And no one bothered to answer him, either.
Despite the melancholy of that first song, the band played several more upbeat songs in a row after it that just screamed for everyone to hit the floor, like, "Boot Scootin' Boogie" and Alan Jackson's "Good Times" where they got to line dance – for the first time in a long time for both of them – and laugh uproariously at how bad they were, keeping to the back and forming their own 'short bus' line that missed more steps than not.
When the band went on a break, the manager turned on the karaoke machine, and Remy and Anna returned to their seats to spend several long minutes cringing at the highly energetic, entirely off key performances, although there was the occasional high note. It seemed the customers could either sing pretty well, or not at all. The less talented among them had more guts and gusto to more than make up for it.
When they had a couple more shots in them, Remy turned to her and said, "Should we show them how it's done?"
Although Anna wasn't as musically inclined as Remy was, she had a great voice, and the two of them could harmonize like nobody's business. They had won several karaoke contests at the Hollow.
Remy took a gander at the songs that were available and spotted one they knew. They ended up singing "Seven Bridges Road", and practically bringing the house down with their spot on harmony. Anna had enough liquor in her that she let Remy talk her into singing Sugarland's "Stay", for which she got another enthusiastic round of applause, which they both retired on.
The waitress hadn't been back to their table while they were singing, so they were sorely lacking drinks. Anna volunteered to go up to the bar and get them while Remy made a pit stop. She was loudly welcomed and highly praised once she'd made her way to the outer fringes of the crowded bar, and found that the drinks were on the house because of their performance.
Unfortunately, while she had waited at the bar, Anna found herself somewhat bothered by a man who couldn't seem to take no for an answer even though she had told him that she was with someone and wasn't interested. The man was very drunk, but at that stage where he wasn't quite ready to give up the ghost yet didn't know when to quit, either, on several counts, and he was making free with his hands, pretending to lean on her and trying to cop a feel at the same time.
Anna left with the shots after thanking – and tipping – the bartender, thinking that was going to be the end of the soused stranger, but when she turned around after putting the drinks on the table, she found he was right behind her, weaving back and forth where he stood, which was also right in front of the returning Remy, who didn't look any too happy to find someone crashing their party, much less harassing his woman.
He immediately moved to put himself between the older man and Anna, so that if the drunk lost control and grabbed for her he would get a fistful of Remy instead. He'd been watching her try to cope with the imbecile since he came out of the men's' room, but the place was so damned crowded it had taken him all this time just to get across the floor to her.
"Go back to the bar and sit down." It was the only warning the man was going to get, drunk or not, and he ought to have been damned happy that he got that much. Remy wasn't going to wait much longer for him to decide to retreat.
Luckily, one of the guy's friends came over and rescued him from what was sure to have been a beating he would remember for the rest of his life, offering to buy them another round for the trouble. And although they declined, they found a second set of shots on their table, delivered by the waitress, who said it was compliments of the annoying man's friends.
Anna downed each of them immediately, and began to regret it moments later, but Remy had slowed down on the drinking and deliberately only sipped his. When she got up to use the ladies' room and began wobbling in that direction, he slipped his arm through hers and guided her out of the restaurant. He crossed the street to their hotel, slipping her into his room instead of her own because he didn't want to leave her in this condition, then checked on Topher before rejoining her minutes later.
To his surprise, she was still awake, sitting up at the small table in the room.
As soon as he came in, she hit him with, "I hate you, you know." She sounded almost sober, although he knew there was no way she could have managed that in so short a time.
He began to take off his shoes and shouldered out of the golf shirt he was wearing. His response was at least as quiet and somehow just as pregnant with emotion as hers was. "I know."
He folded his shirt and tucked it away, took off his watch and ran his hand through his hair.
"How could you do that to me, Remy? I thought you loved me, but you said such awful things."
The muscle in the side of his jaw ticked furiously, but she didn't see it, as he kept his mouth very firmly closed.
"Was I a burden to you, like you said? Did you really only invite me to come live with you and Libby because you felt sorry for me? How could what we had together have meant nothing to you? You said you didn't want me or need me – that I'd never been more than a thorn in your side since I used to tag along after you when I was a little kid. You didn't want hero worship. But that's not what I feel – felt for you." She was still in a right enough mind to change that verb from present tense to past tense, lest he find out what she was rapidly beginning to realize herself— she loved him still, regardless of what he'd said or done to her in the past.
"I loved you, Remy and I thought you loved me."
He couldn't even bring himself to look at her, but he stayed right where he was while she recounted all of the horrible things he'd said to her on that awful night. He deserved every one of her recriminations, and much, much more, so he stayed and took his medicine, listening to her sobbing account of how much he had hurt her.
"Why did you do it, Remy? I never knew why. What did I do that was so bad?"
He thought his heart was going to tear into a million pieces right then and there at her tearful pleas, and he forced himself to stare Anna straight in the eye and tell her the truth. She didn't deserve to go on thinking for one more minute that their breakup was something she had caused. "Nothing, Anna, nothing. It was nothing you did. It was all me, and I am so very, very sorry."
