Chapter Six #3
“Fine,” she conceded, leaning toward him and drinking in his delectable scent.
She could just picture her tongue running up the column of his throat, teasing the flicker of his pulse.
“I loathe you, Remington. I regret the day I ran into your firm ass, and I hate, absolutely fucking hate, that I ever had your poster on my wall!”
In the light of the streetlamp, she could see every millimeter of his brown eyes when they widened, dark and deep like a mighty river at night, waiting to pull her under. Above them, there was a pop and something shattered, the dark closing in.
Something between them shattered, too.
Their mouths met halfway, punishing each other with their force and intensity.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she molded her body into his, pulling him against her with enough force that they stumbled a few steps and her back met brick.
It was electric and one of the hottest moments of her life to date.
“Say it,” she whispered, pulling back and scraping her nails down the back of his neck, “say you were wrong, and you didn’t mean any of it.”
“I already did,” he said, breath ragged. “I meant it. I’m sorry, Marcee.”
Their lips met again, bodies flush as her back dug into the brick.
It was even better than she imagined. She snagged his bottom lip between her teeth, like she’d wanted to do since the moment she first ran into him.
His moan ricocheted across her skin, and she teased out his tongue with her own, sucking on it like a cherry-flavored tootsie pop.
She felt so present she wondered if she was even living before then.
The material of his dress pants did very little to disguise the erection pressing into her and as his hand curled under her bare thigh, hitching it around his waist, she rocked into him.
Each stroke of pressure against her blessedly thin panties was intoxicating torture.
His fingers slid lower, roughly gripping one cheek exposed by the yellow thong she wore, hard enough to bruise, and she wanted it to, more than she’d wanted anything in so long.
Marcee pulled her mouth away, her hips maintaining their relentless pace as she got closer and closer to the finish line, and gasped, “We’ll regret this in the morning.”
His teeth nipped at her jaw before his lips trailed down the side of her neck.
“Maybe, but I’m not thinking about tomorrow.
I’m thinking about how good you feel in my hands…
how fucking good you taste.” When he reached the dip between shoulder and neck, his tongue teased at the skin where her pulse pounded furiously beneath, just as she had imagined doing to him.
She’d been aching for him all week, a confused buildup of lust and hate so strong no amount of self-service could satisfy. When their over-the-clothes writhing made her come harder than her own hand ever could, she smothered her moans in his shirt, fisting the back until she could stand on her own.
“Damn.” She panted, leaning into his neck and dragging her tongue up the side. There was the slightest hint of salt across the smooth surface, making her hungry for more, so she nipped gently at his earlobe.
“One-nil, Ackerman.” His voice came out with a hitch, hands flexing on her waistline.
“Keeping score?” There’s no way she was walking away owing him a thing.
Marcee popped the button on his pants and lazily drew down the zipper, suppressing a sigh when the length of him came free. Never would’ve pegged Remy as the commando type, and she never would’ve pegged herself as the type to enjoy it.
She hadn’t given a guy a hand-job since college, but it was like riding a bike. Her hand worked over his deliciously smooth skin, and Remy came apart, jerking against her until his forehead rested on her bare shoulder.
“That was…” She trailed off, coming down off her adrenaline rush.
He chuckled, warm breath ghosting over her shoulder. “Yeah, it was.”
She shuffled back, shoes crunching on broken glass where the streetlight exploded. It was a mess, much like her thoughts and dignity. Half of her wanted to kick him, while the other half wanted to rip off her panties and go for round two.
Out of control.
Somewhere beyond the brick archways and through the winding paths of trees and stately buildings, the incandescent laughter of girls with their entire lives ahead of them was like a bucket of ice water to her conscience.
As the adrenaline faded from her system, Marcee was left with the stark realization she had, for the second time that day, jeopardized hers and Nicole’s future.
It’d never been so clear that whatever happened when she and Remy collided, nothing good could come from it.
Maybe she was more like her parents than she ever thought. After all, the only person she’d been thinking about that week was herself.
“That was a mistake,” she said at last, shaking her head. An absolute disaster, really. “Breathe a word of this to anyone and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” he interrupted, zipping up his pants. When she didn’t say anything, he shook his head. “What will you do to me, Marcee Ackerman? Jesus, woman. I apologized—more than once—and you still want to pretend like there’s not something between us?”
“I’ll think of something, Remington,” she replied, ignoring the flutter in her chest at his words.
As he backed away, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, he called out, “At least you’ll be thinking about me!”