4 #3
I keep replaying it: the lube, the blush, and the way Remy’s thumb hooked my belt loop like it belonged there.
He wanted to fuck me again, not Hannah, me.
But why? She was coming back Thursday, he knew that.
Was he just desperate again, horny and spiralling like last time?
Except now she’s here early… so that should be it, right?
He can bury himself in her and forget whatever this glitch is between us.
No… it can’t be that simple. This afternoon he was glued to me.
That wasn’t desperation, that was… want.
My thoughts keep spiralling darker. Does my ass just feel that good? Is it because we’re best friends… some fucked-up bonding thing after fifteen years of knowing every inch of each other’s lives? Or worse… does Remy have actual feelings for me?
I laugh out loud, short and disbelieving, and shove another gummy in my mouth. “No,” I mutter to the empty room. “No way.”
A knock on the door jolts me so hard I nearly choke on the candy.
“Cole?” Hannah’s voice comes soft and teasing. “You coming out, big guy?”
I inhale sharply, trying not to let annoyance leak into my tone. “What?”
She giggles. “Come watch this movie with us.”
I hesitate. “I’m okay, Han. You two spend some time together.”
“Aww, come on. I missed you too!”
Of course she did. We used to be as close as siblings… movie marathons, late-night talks, her dragging me shopping when Remy was at extra practice. I sigh, push to my feet, and open the door. She’s standing there in one of Remy’s hoodies, hair loose, eyes bright.
“Han I ain’t sitting there like a third wheel while you devour Remy.”
She holds both hands up. “I’ll behave. I’m not that bad.”
She winks, grabs my wrist, and drags me down the hall before I can protest. Remy’s already on the couch, remote in hand, looking…
tense. I slouch against the far arm of the sectional, legs stretched out along the unused side.
There’s a perfect gap in the middle for Hannah, a barrier, a safety zone.
But Remy, the sneaky bastard, shifts immediately.
“Oh, here, babe,” he says, sliding right up next to me like there isn’t room for her in between.
I don’t look at him. I definitely don’t need him this close, thigh pressed to mine, heat radiating through his sweats. I lean away as far as the armrest allows; it works for now. But I know Remy… when he wants something, he finds a way, always has.
Of course he queues up my favourite movie, the one we’ve watched a hundred times on late-night binges after away games.
I roll my eyes. Hannah doesn’t protest; she just grabs a blanket, wraps it around her and Remy, and nestles in.
Lights off, blinds closed… the room is dark except for the TV glow.
Maybe I can sneak out in a little while.
Ten minutes in, Hannah’s tracing lazy circles on Remy’s chest, I catch it from the corner of my eye. But Remy isn’t touching her back. Instead, his hand creeps along the couch cushion toward me, slowly, like he thinks he’s being clever. I ignore it, until his palm lands on my thigh.
I close my eyes for a split second, silently begging my pulse to slow the fuck down, willing my body not to react.
When I open them again and force my gaze downward, there it is…
Remy’s hand, palm hot through the fabric of my sweats, fingers spread wide and squeezing with slow, deliberate pressure.
No mistake, no accident; the grip is confident and possessive, like he’s claiming territory.
My breath catches, sharp and quiet, and heat floods straight to my groin despite every screaming instinct to shove him off.
I shove a loud, crunchy handful of chips into my mouth to cover the hitch in my breath.
Hannah laughs. “Cole, eat with your mouth closed.”
I hum at her, noncommittal, and smack Remy’s hand away without looking at him.
Not even five minutes later his fingers are back, this time sliding up to the back of the couch, playing with the short hairs at the nape of my neck.
Gentle tugs, teasing. I inhale sharply, biting the inside of my cheek to stop any sound from escaping.
This movie cannot end soon enough. Then he tugs a handful of hair, yanking my head back just enough to expose my throat… sexual and obvious.
I snap my eyes to him and mouth, furious and silent: What are you doing? Stop it!
Remy bites his lower lip deliberately and locks eyes with me.
His pupils are blown wide, swallowing the hazel almost completely; his cheeks are flushed hot under the TV flicker; and those eyes…
dark, heavy-lidded, raking over my face like he’s starving and I’m the only thing on the menu.
Is he seriously trying to seduce me right now…
with Hannah tucked against his other side?
My stomach flips hard. Heat crawls up my neck, pooling low in my gut despite every screaming instinct telling me to bolt.
I mouth at him, frustrated: I’m leaving.
He shakes his head fast, a jerky little no, then softer, almost pleading, mouths: Sorry. Please don’t.
The apology in his eyes hits harder than it should. Something raw flickers there beneath the hunger, guilt, maybe, or desperation, and it makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to name.
I huff out a breath, cross my arms tight over my chest like armour, and sink deeper into the cushions until the armrest digs into my side. Fine. But he better fucking behave.