With no warning at all, she leaned forward and slapped him across the face, with every bit of strength she possessed, then dissolved into a heap of tears with her head in her arms.
Remy had certainly been hit by women – in his younger, roguish days - and men who were stronger than she was. But he knew he'd never been dealt a blow that was as devastating to him as that one. Anna was such a tenderhearted soul that she would move spiders out of her house on a newspaper rather than kill them. She went out of her way to avoid confrontation, and he – who had known her since she was in diapers – had never once known her to hit anyone, ever.
He'd had the honor of being her first in a lot of things, but this was not one of them.
Not many would survive unscathed after having given him an open palmed smack, but there was no animosity in him towards her. How could there be? He laid all of the blame for all of the anguish she'd endured squarely where he knew it belonged – in his hands.
He got up and gathered her into his arms, undressing her as tenderly as if she were s small child, leaving her underwear on because he wasn't at all sure he could trust himself. Frankly, he didn't think the underwear was going to do any good, either, but at least it was a little something between himself and her. Then, after having each of them drink a big glass of water, he tucked her into his bed, still holding her to his side. She began to relax some and stretch out beside him, her head on his chest where it had always belonged.
Remy felt completely sober, especially after that crack across his face. Not that it had hurt, because it really hadn't hurt very much, but because of the shock that she had done it at all. He lay on his back, deep in a battle with himself that he had no hope of winning. Not only was he raking himself over the coals for what he had done to her, but he was trying his best to keep a hold
on what had always been and apparently always would be his raging desire for her. He was seconds away from rolling himself on top of her, and he didn't want to do that on several counts, most especially not when she wasn't sober. He had never forced a woman, but he'd never walked so close to that line before.
She was quiet, but he knew she wasn't sleeping. He knew her well enough to tell that by the stiff way she held her body against him.
He rubbed his hand up and down her back. "Can't you get to sleep, honey?"
Anna shook her head. She didn't want to talk. She didn't even want to admit what it was that she did want, but it was the reason she couldn't fall asleep.
Striking Remy was at least as sobering for her as it had been for him. She'd never struck anyone, ever, in her life. And the first person she chose to slap was the person who was at once the person she hated and loved with an all-consuming passion.
Unfortunately, the passion was winning.
It was taking all of what little will she had not to rub herself against the outside of his thigh like she used to, mewling a little and running her hand over his chest. He would tease her about how hot she was, how she was perpetually ready for him, but then he'd ease every ache she'd ever thought she'd had, and, in the process, satisfy his own, until they both fell into an exhausted sleep.
But how could she possibly even consider making love with him now? She wasn't one of those women who could lock away her heart and simply enjoy the sex. She had to be emotionally involved with the person.
Well, she certainly was emotionally involved with him, just not in the way she preferred. Thinking about their situation and going around and around about it was making her head hurt. Anna brought her fingers to her temple to massage it.
"Headache?"
She nodded, continuing to rub until her fingers were replaced by his. She was prone to headaches, some that laid her out on her back in a dark room for several days, despite the medicines that were supposed to prevent or mitigate it into oblivion. And he had become a bit of an expert in helping her find relief. She just hoped he didn't try to employ one of the methods he'd found that had helped her the most.
And, of course, that was the method he would think of first.
Those big fingers of his could be surprisingly tender when he wanted them to be, and they took up where she had left off, rubbing her temples and forehead, then delving into her hair and down the back of her scalp.
She was purring at least as loudly as Topher did when Remy petted him, if not more so, but he didn't stop at her scalp. Those knowledgeable fingers worked themselves into the knots along her shoulders, then down each of her arms, paying particular attention to her fingers, because he knew she'd inherited some arthritis that was already rearing its ugly head in her knuckles, her right thumb in particular.
Then he moved himself down the bed and began again, this time at her feet, being scrupulously careful not to tickle but instead to soothe way any tension he found there.
When he looked up from his task to check on her in the dim light provided by the bedside lamp, he found her staring down at him, eyes wide open, tears about to fall. He wasn't sure if their previous altercation was the reason for her tears or if that was the level her pain was at, but he whispered, "Close your eyes, Anna. I'll take care of you. I want you to clear your mind right now. There's nothing to think about, nothing to worry about. There's just how you feel right now, where my hands are."
He had a voice she found irresistibly hypnotic, and obeyed immediately, not even thinking of the fact that her "no touch" rule had long since gone out the window. He'd just ignored it, like he did a lot of things he didn't like, but she'd also not gone about enforcing it very well, either.
And for that she was – at least for the moment – extremely grateful.
At least until he began to move up her legs, concentrating on her calves and then her knees, but when he reached her thighs, her eyes opened wide and she tensed up all of a sudden.
"Close your eyes, Anna. Or am I going to have to flip you over and spank you until you do?"
