by Erika Wilde
Before all that blissful satisfaction completely ebbed and the haze of desire cleared, he pulled her down onto his bed and moved over her, kneeing her thighs wide apart as he settled in between, positioned his shaft at her core, and thrust so hard and deep inside her she nearly saw stars.
Her back arched against the mattress and she gasped in shock at the hard, thick length filling her. Her widened eyes found his above her and he immediately stopped moving.
He swore beneath his breath. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
His concern was completely misplaced, and she exhaled on a light laugh. “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting you to be so hard again so soon.”
A wicked grin spread across his face as he braced his arms by the sides of her head and started rocking his hips against hers once again. “Princess, I have three years to make up for. And my dick is thrilled to have a gorgeous, sexy woman in my bed, so most likely this is how we’re going to spend most of the night. Me, deep inside you.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, enjoying the slide of skin on bare skin. “You’ll get no complaints from me.”
“Didn’t think so.”
He lowered his head and kissed her, slow and deep and languid—matching the rhythm of their bodies moving in perfect sync. Unlike every other time they’d been together, there was no rush to orgasm, and everything about this moment with Remy felt different somehow. Pleasure built upon pleasure, until neither one could hold back any longer and the coil of tension pulling tight between them became unbearable and finally snapped.
Mutual groans of bliss filled the space between them as both their orgasms peaked. Tempest’s heart beat wildly against Remy’s as they stared into one another’s eyes at that moment, both gasping for breath, lost in oblivion . . . and each other.
Chapter 11
Remy woke the following morning, Tempest’s warm, soft, naked body cuddled up to his. Her head rested in the crook of his shoulder, one of her arms was slung across his midsection, and a curvy thigh draped across his. After three years of being alone, it was strange having a woman in his bed, but not unwelcome. The fact that it was Tempest sharing his space made him smile, surprising him with the realization of how much he liked waking up to her.
He immediately told himself not to get used to it, that this affair between him and Tempest was a temporary agreement they’d made, despite how much he enjoyed being with her. That the only reason she was here this morning was because he’d been so greedy for her that they’d spent most of the night satiating their hunger for one another, until exhaustion finally claimed them.
And still, he wanted her. His dick was already half-hard from the feel and scent of her next to him, and while Remy knew it would be so easy to push her onto her back and slide right inside all that soft, tight heat to slake this unending need he seemed to have for her, he held his desire in check. After all the various ways he’d already fucked her, she had to be sore and tender. For now, he was strangely content to just revel in this quiet, intimate moment with her.
Gently, he threaded his fingers through Tempest’s hair and massaged her scalp, and she let out a soft sigh and snuggled closer, as if she belonged right there by his side. And for the time being, he accepted that she did belong exactly where she was.
All Remy’s adult life, he’d never been a guy who’d slept around or had a string of one-night stands. He’d always preferred monogamy, and having Tempest curled up to him so trustingly after sharing an incredible night of passion with her, it made him ache for all the things he’d wanted and hoped for when he’d married Rachel, but that had all fallen apart because he hadn’t been enough. Because he’d lacked the ability to make and keep her happy.
The hardest, most painful part of his divorce hadn’t been losing Rachel. Or even her having an affair and financially ruining him. No, the most difficult thing he’d had to come to terms with had been the loss of a vision he’d had for his life. Those hopes and dreams he’d harbored deep inside, of taking care of one special woman. Of coming home to a wife after a hard day at work, knowing she loved him unconditionally and, despite how hard things might get, they always had each other’s backs and had the same future goals in mind. To having a family of his own and building the kind of ideal life for his kids that Remy himself had never known.
He’d honestly tried so fucking hard, and he’d failed.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss this kind of intimacy with a woman—not just the sex but the deeper connection that didn’t require words and just felt right. He never thought it possible after Rachel’s betrayal, but Tempest filled something inside of him. Made him feel calm and content and dare he say . . . happy? Like he had something more to look forward to than just the constant mental and physical grind of work he’d buried himself in for the past three years.
He exhaled a slow, deep breath, accepting that, for now, he’d enjoy his time with Tempest. Her own life was incredibly busy, with Wilder Passion and now Wilder Things. She was independent, driven, and competent—things he truly admired about her—but she wasn’t looking for a man to take care of her, or anything permanent, either. Which was probably for the best, because Remy had no idea how to make a woman who already had it all, like Tempest did, satisfied beyond sex.
A while later, Tempest stirred against him, stretching her limbs with a soft moan before she lifted her head to blink up at him, her hair completely disheveled around her head and shoulders. He grinned at the sleepy look in her eyes, the pink flush on her face, and the affectionate smile curving her lips. His heart did a little flip in his chest at how beautiful she looked after a night of pleasure.
“Hey,” she said, her voice husky as her fingers absently drifted across his abdomen while her gaze went to the window and early Saturday morning light streaming in. “What time is it?”
He reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and picked up his phone. “Eight thirty.” A shock for him, considering it was three hours later than he normally slept.
She sighed and propped her chin on the hand she’d rested on his chest, looking as content as he felt. “You wore me out.”
