
“I’ve missed you too,” he says, his eyes finding mine and almost burning a hole in me. Bringing my face up, I catch his lips and kiss him sedately, almost like I’m just kissing him for the first time. The corners of his mouth curl up, and I follow his lead. He makes me open my mouth, our tongues exploring each other slowly.
“Remy…” I say so softly it’s not above a whisper.
“What is it, ma luciole,” he answers. My firefly. I don’t know why, but the nickname does something to me that almost makes me tear up.
“Don’t be rough with me today,” I say as if I’m begging for my life, our lips so close I can feel him on me when I talk.
His eyes soften, and he kisses the side of my mouth. He grabs my hands and holds them above my head on the mattress. Our fingers intertwine, and it’s like we’re clinging to each other with the intention of never letting go.
He lays down on top of me, making me open my legs for him with his knee. He peppers my whole body with soft kisses, going so slowly I long for the next kiss between kisses. And I crave the contact, want to crawl inside him if I was able to do it. By arching my back, I try to increase the physical contact between us. When I almost can’t take it anymore, he lets go of one of my hands and uses it to guide himself to my opening.
I lift my hips to take him in, longing for the nearness as if I’m unable to survive without him, without this contact. We start moving as if we’re one, staring at each other. It’s not so much the act that gives a feeling of satisfaction. It’s giving each other what we need.
It’s lust versus love.
So I make love to Remy. Slow, passionate and intensely burning love. We’re not chasing as much pleasure as we can find and give. It’s about basking in our being together. And the whole thing is transcending.
Time doesn’t mean anything anymore, and after we’ve just been with each other for some time, we reach a lazy climax that somehow seems to embody everything I’m feeling. Gratitude, longing, appreciation, acceptance - love.
He doesn’t move away me for a long time, and I hold on to him for as long as he lets me. When he finally rolls off of me, he quietly gets up, goes to my bathroom and comes back with a wet washcloth. I keep my mouth shut while he uses it to clean me up, unsure how to respond to a gesture like this. Nobody has ever done this for me. It feels kind of weird, because it’s definitely something I can do myself. But I’ve learned over the years that just because you can do something yourself it doesn’t mean you have to. I’m just really bad at letting other people take care of me.
“Feel better?” he asks me when he lies down beside me again, not bothering to put on any clothes. His finger starts gliding up and down the side of my body again, forcing me to hold back a laugh because it’s kind of ticklish.
“A lot.” I roll on my side and tangle my legs through his. A loose strand of his dark hair keeps falling in front of his face, but as I try to tuck it back, it just keeps falling in his face again. He observes what I’m doing, giving me a crooked smile.
“Now, was acting like a grumpy brat easier than just telling me what you needed?”
I roll my eyes. “Totally. When in doubt, always act like a brat.”
He snorts and pulls me closer. “Next time just tell me, okay? There’s no need for you to doubt everything.”
I avoid his look and turn my head. “But I fucked everything up.”
He grabs my chin, and forces me to look at him again. I can only resist him so long before I raise my eyes and meet him through my eyelashes. “Yes, you did. And then we fixed it. Now stop punishing yourself.”
Ignoring to give him an answer, I let my head fall on his shoulder, trying to just lie there. We’re brutally interrupted by a knock on the door.
“You guys done?” Chester asks.
“Yeah,” Remy answers without thinking about what that might mean.
And indeed the door opens instantly and Chester barges in. He takes a second to take in the situation of our nakedness on the bed, before he walks over and sits down on the side that isn’t occupied. He pulls a face when he sits down though, lifts one of his legs and reaches under only to pull out the vibrator that Remy casually threw away earlier. He disposes of it on the nightstand, not showing any sign what he thinks about it.
Me? I’m sure I turn a nice shade of indigo.
Chester sits back, throws his head back against the headboard and closes his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, because focusing on whatever is going on with him is preferable above dealing with this weird situation.
“I need to be with the living for a while. I’ve been through so many missing persons reports and murder investigations that I can see their faces when I close my eyes.”
“I had that once when I played Candy Crush for a whole day,” Remy replies earnestly. “Every time I closed my eyes I saw those sweets.”
We start laughing out loud.
“Not the same, dude,” Chester answers, letting himself slide down the headboard a little and pulling his knees up.
“If you keep seeing them every time you close your eyes, why do you keep your eyes closed?” Remy asks.
“Because you’re both naked.”
“So? It’s not like it’s something you haven’t seen before,” my very naked lover replies, rolling onto his back, observing my other lover who’s slowly opening his eyes. I have to give it to Chester on this one, it’s weird.
“That’s true,” he responds, his voice hoarse.
“Oh come on now, don’t tell me the two of you have suddenly become prudes?” Remy chastises us with a wide grin.
“Not a prude,” I start, “but not widely experienced on threesomes with my best friend and his boyfriend who I happen to be in a relationship with too.”
“Not very experienced in having a relationship anyway,” Chester mutters.
“Was that comment meant for me or for you?”
“Yes,” he says with a hint of mischief in his eyes before his eyes roam over the curves of my body and I turn crimson for a whole other reason.
“So, victims?” I say, trying to divert the conversation and ignoring the fact that I’m still very much undressed.
“I was trying to avoid talking about victims,” he replies.
“Oh for crying out loud,” Remy says as he gets up off of the bed. “Put something on,” he commands me while he searches for his own clothes to put on. “Here,” he says when he runs into a t-shirt I may or may not have stolen from Chester and holds it out to me. He quickly puts on his own underwear before he sits back on the bed again.
I pull the shirt over my head and instantly feel more at ease. How could I not in a shirt with Jax Teller’s face on it? I might feel a little overly exposed after my makeup make-out session with Remy, and the clothes are helping if only just a little.
“Now that nobody is naked anymore, you think we can talk about this as adults?”
I chuckle and lean towards Chester conspiratorially. “He thinks we’re adults,” I fake-whisper.
Chester snorts. “Managed to convince yet another one.”
Remy rolls his eyes. “Fine, we won’t talk about feelings. But both of you should know that the fact that you can shoot me with astounding accuracy and kill me, and you can probably kill me digitally let alone contact an assassin through dark channels, is way scarier than talking about feelings will ever be.”
Chester and I look at each other because we both think that statement is completely wrong. Talking about feelings is definitely scarier.
“What are we having for dinner?” Chester asks.
“Order something in,” I say.
“Can’t you make dinner?”
“No.” I roll on my stomach and put my head on my hands.
“Why not? Your food is better.”
“Because I was forced to talk about my feelings before you came in here, and now I deserve not to have to cook.”
“I’m pretty sure that getting fucked isn’t the same as talking about feelings.”
“Well, it felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
“That’s because I was choking you, ma luciole,” Remy dryly replies.
A laugh fumbles out of my mouth and turns into a laughing fit. We spend the next few hours talking and laughing, binging on candy and junk food, not mentioning the victims again.