He lowers me over the comforter, and he drapes the towel over my body, lightly rubbing it over my skin while he ducks his head and whispers, “Let me go get dry.”
I moan in protest when he leaves me. I’m so hot, but so wet and cold, my teeth chatter as I watch his muscled buttocks flex in the sexiest way a man’s buttocks can flex as he disappears into the bathroom. Even as every inch of my body pulses, I shakily tuck my towel tighter around me and absently dry myself, my eyes fixed on the bathroom door.
Ohmigod, I hurt like a motherfucker, too.
When he finally fills the threshold with those magnificently broad shoulders and that beautiful eight-pack, rivulets of water still slide from his hair, down his throat, to his chest and down to the towel draped around those narrow hips. My breath goes. I can see he’s run a towel over his head and his dark hair is standing up and spiked, those blue eyes shining greedily as he makes sure I’m on the bed as he left me. Suddenly all the love and painful jealousy I feel rushes through my bloodstream like lightning.
He steps in without removing his gaze from me, and I pull open my towel to watch his face harden and his eyes flash as he takes me in, completely naked.
He reaches for his towel and strips it away, and my airway constricts when I see his large erection bobbing heavily as he comes to bed and uses another towel to gently dry my wet hair.
“I’m rubbing you down with oils first,” I warn in a breathless whisper as he finishes.
Smiling devilishly, he tosses the towel aside, grabs the arnica oil I was reaching for, and tosses it onto the carpet to join it; then he brushes my wet hair back, his eyes weighted as he cups the back of my head and lowers his head to mine. “Rub my tongue with yours.”
He parts his mouth on mine, and our breaths mingle, and a delicious shiver runs through me as his lips pull me apart and our tongues flick out.
“Your lip,” I breathe, so he’s careful.
He playfully nips me and brushes my tongue with his again, rubbing a little harder and driving me insane. “Your lip,” I moan, squirming needily beneath him.
He draws back. Then, torturously slow, he caresses the backs of my legs, awakening a thousand and one tingles.
“Remington, your lip . . .” I protest when I see the cut bleeding again, and I reach out to catch a drop of blood with my finger.
“Shh . . .” His tongue flashes out, and he licks and sucks my finger; then he lets go and watches me with those violently tender blue eyes as he trails his fingers up the backs of my legs to stroke my buttocks.
My breasts rise and fall as he runs his fingers up my legs, then possessively cups my ass. “Are you turned on by this?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He slides his hands to the backs of my knees, down my calves, then slowly back up until I’m dissolving into my bones and dying.
“How turned on are you?” he asks softly, settling a kiss on my stomach.
“I have to put something on that lip again,” I breathe. A thousand flames lick my body as I sit up and reach with trembling hands for my salve and manage to press some to his cut.
He presses a kiss to my fingertip, and I close my eyes as a bolt of pleasure arrows through me. “Remy . . .” I say, melting.
“Lie back down,” he tells me. Dizzy with anticipation, I do as I’m told.
“Don’t kiss me, Remington,” I warn.
He whispers roughly, “Fix me up later.”
A shudder courses through me as he caresses my sex, briefly opening my lips with his thumb while, at the same time, he ducks to slide his tongue across the tip of one nipple.
I buck a little, mewing, and he laughs softly as he licks my other nipple, tonguing it, playing with it, before covering it with his hot, wet mouth and sucking.
He runs his hands up my body, growling, “God, Brooke. You knot me up and tear me open. You’re getting me in you now.”
“Okay,” I gasp eagerly as he spreads me wide, his erection pulsing and hard as he flattens me on my back and covers me with the heat of his body. His mouth sears my own, and I disintegrate on the mattress. We’re both wound up. I need him like I need air. The way our skins touch. The way his calluses rasp over me. The way my hands slide over his slick chest. I claw his back as he buries his face in my neck and his mouth works hungrily over me like he doesn’t know whether to kiss, bite, or lick, so he does all three.
“Who do you belong to,” he rasps urgently.
“You,” I pant.