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They move carefully but confidently, taking turns until they’re sure they’re not hurting me, and then begin to move in unison.
The sensation is indescribable, the fullness of them within me a kind of awakening. I come for a third time, this time with a hoarse shout, stiffening as a kind of little death moves through every muscle and gradually departs, leaving every muscle like water.
Cope follows suit, pumping hard into me until he goes rigid with release. Done, he drops his forehead to the top of my head and pulls gently free of my body. “You are incredible, Neve. A goddess.”
Oliver comes a moment after, seeming to have just been waiting for Cope to finish first. His mouth seeks mine and his lips hover against mine, just barely touching, as he finishes and slips from my body. “Thank you,” he whispers. Louder, “Let’s get you out of this pool before you fall asleep. Remi?”
Remi comes to the lip of the pool, and Oliver and Cope hand me up into the towel he has spread wide, waiting to wrap me in. I smile dazedly as he bends and scoops me into his arms. “Come on, pet. Let’s get you to bed.” He walks me to the door, then turns to look back at everyone. “She’ll be with me tonight. We’ll work out a rotation later.”
So, we’re doing a schedule. I sigh and lean my head against his shoulder, utterly blissed out. I like that idea. No one gets upset. Everyone gets what they need. “I think I need a nap,” I mumble.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Remi chuckles, the sound dark and masculine and doing something to my nerve endings despite my sated lethargy. His stride, as he carries me through the lobby and out onto the path that leads to the cottages, is confident.
“Are you jealous?” I ask. “I know you don’t like to share—”
He peers down at me and pauses at the door to his own cottage. “Neve, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed, and if all I ever got to do from here on out was watch, I’d be okay.” Using the hand behind my back, he twists the knob and pushes open the door.
“I just wanted to make sure.”
“I’m good. Trust me.” He moves through the cottage, into the bathroom, and seats me on the counter before stepping over to turn the water to the shower on. “That’s not to say I won’t wake you up in the middle of the night, though, if I’m being painfully honest. I’m so turned on right now, I can hardly think.”
I blink at him sleepily. “Let me revive a little, and I can probably take care of that for you.”
He laughs, then unwraps me from the towel and steps us both into the shower. “I’ll take that raincheck.”
Bending his head to block my face from the sting of the pelting water, he kisses me, a sweet, light caress that nonetheless makes my toes curl against the tile floor. His hands move over my body gently, non-sexually, as he soaps and rinses me, and dries me thoroughly. He tucks me into his bed, naked and content, and then slides in behind me to curl his body around mine.
One thought carries me to sleep.
Violet Gordon-Woodhouse would be so freaking jealous right now.
Thirty-Two
Finally!
After all these years, I am finally going to get some closure.
And with that closure, with the identification of the Lost Boys kidnapper, who has been dubbed ‘Hook’ in the tabloids, maybe I can finally move on with my life. With that revelation and the subsequent investigations into his background, surely there will be other things that can finally come to light.
It’s everything I’ve worked for during the past twenty years. It’s been my compulsion, my driving force.
My obsession.
Everything I am today comes back to this man. This incident.
Anyone who knows me—or thinks they know me—will tell you I’m brash. Arrogant and insolent.
And it’s true, to an extent. I’ve never much cared what other people think. No one gave a shit about me, after all.
As I barge through a set of double doors, pushing them so hard in my rush that one of them bangs against the wall, I’m surprised to realize I’m struggling, internally.
It’s not because I’m in the morgue. Neither is it the stark reality of viewing a corpse. It’s not even the thought of finally coming face to face with my abductor.
My abuser.
No, ironically, what I’m struggling with is what the hell I’m going to do with myself now this is all over.
That’s the trouble with an addiction. Once you’re deprived of it, it’s like you’ve lost an essential part of your life, and it’s difficult to function.
