Chapter 19 Lainey
Lainey
This must be what heaven feels like. I am surrounded by the masculine smell of cedar, soap, and something that is uniquely Remington.
His even more rugged arms have slipped around me, holding me close, and I have never felt this kind of peace before.
I look down at his left forearm and try not to drool at the combination of muscle and tattoos.
Remington asked me to stay the night last night after we had the best dinner and spent a couple hours relaxing and watching Parks and Rec snuggled up together on his couch.
It was late and he didn’t want me to drive home.
I didn’t want to leave, either. After our talk earlier, when I asked if we could take things slow, I knew he was not just trying to get me to stay so he could have sex with me. That’s not who Remington is.
We got ready for bed together, and it was not ever even a question as to where I was going to sleep: In his bed, in his arms, was the only option.
He gave me an extra toothbrush and one of his T-shirts to sleep in.
Being that he’s six-three it fits me more like a nightgown.
When I walked out of his bathroom, his eyes darkened as they roamed a hungry glance over my body, lingering on my bare legs.
He gave me a quick, firm kiss, walked into the bathroom, shut the door hard, and turned on the shower.
When he came back out, I was scrolling on my phone. It slipped right out of my hands when I looked up at my boyfriend. Holy freaking shit . . . This man!? I get to call this man my boyfriend? We need a new word, there is nothing boy about this man.
He walked out of his bathroom with only black basketball shorts on, sandy blond hair slightly damp and messy from toweling it dry.
His muscles have muscles. His abs have abs.
And that sexy V thing that I thought was a myth?
Nope, it’s a real thing, and Remington has it—complete with a tattoo on the right side of his ribs running down to his hip with flames and script in black and grey ink.
That tattoo reads “bringing calm to chaos.”
I also got to see the full sleeve on his left arm for the first time.
It goes from his wrist all the way up his arm, wrapping around his shoulder—and it is stunning.
Again, there are no bright bursts of color.
All black and grey tones, which fits Remington perfectly.
His upper arm has a fireman’s face with helmet and face shield in place surrounded by flames and Celtic designs.
His inner bicep has the Fox Grove fire department logo, and there is an American bald eagle flying across his shoulder in a forest scene.
There is a large, intricate cross on his inner forearm and the American flag wrapping around the front of his arm.
There’s so much detail to all of his tattoos.
Trees, flames, rivers of intention and hours upon hours of complex artwork fill up his skin.
He is a walking canvas, and my eyes are hungry to take in every little detail.
I am gently running my finger along the very realistic stitching of the flag when Remington’s arms pull me even closer, a rumble from his chest and his hard length announcing that his body is very much awake.
Hot kisses are peppered up my neck until he gets to my ear, and whispers, “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Mmmm, good morning,” I whisper, pushing myself back into him and he grips my hip, trying to still me.
“Lainey,” Remington warns.
“I’m sorrrrry,” I whine, annoyed with myself and my stupid requests.
What were they again?
As if he can read my mind, Remington says, “Baby, if you keep rubbing that perfect ass against my cock, the last thing that will happen is us taking things slowly like you asked last night. I promised you snuggling and a French toast breakfast. And you are literally making it very hard to stick to that promise.” He kisses my neck again and I moan.
He throws the warm covers off of himself and launches out of the bed.
I can’t help but let out a giggle as I look down at the massive problem tenting his shorts right now.
“Please for the love of . . . don’t laugh at my pain right now.
I am trying my best here.” Remington adjusts himself as he walks into the bathroom.
I hear him turn on the water and start to brush his teeth.
Snuggling back into the pillows, I suck in a deep breath and float in my feelings of happiness for a few minutes before I force myself out of bed, too.
After Remington leaves the bedroom, I go through my very short morning routine of going to the bathroom, washing my hands, and brushing my teeth.
Looking in the mirror, my hair is messy but manageable, and my eyes have a new brightness to them, one that has been sparked to life by the presence of one man.
I meet Remington in the kitchen. Still shirtless and in his shorts, he has coffee brewing, a teapot warming on the stove, and is whipping up the ingredients for French toast. It already smells amazing and has my mouth watering.
I walk up behind Remington and wrap him in a hug as he works, pressing my cheek against his strong, warm back.
“Can I help you with breakfast?” I offer.
