Page 135 of Remy

Is she kidding?

I’ve lived for the thought of her for months. Been fucking blinded.

There’s only Ollie. Only those beautifully emotional eyes. Those sweet, lush lips.

I lean into her ass, my cock hard against her softness. “Does this feel easy to you?” Her gasp sinks into me, waging war with my control. “Does any part of this feel like I wouldn’t burn the world to the ground just for a few seconds between your fucking thighs?”

She remains facing the door, breaths increasing, body like a stretched rubber band about to snap.

How does she do this to me? Command me. Control me.

I’m a slave to her, every part of me bound and exposed.

“I want you,” I growl in her ear. “I want you so fucking much it’s more painful than a bullet wound.” I nuzzle her neck, consumed by her. I revel in the softness of her hair. The sweetness of her scent. The brutal rasps of her breath.

“But you still won’t sleep with me,” she whispers.

I tense. “No.”

She yanks at the door again, opening it an inch.

I slam it shut with a snarl.

“Why are you doing this?” She turns, those deep hazel depths blinking up at me. “Is it the grief? The alcohol?”

I don’t know. The only thing I understand is the mindless intensity thrumming through me. The need for her. I swear to God, I see it staring back at me, too. The illusion is a sickening punishment.

“You’re driving me insane, Remy. I don’t enjoy feeling like this. I don’t like wanting you.”

She wants me? Even after all she knows?

Fuck.

Just… fuck.

“I should hate you.” She stares up at me, undaunted by my proximity. “Any stable-minded woman would want to take to your head with a two-by-four.”

I huff a laugh. “Instead my girl prefers to shove me into a retort.”

Her brows rise.

She heard it. I fucking did, too.

My girl.

The words may have only come out due to alcoholic lubrication, but it’s true.

She’s mine.

Having her might not be within my realm of reality, yet that doesn’t mean I haven’t claimed her.

She shakes her head, her nose scrunching. “I don’t like how you make me feel.”

The admission hits with the efficiency of a kick to the balls. “And how is that, Pyro?”

She winces. “Entirely out of control.” She grabs at the chain around her neck as if the loose length chokes her. “Like your proximity has a direct link to my personal thermostat. My entire body feels in tune with yours. You make me think things that aren’t healthy. It’s not right.”

My dick throbs back to life. “You’ve bewitched me, too, Pyro. Despite my shitty, godforsaken life, the hardest battle I’ve fought is trying to keep my hands off you.”

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