Page 61 of Bad Boy
“Holy. Fucking. Shit. Preppy.” He’s panting, his chest heaving from the post-orgasm endorphins.
I nuzzle my nose into his neck. He smells like sweat and sex and cedar andRemi.
Reluctant to remove myself from his body, I stay on top, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing tightly. “You’re just an illusion. No way you’re real. You can’t possibly be real,” I whisper.
Remi’s low, seductive laugh surrounds me, seeping into my senses and filling my mind with a heady mix of arousal and. . .safety.
Because that’s how he makes me feel. Safe. And turned on. So freakin’ turned on.
Even though I just came twice, my dick already starts to plump up again.
I might have a problem.
Pulling out before I get too hard, we both groan at the foreign sensation.
My legs are shaking, steps like Jell-O, as we round the couch and collapse onto the soft living room rug.
Remi tugs me to him, and I lie on my side, draping a knee over his thick thigh. He hugs me closely, whispering into my hair.
“That was real, baby. No doubt about it. Your dick was in me.Fucking me.My ass will feel the proof of that for the next couple of days,” he says. “And I fucking love it.”
I swallow thickly at his use of the endearmentbaby. It’s not the first time he’s said that.
But that’s not what friends say. . .
Feeling like someone’s tickling the inside of my stomach, I sit up too quickly, swaying a little.
“Whoa. You’re a little cum-drunk and maybe a little drunk-drunk, too,” Remi chuckles, guiding me back to his embrace.
Maybe I am.
I take a deep breath and melt into him, enjoying the security of his big muscly arms and the hard pec under my cheek.
But then I remember the cum drying on the rug. . . and the couch. . . andus.
“We need showers,” I blurt.
* * *
Remi leans over the wide oak table, reaching for the ketchup. I don’t miss the slight grimace on his face as he readjusts his position on the unforgiving metal chair.
I feel a little bad, but he asked for it that hard. And I feel less bad when he smothers his poor over-easy eggs with ketchup.
That’s just wrong. And gross.
I take a sip of my orange juice just as Connor walks by, kicking the leg of my chair and causing me to jerk forward. Luckily only a few drops dribble down my chin onto my black fleece.
“Oh. Whoops. My bad,” he deadpans.
Remi jumps out of his chair in one smooth, silent movement like a viper ready to strike. But before anything can happen, and I have to try and stop it, Gus steps in between, separating them.
“Remember the rules, new kid,” he rumbles in Remi’s face.
“It’s fine. I’m cool. Just. . . keep your boy on a leash. Like I said yesterday.”
Connor growls, adding to the argument that he indeed needs to be leashed. He tries to step around Gus, but Gus swings one of his tree-trunk arms out, stopping him.
“Both of you, cut it the fuck out. It’s only a matter of hours until you can hash this out officially. I don’t want to have to step in between you again. Man up and handle yourselves, for fuck’s sake.”
