32. Claire
I’ve decided to fake it ‘til I make it, but the minute Remy’s mouth crashes into mine, I know I won’t be faking anything tonight. His tongue parts my lips without hesitation, seeking mine and finding it before staking his possession of it. His kiss is desperate and needy, which makes me wonder if he tried to put up a fight for his benefit or mine.
We’ve kissed before, but something about this time is different. It’s like we’ve surrendered to one another in this moment, like no one is holding back. I wrap my arm around his neck, feeling suddenly overwhelmed in the best way. Remy responds by slipping his knee beneath my thigh at the same time he lifts me around the waist, leaving me weightless, breathless. Instinct guides me to wrap my legs tight around him, hoping it will alleviate some of the aching need in my core. It doesn’t.
When his lips leave mine, it feels cruel… like a punishment for something from a past life, penance for a crime I have no knowledge of. Except, that’s not true. If he wants to punish me for anything, it’s for acting like I did in front of his brother… for letting him think I have any interest in the man who tried to destroy me. But Wes didn’t destroy me; he made me stronger.
If Remy means to punish me, he isn’t doing it by walking away from me. His lips leave mine, but never me, though it turns into a series of quick kisses that he plants on the corner of my lips, the side of my chin, the edge of my jaw. It’s agonizingly slow and wonderful all at once as his soft kiss peppers the side of my neck, stopping for a moment to let his tongue lave over the skin there. I tighten my grip on him, my nails close to biting into the tender skin at the back of his neck, and when his teeth nip against the space between my neck and collarbone, I yelp.
I’m not sure how long I’m going to last before I fall apart, and I’m desperate to get us out of these clothes, to feel his skin against mine. Dragging my fingers from the back of his neck to the top of his chest, I feel for the fabric of his jacket, hooking my fingers underneath it before pushing both sleeves off his shoulders.
He spins us so fast that I feel dizzy for a moment, and then he carries me across the room in a few strides. I open my eyes to see that we’re moving further into the room, and not even a second later, he sits me on the edge of something hard. My dress is still hiked up from where I had my legs wrapped around him, and I can feel the cold surface under my thighs. If he looks a little higher, he’ll inevitably realize that I opted to skip underwear this time, and for the briefest moment I worry what he’ll think of me when he figures it out. Slut? Whore? Desperate?
But I put those things out of my mind as he wedges himself between my thighs and shrugs his jacket down the rest of the way, letting it drop to the ground behind him. He turns his attention quickly to the straps of my dress, more interested in getting me naked than getting himself undressed. It’s not going to take much—my dress also didn’t fare well with a bra, meaning all that separates me from him is the thin layer of this dress and the clothes on his body.
I let him slip one strap down my arm and then dive in for another taste of his lips. He takes the bait, tangling one fist in my hair as he explores my mouth. His tongue has explored other parts of me, and I’m desperate for more of it.
I can’t get his clothes off fast enough. His starched shirt is stiff under my fingers as I work to find the top button, thankful he’d already ditched the tie before I walked in. It takes a little more patience than I anticipated, but Remy doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he kisses me enough that I’m starting to feel breathless, dizzy. He’s stealing the breath out of my lungs, and I don’t want him to stop… not even for a second. I’d die for him in this moment, give him my last precious moments of life on this Earth. My fingers fumble over the buttons, and I’m so lost in his kiss I don’t dare open my eyes to try and see what I’m doing.
I think I’ve nearly gotten them all when I push the shirt off his shoulders, my fingers skating against his hot skin as I send it to the floor. My hands move immediately to his belt, but it takes a moment to even figure out the clasp. His erection is just under my touch, just out of reach.
Remy chuckles against my mouth, and I open my eyes to see the faint makings of a smile on his face. “Need some help?”
His words are spoken against my lips, still wet with his kiss, and they send a thrill through me. But I let my hands move from the infernal belt buckle to the center of his chest, which is heaving with his breaths. He’s working hard to control himself, and that’s the opposite of what I want, though I do get a wicked sense of satisfaction at the idea that I make him lose control of himself at all.
When I push him back, he doesn’t go far. His eyes flick down to where my hand just attempted to shove him away, then to mine. He’s just opening his mouth to ask what I did that for, when I tell him what I want.
“Strip.”
His hesitation is brief, and then he unbuckles his belt and wrenches it free of the loops in a single, easy motion. It falls to the floor with a loud clatter that sends thrills through me. Every part of me is tight, on edge with anticipation, and heat surges through me as his deft fingers flick open the button on his slacks. They stay there, hanging low on his hips, while he kicks his shoes off. I take advantage of the moment, admiring his beauty. It’s unfair, truly, that anybody could look like that.
