He looks so impossibly handsome my insides flutter with renewed intensity.
“Did you like the fight?” he asks me, his voice low and rough as he studies my profile in the shadows of the car, his eyes glowing intently.
He always asks me this question after an event in the Underground. As if my opinion is important to him.
“No. I didn’t like it,” I say as I face him, then I grin when he scowls. “You were amazing! I loved it!”
He laughs, the sound rich and male, then he startles me when he grabs my hand in his warm grip and lifts it. My breath freezes when he slowly brushes his lips across my knuckles, and I can feel the plump softness of his mouth down to the delicious scar on his lower lip, which is now almost completely healed. A little buzz travels through my bloodstream as his eyes hold me trapped the entire time he grazes me. The way he stares through those heavy dark lashes makes my ni**les throb.
“Good.” His murmur is hot and damp against my skin, and when he lowers my hand back to the seat and slowly untangles his fingers from mine, I have to bring it back to my lap and hold it with its partner, just because it suddenly feels too empty.
The club they chose tonight is packed and bursting outside with lines of people, but the second Remington steps out of the car, he hauls me up to the bouncer, who immediately allows us inside, where Riley and Pete wait for us in a private room in the back.
“Pete is getting a lap dance,” Riley tells Remington. “You don’t mind treating him to one as a birthday present?”
Through the open door, we watch a woman in a glittering silver bikini approach Pete, who sits in a couch near the end, smiling as he watches her. I’m so uncomfortable I think I just squirmed, for suddenly Riley looks at me, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.
“You shy about this, Brooke?” he asks in amusement.
My heart stops when I realize Remington is looking at me too. He peers intently into my eyes, then his gaze flicks to my mouth, then back into my eyes. His hand suddenly envelops mine and he whispers, “Do you want to watch?”
I shake my head no, and he leads me out to the bar and dance floor area. There’s an unreal amount of noise, and the entire dance floor throbs with music and the fiery warmth of dancing bodies.
“Oh, I love this song!” I cry as I spot Debbie jumping in the middle of the stage, and she catches sight of me and comes to haul me into the dance floor.
“Remy!” Friday crushes him into the throng at the same time that Debbie squeals and pulls me tight to her body, then she grabs my h*ps and starts grinding in some sexy girl move. I laugh and turn around, my arms in the air while Usher’s “Scream” fills the room with music, and then I spot Remington only feet away, towering among the crowd.
He’s not dancing.
In fact, he’s not even moving.
He’s watching me, his smile in place, eyes glinting, and suddenly he grabs me and slams me against his body, ducking to my neck. He brushes my hair to the side and presses his body into my spine, breathing me in so hard—I can feel his deep inhale. My stomach clenches in response, and I feel his mouth part at my nape. He grazes my skin with his teeth, and then his tongue comes out to lick me.
My body electrifies. Reaching up and behind me, I grab his head and pin it down as I follow his hips, people dancing around us, the heat building in the room. His hands catch my hips, squeezing as he pulls me harder against his front, and my bu**ocks feel how hard he is. He wants me to feel how much he wants me. His tongue trails up my neck to the back of my ear. A shiver runs through me as he splays a hand on my stomach and turns me to face him.
Our eyes meet. Hold. The music throbs within me, desire for him knotting and twisting in my core, and I wrap my arms around him and push my body up to his, tilting my head up for his mouth.
I need to know his taste. The feel of him. He didn’t sleep with those whores. His erection that day had been mine. He hasn’t looked at a woman the entire night. Not in the fight, not here. He hasn’t had eyes for anyone, but me.
And I have eyes for no one, nothing, but this jaw-droppingly gorgeous man before me, who plays me songs and runs and spars with me and puts ice on my injury. Blue eyes glazed with lust, dark eyelashes looking heavy as he stares into my eyes, at my mouth, and then he grabs my face in one hand, ear to ear, and breathes me in again, his eyes drifting shut as he nuzzles my face with his. “Do you know what you’re asking for?” he asks in a hoarse rasp, breathing harsh and fast. “Do you, Brooke?”
I can’t reply, and he grabs my ass and hauls me to him, putting his mouth almost, almost, on mine. He’s driving me insane. Insane. I want to have him. I want to let myself have him. I slide my fingers up his chest, into his hair, so silky under my fingers.
“Yes.” My heart pounds in my ears as I push up on tiptoes, drawing his head down, when someone bumps into me from behind. I stumble forward. Remington catches me with one arm and pins me protectively to his side.
“If it isn’t Riptide and his new pu**y.”
My head swings around and I realize whoever shoved me, it was not by accident. Four men flock around us, and they’re all enormous. One of them has an icky black scorpion tattooed to his right cheekbone, and he’s even larger than the others.
Remington glances at them like they’re as significant as a bunch of flies, then he puts an arm around me and takes me out of the dance floor.
“What’s your girlfriend’s name? Whose name does she call out when you f**k her, huh?”
Remy is wordless as he leads me toward the bar, but his fingers have clenched into an angry fist at the back of my top as he pushes me forward. The men march behind us, but Remington continues to ignore them. He turns me away and blocks my view of them with the wall of his chest. “Go back with Riley and ask him to take you to the hotel,” he whispers.