He smirked and gently brushed a strand of hair back that had fallen in front of one of her eyes. “I could say the same for you,” he murmured. “You, Tempest Wilder, are a naughty, dirty girl.”
“Only with you,” she replied, her voice soft but earnest. “You’re definitely my unicorn guy.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d made that reference and it piqued his curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”
“It means you pretty much check all my boxes sexually,” she said with a small shrug. “The few men I’d been with before you were . . . mediocre, to say the least. Way too gentle and tentative. I was lucky if I had an orgasm before they came—and if I did, it was usually by my own hand. After a few average encounters, I realized that I like a guy who’s more aggressive, a little rough and in control . . . like you were last night when you took me from behind and pulled my hair.” Her eyes darkened with desire as she remembered. “I liked that. A lot.”
She most definitely had. As he’d wrapped a handful of Tempest’s hair around his fist to keep her still while he’d pounded into her pussy, he’d felt her inner muscles clench tight around his dick. And when she’d climaxed screaming his name, all those deep pulses had milked him fucking dry. He couldn’t deny that sex with Tempest was off-the-charts hot and better than he’d ever had, too.
The loud growl of Tempest’s stomach made Remy laugh. “Are you always hungry?” After they’d appeased their physical need for one another the first time last night, he’d ordered in Chinese at Tempest’s suggestion, and she’d literally devoured every bite of the orange chicken and chow mein she’d asked for.
She sat up beside him, not bothering to use the sheet to cover her perfect breasts, which had a few red marks from where he’d marred her skin with his teeth. She’d loved that, too, and seeing them now made him feel possessive as hell.
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“I’m a girl who likes to eat, and missing a meal makes me hangry, which you do not want,” she told him playfully. “So, are you going to feed me, or are we going out for breakfast?”
“Ham and cheese omelet work for you?” he offered.
“Sounds fantastic,” she said with a grin.
He slid out of bed naked, and her eyes watched him avidly as he walked around the bed, grabbed a clean pair of sweatpants from his dresser, and headed for the shower—which was tiny and not conducive to fooling around in or else he would have invited her in with him.
“Give me a few minutes in the bathroom, then it’s all yours.”
By the time he was done and came back out feeling much more refreshed, she was lying back against the pillows, scrolling through her phone, still completely naked. When she glanced up at him, she bit her bottom lip as she eyed his bare chest with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
“Stop looking at me like that or you’ll never get fed,” he warned, his tone light and teasing. “I left a new toothbrush for you to use on the sink. Breakfast is in fifteen minutes.” He left the room before he pounced on her.
He was just finishing up a second omelet when she came strolling into the small kitchen wearing one of his Lowell construction T-shirts that skimmed her thighs and made him wonder what she was wearing beneath, if anything at all. Her face was makeup free, the ends of her tousled hair damp, and still she looked stunningly beautiful.
She headed straight for the coffeemaker. He’d left a cup on the counter for her, and she filled it, then added creamer and a spoonful of sugar while he carried their plates to the secondhand dinette set he’d picked up at Goodwill that only seated two people.
She took the chair across from him, and after a few bites of her omelet, she glanced up at him, the look in her eyes surprisingly tentative.
“So . . . umm . . . do you have any plans today?” she asked.
He took a drink of his coffee, thinking for a moment. It was the weekend, which he hated because activity on most of his projects was shut down per union agreement, which meant Remy had to find other things to occupy his time until Monday rolled around. Usually, he spent Saturday and Sunday down at the office getting caught up on paperwork, and as a break from that, he’d do quick drive-bys of his projects to make sure equipment and building supplies remained secured. Boring, mundane stuff to pass the time.
But did he have any actual plans he’d made, like normal people did for the weekends? No.
Unsure why Tempest was asking, he kept his reply noncommittal. “I have to run by a few of my projects at some point this afternoon, but other than that, no.”
She’d finished her breakfast and set her fork on her plate, giving him a hopeful smile. “Would you like to go into the city with me?”
He tipped his head curiously. “What’s in the city that you need to do?”
She ran a finger along the rim of her coffee mug, still looking a bit uncertain. “There’s a place that sells barstools for restaurants, and I saw a few online that I really liked, possibly for Wilder Things. I’d love for you to go with me so I can get your opinion.”
The fact that she wanted his advice on such important things, that his ideas and point of view even mattered to her, still floored him. To Remy, this went above and beyond the casual affair they’d agreed upon, yet the thought of spending more time with Tempest—something he truly enjoyed—wasn’t an invitation he was about to turn down.
“Sure,” he said, leaning back in his chair and smiling at her. “I’d like that.”
“Oh, good.” Relief and enthusiasm lit up her entire face.
The cell phone she’d set on the table vibrated with what sounded like a text message, and she lifted it up, a frown forming on her brows when she saw whatever was on the screen.
“Go away,” she muttered beneath her breath, her good mood from a moment ago now tinged with irritation.
“Everything okay?” he asked in concern.