Remy looks like he was carved by Michelangelo in the Renaissance, with his sleek form but rippling muscles. When he wears those suits and button-ups, they betray nothing of the powerful physique underneath, which is strong and masculine without being bulky. But when those clothes come off, he doesn’t look like the type to cover up with a suit. He looks like he belongs to blue-collar work, the kind that calluses your hands and humbles your spirit and leaves you tired to the bone. Remy’s spirit is humbled by another line of work, and he’s tired in a much different way… in a way that complements my own exhaustion.
But tonight, neither of us are tired. We’re not paper-thin or battle-weary, we’re alive with purpose… even if that purpose is just to find pleasure in our mutual pain.
Remy hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of his pants and boxers together, and all at once his glorious erection springs free. This is the first time I’ve actually seen it, the first I’ve gotten a chance to take him in. An illicit heat spreads like wildfire through me as I actually take him in and realize that he’s been inside of me before I ever even got to appreciate this view. I still don’t get to appreciate it for long, because his fist wraps around the base of his cock and he pumps himself slowly, never looking away from me.
God.
I never would have thought watching a man pleasure himself would do anything for me, but the sight is too fucking delicious. My mouth is practically watering, and it’s not the only thing. I can feel the desire growing between my legs, warring between which part of me gets him first.
It takes a moment of me watching him lazily stroking himself for me to realize hes waiting for further instruction. I hadn’t intended to continue to give him directions when I told him to undress on impulse, but there’s no denying the rush as he relinquishes his power to me for a minute. “Sit.” I tell him, pointing at the large office chair behind his desk.
Remy’s lip flickers a bit, but he says nothing as he walks slowly past me, his eyes not leaving mine until he passes me. I don’t turn yet to face him or watch him sit, taking the moment to compose myself. I hear the creak of the chair when he sinks against the leather and spin my whole body to face him now, dragging my ass round the desk so that I have an unobstructed view of him just in front of me. The chair is close enough, so when I slip off the edge of the desk, I brace my hands against his thighs for a moment to keep me from toppling into him. When I sink quickly to my knees, he’s immediately level with my lips.
A breath that sounds like excitement leaves him when I press my lips to his thigh, giving myself a moment to try and prepare to handle his size. He arches against the chair a little, and I can’t help grinning against his groin as I move my kisses around him, fast, teasing, delicate touches. There’s a small amount of fear in me that I don’t know how to do this, but the fear is less for me and more for my ego, worrying he won’t like it because I don’t know what I’m doing. But he seems to be enjoying himself so far, so I let my tongue dart out between my lips and swirl against his skin.
He tastes like salt and smells like soap, and his fingers brush the hair off my face delicately. A quick glance up at him takes me by surprise, cause while I expected to find him with his eyes closed and his head tipped back, he’s watching me. His eyes are unguarded; I can see the pleasure in them, molten and hungry. We lock eyes for a moment, and though I’m still completely clothed, I feel oddly exposed… and oddly comfortable with it.
I close my eyes when I look away from him, drawing my tongue along the underside of his shaft and enjoying the way it quakes in the wake of my movement, bobbing away from me and then back to my tongue to beg for more, which is exactly what I’m going to give him.
I swirl my tongue over the head of his cock, letting my mouth water before I take him deep inside. Despite the protesting of my jaw, the eroticism of having his hot cock in a place no man has ever been sends off a shot of lust, and I decide not to overthink it. I simply do what feels right, sliding my tongue along the length of him while my lips press around him from the top. He groans, his fingers kneading against my scalp. When I bob downward, letting him slide deeper into my mouth, he rewards me with my name. “Claire.”
Spoken like that, it sounds like a prayer, and the realization that I’m on my knees for a god isn’t lost on me. It’s also not lost on me that this god is powerless to me in this moment, a thought that emboldens me to slide back off of him, agonizingly slowly. I feel his grip tighten, desperation driving him to not loosen his hold on me, to not let this end. But I’m only just beginning.
I brace my hands on the armrests, giving myself a little bit of leverage so that when I slide back down over him, I see just how far I can take him. I don’t even make it to the base before my throat starts to close in warning, so I retreat slowly and try again. This time, I get him deeper, though it’s not without triggering my gag reflex. “Fuck, Claire.” Remy groans, angling his hips as I retreat.
This time, I suck in a breath when his cock is on the tip of my tongue and let it go slowly, relaxing my whole body so that when I cover him again, I go deeper before my body can stop me.
It’s like playing with fire, getting so close to swallowing him, feeling my lungs ache for air as he obstructs my throat. And it’s fucking intoxicating. I don’t care if I get burnt right now; I want to be one with the fire.
“You don’t have to…”
Remy’s voice trails off when I get him deep and roll my tongue around his cock. I feel him tug at my hair so hard he almost pulls me away, but when I start to slip off, his hips rise to meet me. I pump my mouth along his cock a few times, delighting in every gasp, every thrust of his hips, every time he says my name.