She bit her lip, and complied with his order as slowly as she could, trying not to be sucked in by that soft, slow, singsong voice. "You're perfectly safe with me, you know. All I want is to make you feel better."
He dug deep into the muscles of her thighs, first at the front and then, flipping her over onto her tummy, the backs of her thighs, moving unhurriedly towards her bottom.
"Oooh, baby, you're still quite mottled from yesterday. Is it still sore?"
She nodded her head that it was.
"Good," he said with unnatural cheeriness.
"It is not good!" She pouted like a five-year-old.
"It is if it helps you obey me, Anna Nicolette," he said, patting her rump possessively before seating himself on it – although he took most of his weight on his folded legs – to get at her back and shoulders again, hearing her groan in a way that reminded him so much so of how she'd often moaned in ecstasy as he pleasured her that he thought he might lose control of himself completely and cum in his underwear just from massaging her.
Once he'd finished there, he flipped her over again, and his hands very naturally landed on her breasts. Remy saw her head come up at this and one eye open. "Anna. You know better than that. Put your head down and close your eyes, and let me help you feel better."
Realizing that she didn't want to fight herself or him any more, she let him. And he did. By the time he'd finished, she was practically incoherent with pleasure, and she didn't even remember that she had had a headache in the first place.
Remy knew entirely too much about how touch her, what kind of pressure and movement she liked, and he set about using all of that collected knowledge to get her to that point, not allowing her a second's respite from the way the rough pads of his fingers pinched and twisted her nipples, just so, kissing her deeply but not sloppily, then very slowly – excruciatingly slowly, making his pilgrimage until he was positioned to pleasure her in the way he most preferred.
On his way he had suckled and razed and almost bitten each nipple as his hands prepared the way his mouth would soon follow, delving between legs that had long since fallen apart, and she could hardly find it in herself to bar his way now. When he possessed her most feminine area, he set his fingers to work again there, sliding a bold one up inside of her, exclaiming at how tight – but even more so, how slippery she already was, and taking advantage of that natural lubricant to tease incessantly and fondle the bud he found already alive and pulsating, welcoming his every touch.
When he touched her again in that very secret spot that only he had ever known with her, she nearly climaxed immediately, and he could tell she was very, very close by the changes in her breathing and the pitch of her moans.
But he cautioned, knowing it would excite her even more, "Ah-ah-ah. Not until you've been given permission, Miss Anna. And you haven't been given permission yet, have you?"
Anna knew he expected her to answer him, but she wasn't sure she could leave off from mewling and groaning long enough to do it. And she knew she had to, because occasionally – but not always – he would decide that she had taken too long to respond and would flip her over to warm her bottom as a reminder that she was to respond smartly when he asked her a question.
But she never knew when that was going to happen.
Chapter X
"Y-yes- S-sir," she barely breathed, hoping he could understand her. Praying he could understand – and hear – her. Anna wasn't at all sure she could take another spanking on top of her still quite uncomfortable bottom.
Luckily, he must have, because she didn't find herself on her tummy getting spanked. Instead he continued his exploration of her, coaxing response piled on top of aching response, until he knew she was getting to the point of no return. It was then that he settled himself between her legs, leaning forward to press his eager mouth over the very sensitive area that his fingers had just been preparing, holding her wide open, her legs
splayed well back so that she wouldn't get the idea that she could interfere with his pursuits.
When he looked up moments later, he asked in a chiding manner, "Where are your hands supposed to be, Anna? I can see that you've forgotten a lot of what I'd taught you. There will have to be copious remedial lessons, I can see."
He kept her expertly on that edge, not having given her his permission to orgasm yet, riding that fine line between having some control over her response to letting go of any and all controls until he had pressed first one, then two fingers inside her, swelling to enormous proportions himself at the way she caught her breath from being stretched open, trying to accommodate the demands he was making of her body that were at the same time unbearably pleasurable and just on the cusp of painful.
As he began to drive those fingers in and out of her, making no accommodation what so ever to what had obviously been a long drought between men, which he found unbearably satisfying, he looked up and said the words she'd been waiting at least an eternity for.
"You may cum, Anna."
Thankfully, he was also smart enough to hand her a pillow before he retuned to his delicate work, because otherwise he was sure that they would have to explain exactly what they were doing to the village police.
As it was, the pillow did the trick, although she was quite taken away by it all, literally screaming and groaning in very much the same way as she did when he had her over his lap.
Before she could recover completely, Remy adjusted himself upwards, so that his cock was poised before her womanhood, lying directly on top of her with his arms holding the majority of his weight. "Anna look at me."
She did as she was told, he was gratified to see, despite the fact he could feel that her body was still clenching in the aftermath of the storm he'd brought to her.
"Tell me that you want this. I won't do it if you don't."
She hadn't lied earlier when she'd told him boldly that she hated him, but she realized that there were very few men in this world who would have gotten to this point in an intimate encounter and had the decency to ask her permission to proceed and offer to withdraw – which she knew he would do regardless of how hard it would be for him - if she said no.
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