“Nope,” he says, shifting so he is facing me, holding me in his arms. Tucking the hair behind both of my ears, he frames my face in his hands.
His rich, honey-colored eyes look extra pretty right now with the morning light picking up little flecks of bright gold that are normally well hidden.
“I have been excited to make you your favorite food since you texted me about it. So all you need to do is take a seat at the counter and enjoy your cup of tea while I cook for us.” Remington kisses me and I want more.
I roll my tongue along his lip, and he lets me in, then he takes control and devours me just the way he knows I like him to.
We stand there in his kitchen kissing, touching, and getting lost in each other until we pull apart breathing heavily.
I bite my lip and blush. Remington gives me a look that tells me the last thing he wants for breakfast is French-freaking-toast, gives me one more fast kiss, and puts me on one of the three barstools lined up at his island countertop. “No more distracting me. I need to feed my woman.”
Swoon.
I think my nipples just cut his T-shirt open.
I think I might climb over this counter and keep distracting him.
Hearing him call me “his woman” . . . nobody has ever called me that before. I never knew that’s something I would like or want. Now it feels like a necessity.
“Say that again . . . please.” I look at him shyly. I am not used to asking for what I want, but Remington makes me feel brave.
“I need to feed my woman?” he asks, confirming my new kink.
“Yes,” I say in a breathy whisper.
“Do you like it when I call you mine, Lainey?” Remington dries his hands on a dish towel and walks to me in a confident prowl, spinning me so he can stand between my legs.
“I really do,” I admit.
“Good.” He bends down and whispers in my ear, “Because I plan on claiming you in every possible way, baby.” He kisses my neck, walks away, and keeps cooking like he just didn’t totally turn my world upside down and leave me a dripping, needy mess all over his barstool.
It is a perfect spring day, and we decided after the incredible breakfast that Remington managed to finish cooking to take a walk around his neighborhood.
Once I finished getting re-dressed in what I had on last night, jeans and a tight sweater, he hopped in the shower and said to make myself at home while he got ready.
Remington’s house is exactly the kind of place that I would want in a home.
It is not too big, there is room to grow, and he’s put a lot of thought into the finishes and work he’s done.
The second bathroom he’s remodeling now will look so nice when it’s complete, but I can’t even imagine how much work it’s going to take.
Right now it is all gutted down to the studs, and the only thing in there is a toilet.
I am doing one last wipe down of the kitchen when I hear the doorbell ring.
Looking down the hall I don’t see Remington coming, so he must still be getting ready for our walk.
Anxiety creeps up and turns my breakfast over in my stomach.
Answering a door should not be this hard.
What if it is Sutton? Or what if it’s an important package that needs to be signed for?
Be a grown up, Lainey that nasty voice hisses, get over it and just answer the stupid door.
It’s never that simple, but I want to win this time, I want to be the one in control, not my anxiety.
Taking a deep breath to try and calm my nerves, I plaster a smile on my face and reach a shaky hand toward the door.
Opening it I find a stunning woman standing there.
She is dressed impeccably in a black, belted sheath dress that matches her long black hair.
Her gold, chunky sandals complement her bangles and earrings.
She slides off oversized sunglasses down her sharp nose, highlighting her look of annoyance as she takes me in.
Her brown eyes don’t hold an ounce of warmth or friendliness the way Sutton’s do.
“Hello,” I say. “Can I help you?”
“Who are you?” she snaps at me. Her voice is shrill and irritating.
“Who are you?” I fire right back, crossing my arms.
“Rem is expecting me. Put down your cleaning supplies and go find him.” She glances at the dish towel I forgot I was holding, gripped tightly in my hand.
“Excuse me?” I say.
“You are the help, right? A cleaner, a maid? Whatever the hell you call yourselves these days.” Letting out a dramatic sigh she continues, “It doesn’t matter.
Let me inside right now, and then go get Rem.
” She is so aggressive, and there is not a chance in hell I am letting her step one gold-covered foot in this house.
Just as I am about to tell her as much, I hear footsteps come up behind me. Remington bands a strong arm around my stomach and pulls me close to him, my back to his chest. I instantly feel relieved to not be alone with this awful woman anymore until he says . . .
“What the fuck are you doing here, Cora.”