The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (45)

Me, though, I can barely think, barely even see. If it weren’t for the feast-worthy sight of his arms and shoulders and perfect fucking chest, I imagine I’d just give up the fight of keeping my eyes open altogether.

There’s no dialogue, really—my brain is too tired for that—but the action says more than enough. Remy and I, we’re a matched set physically. It’s easy and exciting all at the same time and, in all likelihood, the reason I, a young, smart, cautious girl, chose to give herself over to him in the first place.

I thought maybe I was just hormone-struck at the time, but I can tell you now, teenage Maria knew what she was doing when she chose him.

I stroke at the flesh gently, circling my clit and putting pressure in the center at the end of every cycle. I can feel my pleasure building, the need to come taking on a form of its own.

Remy runs his hands down my sides, settling them on my ass and lifting me to meet his strokes. I deepen the action of my fingers to mimic the fantasy and am caught off guard when my orgasm grabs me in a vise, sending me over the edge in a rush. Oh God, Remy! my mind silently calls out.

Coming down from the high, I bury my face in the spray once again and let my weight collapse into the wall. It feels so good to be free, so good to give myself a moment of attention outside of the baby.

But more importantly, did I really just masturbate to thoughts of Remy while he is in my apartment taking care of Izzy?

Guilt and embarrassment consume me like wildfire. And without wasting any more time, I finish washing and cut off the water with shaky hands.

It only takes me a few minutes to throw on some leggings and a T-shirt and brush out the knots in my damp hair. But when I make my way back down the hallway toward the main living area, I swear I’ve been transported to a different era altogether.

Izzy is quiet, peaceful even, and Remy is laying her down in the swing on the far side of the living room. She doesn’t startle or wake, and he buckles her in with the utmost ease and care. I watch silently, my disbelief so potent I’m surprised it doesn’t blow Remy over.

When he turns around and sees me, he smiles. “Feel better?” he asks in his soft voice, just a notch above a whisper.

My cheeks heat at the thought of just how much better I feel—and why I feel that way—so I settle for a nod instead of testing the control properties of my tongue. I cannot believe he managed to put her to sleep in the time it took me to shower. And touch yourself to the thought of him.

“Sometimes, they just need someone who’s not so invested in their going to sleep,” Remy comforts with a laugh. “You know?”

I shake my head and flop down onto the messy couch like a rag doll. “I don’t know anything, Rem. Nothing at all. My brain is a vast empty space at this point.”

He laughs, walking across the room and taking a seat on the other end of the sectional. “You should go take a nap. I can handle keeping an eye on Izzy for now, and when you wake up, we can go out and get some fresh air.”

I look around at the absolute volcanic rubble of a mess around me and shake my head. “I should pick up. I should—”

“You should sleep, Ri. Don’t worry about the mess. We’ll handle that later. Get rest, and get refreshed. You can’t tackle a mountain without any energy.”

The concept of sleep is really tempting.

“Go. Rest. I promise I’ll make sure Izzy is fine if she wakes up, but I have a feeling she needs the time too.”

“And, what? You’re just going to hang out?”

I don’t know if I can fall asleep knowing he’s just out here…on my couch.

“College football is on,” Remy says with a shrug. “It’s not like I’d be doing anything different at home.”

Considering him closely, I can see that he’s not going to take no for an answer at this point. Whether I like it or not, Remy is here to stay, and I…well, I have the freedom to take a nap.

“Her formula and bottles are in the kitchen,” I tell him in a rush. “But she shouldn’t be hungry for at least another two hours or so. But if she is, she’s been taking five ounces. And she did have a little bit of a diaper rash, so use some of the Aquaphor that’s near the diapers and wipes on her changing table if you have to change her.”

“Five ounces of formula. Aquaphor for diaper rash. Got it,” he responds, but when I don’t move, he adds, “It’s all good in the baby hood, Ri. Promise. I’ve got it covered.”

I nod then, succumbing to the inevitable and handing him the remote from the side table.

“If you need anything—”

“I’ll manage,” he interrupts gently. “Go rest.”

I nod again and retreat back down the hallway, climbing into the center of my bed and pulling the big white comforter over myself. I spend about two minutes feeling weird and wondering if I’ll be able to shut my brain off, and then suddenly and without warning, I’m out.

Checked out from the world and any and all chaos in it.

And it’s all thanks to the handsome knight in perfectly washed-out denim in my living room.





Remy

When Maria comes out from her two-hour nap, she looks like a different person. The light and life I’ve come to know in her eyes are back, and her shoulders aren’t slumped toward the ground anymore.