Mine (Real, #2)(28)
Once I’ve rubbed him down on both sides, I go to the fridge so I can give him an ice massage. Ice massages are perfect for any knot or injury, but Remington loves them, and I sometimes give him one to speed general recovery.
There’s a Styrofoam cup already in the freezer. It contains a frozen block of water inside, and I rub my palm over it several times, to smooth out the ice and make sure it won’t nick his skin. Then I run it all over his muscles while I hold the back of the cup, almost like I’m sliding roll-on deodorant over his skin.
He lays there and lets me tend him, his sexy male pheromones clinging to his skin like sweat, his body so hot, the ice immediately begins melting. I watch the rivulets of water zigzag playfully along his broad back, and when he flips over, those rivulets do the same down the front of his hard chest.
My eyes follow them while my brain swims with thoughts of licking each of them up with my tongue, especially the ones that slide into his belly button, the ones that curl around his nipples. While I watch and mentally lick every beautiful inch of him, he watches me work on him, his gaze hot and tender and, somehow, grateful.
“I love the way you work out,” I whisper.
“I love the way you work me.”
? ? ?
BY THE TIME we ride up in our hotel elevator, we’re both tired—and I’m especially so. I just haven’t recovered from the f*cking Gift and I’m tired enough to skip dinner and head straight to bed.
After eight hours of working out, Remy has punched most of his speedy energy off for now. He leans back against the elevator wall with an arm loosely draped around my hips, while I half stand, half sag against his side, resting part of my head against the side of his throat.
“Cold shower, eat a cow, see you tomorrow,” Coach says as he exits on his floor.
“I’m on it,” Remington answers in his low and powerful voice.
“Good night, Coach,” I say.
And as soon as we’re alone in the elevator, Remington ducks his head to scent me.
The press of his frame against my back is all hard, hot muscle. He exhales warmly against my skin, then licks the back of my ear, and an electrical jolt surges through me. He then nuzzles his way across the back of my head, to the back of my other ear, and he scents me there too. My nipples bead painfully against my top, and at the first lick of his tongue across the back of my ear, need rips through me. He holds me snug against his big body, and whispers into my ear in a thick, appreciative tone, “I watched you stretching. Were you doing it for your muscles’ sake or for mine?”
As his words run through me like a sexual caress, he slides one open hand down the front of my body, and I shudder as he cups me over my Lycra pants. “Brooke? Was it for your sake or mine?” He licks and sucks a bare spot of skin on the back of my neck, igniting a painful thrumming inside me.
“Yours,” I moan.
He chuckles softly as he slides that hand upward. “Did you enjoy watching me work out?” His husky question presses every sexy button inside me as he fills his palm with one breast over my tank top.
“Me and the rest of the gym,” I say breathlessly.
Here comes his chuckle again. Sexy. Deep.
His fingers coast up and down my bare arm, wreaking all sorts of havoc in me. Lava percolates inside me when he adds teeth to my earlobe and gently tugs. Suddenly, I can’t bear it; I turn in his arms and, god, he smells so good I feel light-headed.
He’s in a clean T-shirt, his body emanating heat like a roiling volcano, and I fist my hands in the soft material to brace myself as I kiss his neck, licking him hungrily and desperately. His taste sends dull pangs of want to places I didn’t even know I had.
He growls softly in satisfaction and lowers his head to buzz my mouth with his. Then he cups my ass in his big hand and squeezes me as the elevator climbs the rest of the way. I rub my hands up his chest, over his T-shirt, and keep recklessly tasting him.
“Remy,” I moan. I press my nipples into his chest and undulate coaxingly, and he chuckles softly in my ear as he clutches my ass harder in his hands.
“Do you want me?” he prods, his breath hot and cajoling against my lips as he presses his mouth to mine.
“Yes . . .”
He slides his hand between my ass cheeks and, from behind, suddenly strokes his thumb over my clit through my Lycra pants. My knees nearly fail.
“Are you wet?” he entices.
“Remy . . .” I can only say, my sex aching painfully between my legs.
“Are you wet in your *?” he asks in my ear, sinuously dipping his tongue into the crevice.
“Yes. God, yes.”
“Let me see.” He flips me around so that we’re both facing the doors, then eases his fingers into both my pants and panties and caresses me for a brief second, verifying my wetness, slipping his finger into my swollen entry, making me gasp, rock my hips, and moan, until he says, in a husky and satisfied whisper, “Hmmm.”
Ping.
Hmmm . . .
It’s a sound between us, and when he says it, it means he wants to eat me.
All of me.
About a million cells in my body quiver with need, and my heart rate kicks up as the doors roll open. He swoops me up on his shoulder and grabs my butt on our way to our suite, and I laugh in surprise at the caveman move and kick in the air.
“Diane’s going to be in our room already!” I squeak, but he squeezes my butt like it doesn’t matter and carries me inside, dipping his thumb, once again from behind, between my legs, so it’s swiping over my clit.