When I feel him against the back of my throat, he growls, almost like he’s in pain... or angry. Both hands tangle in my hair this time, so that when I slide back, he uses his leverage to pull me the rest of the way off him. Spit drips down my chin, and I open my eyes to stare at him, bewildered.
What did I do wrong?
“You can’t do that if you don’t want me to lose control, Claire.” He huffs.
It takes a moment to realize what he means by that. I don’t get the chance to tell him I don’t want his control—I want him feral—because his fingers brush against my lips, which are swollen from the last… however long that was. “I’m not ready for this to be over. Last time, we rushed through this. Tonight, I’m going to take my time, getting to know every inch of your body. I’m going to know what your face looks like before you come, what sounds you make when you’re close to the edge, what touch makes you go absolutely mad.”
Fortunately, I’m still on my knees, because I think they just went a bit weak at that. “If we’re only going to have one night, it will be the best damn night of our lives.” His voice is more subdued with those words—almost sad—but I don’t have time to contemplate them because he’s not finished. “There’s just one thing we need to discuss first.”
“What?” I breathe, preparing myself for a list of all the reasons that this is not going to extend beyond anything more than tonight, in his office like a kinky little secretary who exists for his pleasure. I don’t care. I just need him, for however long he’s willing to give himself to me.
“Last time we acted on impulse. It was stupid. We didn’t use protection.”
Something about his words feel like a slap in the face—maybe because he called it stupid, even though it was. Or maybe it’s because he’s right. “I had my annual in March,” I tell him. It’s an oddly vulnerable thing to do, made even stranger by the fact that it feels awkward to discuss this when his dick was literally just in my mouth. You’d think not many things would be strange at this point, but here we are.
“I’m clean and I haven’t been with anyone until you.” I shudder a little, my thoughts suddenly taking control at the realization that it wouldn’t have been true if he hadn’t shown up when he did after Jovich dumped me in the den of predators. I’m not sure how virtuous Wes’ intentions were since he certainly had no qualms about seeing me hurt, but I don’t doubt that it wouldn’t have been long before something happened.
“I’m clean, too.” Remy says, pulling me back to reality. A reality that I want, that I crave. A reality that I’m soaking in every second of to cast off the possibilities of the past.
I realize he’s still waiting for something, and shake my head, trying to dislodge the unwanted thoughts. “I’m on birth control.”
He breathes a sigh of relief, and I realize we never discussed that after last time either. Has he been worrying all week about whether I’d suddenly tell him I’m not and we’d actually played a sort of Russian Roulette that night?
“Thank God.” He groans. “Because I need to be bare inside of you.”
I don’t even get a minute to process that, because he stands then and snatches me against his chest, lifting me effortlessly with his hand on my ass. It’s a strange cross between carrying me like a sack of potatoes and a bridal carry, but I melt against him all the same, ready and willing for whatever he wants to do to me.
“I’m not going to fuck you on my desk, Claire. I don’t need you getting a concussion when I fuck you within an inch of your life.”
His words are harsh, his tone is dark, and I think some of the anger of watching me flirt with his brother has returned because we just went from sweet and hot to bitter and blazing in the space of a few words. And they don’t frighten me, don’t repulse me, don’t make me nervous for what’s to come. Instead, I feel my pussy clench at air, desperate to be filled.
I do feel panic though, as he carries me toward the door and the realization that he means to take me to his room sinks in. “We can’t go out there naked. What if Rhea sees?”
But it’s not the door he goes for. He heads for a wall in the corner that’s lined with bookshelves, entirely covered in texts of varying sizes and color. I can’t even come up with any explanation as to what he’s planning, so it takes a moment for my brain to catch up when he fumbles around with something on the shelf and then there’s a little sound like a latch popping open. A cool breeze hits me before the rest of it, so that even when he carries me into his room and sets me on my feet, where I sway a moment, I haven’t processed what just happened.
Remy dives into the center of his bed and turns to me expectantly.
“D-did you just...?”
His soft lips quirk into a grin at my confusion. “My office and my bedroom are adjoining.” He nods.
“Through a secret bookcase?”
It’s the stuff of my childhood Scooby Doo dreams and my bookish fantasies all rolled into one. I think every girl who immersed themselves in a book to escape reality as a child dreamed about being rich enough to have a secret passageway behind a bookshelf. Remy doesn’t seem like the type who hid away in a book to keep from suffering through reality. But maybe I just don’t know him well enough.
“My home is a safe place, Claire.”
I want to ask what that is supposed to mean, but it seems that will have to wait for another time because the somewhat solemn look on his face disappears, chased away by a twist of his lips. “It’s your turn.” He nods his head at me, but I don’t know what it’s my turn for until he follows it up with a simple command.
“Strip.”