by Mia Carson
“Too much?” she asked when he started to pull away.
“I have a feeling you’ll always be too much,” he grunted.
She chuckled, the sound full of mischief, and licked his shaft again before sucking him hard into her mouth. As much as he wanted to spill inside, he wanted their first time to be together listening to her scream his name as he thrust within her depths, not her mouth. He rolled his hips away from her and dragged her up his body so she straddled his lap. When he kissed her again, his taste was on her lips, and the urgency to claim her overwhelmed him. He lifted her shirt, and she tossed it aside as he fumbled with the hooks on her bra. Those soft, warm mounds of flesh spilled free and he cupped them, massaging them as he drew one nipple into his mouth, sucking it until it hardened against his tongue and she dug her nails into his shoulders.
He wanted to taste more of her sweet skin and licked from one nipple to the other, sucking and ravaging her breasts, leaving beard burns on the tender skin. Remy pushed his head closer as hers fell back on a moan. Her jeans blocked his hands from sneaking lower, and he grunted in annoyance.
“Jeans off,” he growled against her chest.
She laughed, leaning back with an arched brow. “Yes, master,” she whispered, and he sucked in a breath, his hunger ratcheting up even higher than before. She stood on the bed and undid her jeans languidly, slid the zipper down, and turned around so he received a clear view of that perfect ass he’d wanted to see for so long. Her jeans down, she kicked them from the bed and hooked her fingers in her lacy panties. “These too?” she teased.
He growled hoarsely in reply, and she pulled them down, revealing the rest of her ass. He had always appreciated a nice, firm ass, and Remy had one. Throwing the panties off the bed, she turned to face him, and his eyes grazed down her naked body from her toes to her breasts, every inch of skin calling to him. She nibbled her tongue nervously, and he held out his hand for hers.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
Her face softened. She took his hand, straddling his waist again. He wished he could do more, but for now, this was what he could manage. He drew her close, his lips closing around hers as he smoothed his other hand down her stomach to those soft curls. He twirled his fingers in them, teasing before slipping lower and finding that sweet bundle of nerves. She gasped against his mouth, rolling her hips to be closer, and his cock ached to spread those soaking wet lips pressed against him and plunge into her. She was wet enough, but he didn’t want to rush, not if he could help it. Rolling her nub, he moved his hips, rubbing his cock between those swollen lips, and she trembled at his touch.
His heart thundering in his chest, he maneuvered his fingers lower, urging her to lean away from him so he had better access to her cleft. His fingers glided down and slipped carefully into her, spreading and stretching her untouched depths. She was tight, so tight, and he was not a small man by any means. His fingers worked within her wetness as his thumb pressed against her clit. Her ragged breathing tormented him with each stroke of his fingers. She clenched around him, holding him deep within her body each time. Her back arched, her head falling back so her hair draped over his legs. Drawing back his fingers, he grabbed her hips and smoothed her over his cock, wanting her to feel him, all of him.
“Remy.” Her name was strained as his struggle for control grew too intense.
“I want you,” she whispered and lifted her body so she hovered over his aching, hard cock. Her eyes holding his gaze, she lowered herself over him. His crown pressed against her lips, and she sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened as he stretched her slowly with each bit of him her body accepted. He lifted her off, not wanting to hurt her, but she shook her head, holding his shoulders fiercely in her hands. “I’ll be fine,” she promised.
He wanted to argue, to take it slower, but she bit her bottom lip and the raw lust in her eyes took away any chance of maintaining control. He drove up within her and she cried out, hugging him hard to her chest as she shook in his arms. Cursing himself for being an idiot, he waited for her to yell at him, to pull away, but she rolled her hips and moved against him, riding him hard and steady.
“Remy?” he asked, worried he’d hurt her, but when she looked at him, she smiled.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Smartass,” he muttered and drew her mouth down to his as he thrust within her.
The pleasure grew with each glide of her hips. He couldn’t get enough of her taste, of the feel of her tight sheath holding his cock snugly. He sucked her nipple hard into his mouth, and her speed increased. Stan cupped her ass, and when they neared the end, he held her steady as he thrust with abandon into her. Her moan turned into a sharp cry as her muscles held him and milked him dry. He bellowed his ecstasy, having not experienced anything this intense in years. Their quivering bodies clung to each other, riding the waves rippling across their bodies, and he never wanted to leave her warmth cradling him.
Her head sank to his shoulder, panting for breath, and her whole body went limp against his chest. “Shit,” she mumbled. “I don’t think I can move.”
He chuckled, pushing her hair to the side so he could kiss her cheek. “Same.” He rested his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes, but almost immediately, they shot open again. “Shit!”
