God, I can’t listen to this song without feeling eaten on the inside. I need to get as close as possible to him. As close as I can get. Head to toe, I crave him, every bit of me craves every bit of him. I tip my face up and press my lips lightly to his, eagerly sliding my fingers into his hair. Remy, oh god, kiss me harder.
He makes me wait a little more as he uses his hand to turn my head at an angle, and then, then, his lips finally lock over mine, his tongue tracing through the seam of my mouth until I open wider and gasp, electrified, when our tongues brush. I don’t hear his groan, but I feel it vibrate through his chest against my br**sts, and I shudder as I touch my tongue to his and relax my mouth under the command of his. Because there’s no one I trust more, no one I drop all my walls with in the way they came tumbling down with this man. Stroking one hand up the side of my body, he sucks gently on my lower lip, and I feel the swelling heat between my legs. The hitching of my breath. The hardening of my ni**les. The pulling sensation along my skin.
I didn’t even know how much I needed this kiss until right now, when all my body buzzes under his mouth, and I move my lips and use my tongue to coax his tongue back in me.
I don’t even know if Pete or Riley or anyone is watching; Iris is playing in our ears and our mouths are wet and hungry. He eases his fingers under my top as he sucks, suckles, probes, tastes. It seems impossible, but every quaking inch of my body feels pleasure merely from what his mouth does to mine.
I moan in need and bite him, and he loses a little control.
He unsnaps my seat belt and leans me over until I’m spread all over the backseat.
The music stops and another song starts, but he makes a frustrated noise when the cords get tangled between us, and he jerks our earbuds off and tosses them aside. Then he runs his eyes over my body. Suddenly, I’m no longer listening to anything except the pounding of my heart as he lowers his head again.
“Fuck, I want you,” he says, then I hear the slick sound of his mouth meeting mine once more. Heat blazes through my bloodstream as he takes over my mouth again. Tongues rubbing. Hands fondling. Breaths mixing.
Between my thighs, I’m getting so swollen, I squirm restlessly under his weight and move my mouth faster and more anxiously under his. I feel the bumps of his eight-pack under his T-shirt, and my nerves ignite as he slides the tips of his long, strong fingers under my top again.
He’s killing me. I wanted this kiss—but now I want more. Every pore, atom, and cell heats up to supernova. Our mouths move so right together, I feel alive, expanded, loved. I love, I want, I need . . . him. So freaking much. I don’t think he will ever truly know . . . how ashamed I feel for leaving . . . how I ache for the way he hurt for me . . . how determined I am to stay with him . . . how much I really love him. . . .
His thumbs find my ni**les through my bra and they feel so sensitive, the merest stroke arrows a bolt of pleasure to my toes.
“Remy, we have to stop,” I gasp, panting, while I still have a couple of neurons working in my brain. But even as I say one thing, I’m clutching his muscles and the crazy-as-hell aroused part of me doesn’t even care if we do it right here, right now.
But I’m guessing he’ll go ballistic if anyone here listens to me come.
He edges back a little and drags in a long, audible breath. Then, he looks at me, his eyes on fire, and kisses me again, a little rougher. He groans softly and stops, leaning his head on mine, his breath harsh in my ear. “Play me a song,” he says in a rough murmur, pulling me up to sit.
Very aware of my swollen mouth, I grab my iPod and start browsing my playlists while trying to ignore the throbbing between my thighs. “Just give me back my brain first.”
He laughs and tweaks my nose. “Play me one of your sassy anti-love songs.”
“There’re so many, I don’t even know where to start.” I begin searching when he puts his thumb over mine and swiftly, he starts guiding me.
“I got one for you. The kind you like.”
His voice close to my ear causes pleasant little chills to rush through me. He clicks PLAY on a saucy song like the ones I like, but it’s not a girl power song at all.
It’s Kelly Clarkson’s “Dark Side.”
My insides melt when I hear the music. I love Kelly, but oh, this song. The words. Remy wants to know . . . that I will stay, that I will promise not to run away . . . ?
He looks at me again, with that cocky little smile. But his eyes are not so cocky. His eyes are questioning. He wants to know.
And when he takes my hand and laces his fingers between mine in a very boyfriend gesture that never fails to get me, I go to the ear without the earbud and tell him, “I promise. I promise, you have my heart, and you have me. You will always have me.”