She glanced up at Remy, clearly hesitating a moment, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to confide in him. Her phone buzzed again, but this time she didn’t bother to look at it.
“It’s just Kyle,” she finally said, her tone frustrated, as was the look in her eyes. “The guy who came to my apartment the evening of the ball,” she added, as if Remy needed the reminder.
Everything inside Remy went cold as ice—same as it had that night when he’d come face-to-face with his half brother for the first time in his life. “Yeah, I know who Kyle is,” he bit out, belatedly realizing what he might have possibly revealed by the startled look on Tempest’s face. “What does he want?”
“He wants what he can’t have,” she said, her exasperation clear as she rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “He wants me to go out with him again. I can’t make it any clearer that I’m not interested in him, but he’s so damn persistent.”
As if what Remy had just said finally dawned on her, a confused look passed across Tempest’s features, and her gaze narrowed on him. “Wait . . . you know him?”
Remy’s entire body tensed. His chest felt uncomfortably tight, like a ten-ton weight was just sitting there, making it difficult for him to breathe as the woman sitting across the table from him waited for an answer. Realizing he was standing at a fork in the road, Remy was faced with two choices . . . deny that he knew Kyle personally or tell Tempest the truth. But he’d never revealed that dark anger, the inescapable, humiliating hurt, the devastating rejection to anyone else. Not even his ex-wife.
To do so now would be like opening up a vein and letting it bleed all over the place. It would be ugly and painful and would strip him bare emotionally. It was a huge, colossal moment in his life that would require ultimate trust, and his greatest fear was that this woman he was coming to care for would look at him differently. That she’d see how a mother’s abandonment, then outright rejection had royally fucked him up for any other woman.
As if Tempest could sense his internal struggle—though she had no clue as to the cause—her gaze softened with concern. “Remy?”
He forced his clenched jaw to relax, and before he lost the fucking nerve, he revealed the truth. “Kyle Jenkins is my half brother.”
Shock jolted through Tempest at Remy’s statement, which was quickly followed by confusion. “Your half brother?” she repeated incredulously. “I don’t understand. That night in my apartment, Kyle didn’t know who you were.”
The bitterness etching Remy’s features was undeniable. “It’s because he’s never met me, and chances are, he doesn’t even know I exist.”
His vague reply perplexed her even more. “Remy . . . explain this to me,” she said, her tone imploring. “Please.”
He looked away, every muscle in his body tense. The hand he had on the table was curled into a tight fist, making the veins in his forearm flex. “I never should have said anything,” he said, his voice gruff.
“But you did say something,” she said, refusing to let him off so easily. Not after dropping such a huge bombshell on her. “Don’t shut me out, Remy. This is too important. Whatever this story is of yours, it matters to me. You matter to me.” And he truly did. In a very short span of time, everything about Remy’s life was becoming significant to her and her growing feelings for him.
When he finally glanced back at her, there was no disguising the pain and humiliation she saw in his eyes. “I guess you’re going to learn exactly where this tramp came from,” he said, his mouth twisting with a caustic smile that was clearly meant to warn Tempest of the terrible secret he was about to reveal.
But she wasn’t thwarted, and she sat there, waiting for him to explain.
Finally, he did. “My mother, Crystal, who is now Kyle’s mother, met my father when they were nineteen,” Remy said, describing the situation from the beginning of his life with his parents. “They both came from abusive, drug-addicted families who didn’t give a crap about them, so when Crystal got pregnant with me, my father did the rig
ht thing and married her, even though they had nothing to their names. My mom worked as a waitress at a truck stop, and my father was a mechanic, and all they could barely afford with a new baby was rent at a shitty trailer park, and that’s where and how I grew up.”
Tempest swallowed hard, keeping her hands in her lap when she ached to reach across the table and touch Remy, to give him some kind of physical comfort. But right now, there was too much anger and resentment radiating off him, and she knew he probably wouldn’t welcome her show of empathy.
“Even from a really young age, I remember their marriage being tumultuous,” he went on, clenching and unclenching his fist, his gaze lost somewhere in the past. “My mother, who I never really had a connection with and mostly ignored me, constantly fought with my father. She had no issues telling my dad how much she hated her life with him and that she deserved better than what he could provide. One day, when I was seven, she came home from work and announced that she wanted a divorce. Told my dad that she’d met someone else, who could give her all the things she wanted, that she was pregnant with his kid, and oh, by the way, she didn’t need any baggage going into her new life, so therefore she was signing over all of her custody rights to me to my father. And then she walked out the door and left. As soon as the divorce was final, she married Martin Jenkins, a man at least twenty years older than she was and who owned a chain of high-end restaurants, and severed all ties to me and my father and anything relating to her previous life with us.”
Tempest stared at Remy in disbelief, unable to fathom how a woman could completely turn her back on her own child and abandon him. “You never heard from her after that? Or saw her?”
He shook his head, his eyes dark and dispassionate. “Nope.” The one word was delivered with unmistakable contempt. “Crystal had her new life, with her wealthy husband and their son, Kyle, and I became nothing more than a mistake she wanted to forget.”