“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up and looking wildly around.
“Condom—I don’t even have any in the damn house.” He cursed, fearing she would hate him, but she burst out laughing instead. “I’m not sure this is funny.”
She took his hand and placed it against her lower back. His fingers felt something too smooth to be skin and the edges of a square. “Sticker. We’re covered.”
“Sticker? For what?”
“Birth control. Quite handy.”
He sagged in relief as she continued chuckling, the sound vibrating through his body.
“Did I wear you out for the rest of the day?” she asked, her fingertips barely touching his chest.
Catching her hand, he kissed each one. “No, why?”
“Well, we only have until this afternoon to enjoy our time alone…” She trailed off as she rolled her hips. He was still inside her and already growing hard again. Whatever she did to him, he never wanted it to stop.
He managed to roll them over so she was splayed out on her back and drew out of her at the same time. She gasped, whining at the loss of him, but he had something else in mind.
Remy’s body was still reeling from the first orgasm, and after a quick jaunt to the restroom, she was back in bed. She was not going to waste a second of their time alone in the house. She lifted her head to see what Stan was doing when his tongue licked along the length of her swollen lips, spreading her easily, and sucked hard at her clit.
Her back arched off the bed as she gasped at the sharp pleasure shooting through her body. He did it again, licking and sucking hard, plundering her depths with his mouth until she couldn’t even see straight. With each glide of his tongue, her legs fell open wider until she was spread-eagled. His hands massaged her inner thighs, caressing her tender skin as his tongue continued to drive into her body. Sex with Stan was more intense than she ever dreamt it could be, but what he did with his mouth was beyond pleasure. She might be an artist with paints, but he pulled moan after moan from her lips like a grand master of the art of lovemaking. His mouth drew away, and she whimpered at the loss, only to have his fingers replace it. They curved inside her, searching for that one spot, twisting and turning until they found it.
She shot off the bed as a scream escaped her lips. As pleasure consumed her, she squirmed to move away from him and closer at the same time, torn between wanting more and unable to handle more of his touch. As the aftershocks of the orgasm still tingled through her body, he rolled them over again so she straddled him. Her mouth fell open on a silent cry as he filled her.
With each shift of her hips, his eyes darkened and a look Remy could only describe as love filled those blue irises. It was insa
ne to even think love could be on the table so soon, but the possibility of it surrounded her, cradling her in its warmth. Her hips moved at a steady and firm pace, driving her closer to another explosive orgasm as his breathing increased.
“Stan?” she whispered.
He paused, worry clouding his face. “What’s wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong I just… this is so perfect and you and me…” she mumbled, not sure what she was saying. His soft smile told her he already knew, and he sat up against her, bringing his mouth to hers. The kiss deepened, their tongues desperate to explore each other’s mouths as his hips moved as much as they could. She leaned back, deepening the angle of his thrusts, and they groaned together.
He wrapped his arms firmly around her as if to say he would never let her go. Remy didn’t want him to. She never wanted to leave this house, this life. Whatever drove her to be there with him, she didn’t care anymore. She was there and being with Stan was all that mattered.
She dragged her nails down his back as he thrust hard, and she cried out against his mouth. Her legs shook, holding him inside her as his grunt turned into a bellow, spilling into her a second time. It warmed her from her toes to the top of her head, and as they sank to the bed in a sweating, tangled mess of limbs, she smiled as he snuggled closer, slipping from her sheath but keeping her close to his chest.
“Remy…” he started but cursed and rolled over onto his back.
“What?”
“I’m sorry for being an ass,” he muttered, and she giggled. “I’m trying to apologize and you’re laughing.”
“I wasn’t much better,” she pointed out. “And you’re probably going to hate me for what I say next, but I’m putting my foot down so you have to deal with it.”
“Oh?” His narrowed eyes considered her suspiciously. “And what am I going to have to deal with?”
She laid across his body and kissed him. “You’re starting your physical therapy again, and I’ve called that therapist Theresa recommended. It’s time you talk about this to someone.” His lips thinned in annoyance and he grunted. “It’s not just you anymore. You have Louis to think about. You can’t have a blow up with him like you do with me,” she insisted firmly. “He’s been through enough, and you owe it to yourself—to both of you—to get yourself healthy in all regards.”
He closed his eyes and blew out a deep breath. “You’re right, I guess.”
“You guess?’
He ran his fingers across her jawline. “What about you?”
“I’m not the one who needs therapy.”
“Maybe not as much as I do, I’ll admit, but we both need to agree to not hide anything anymore. If I’m going to talk to some quack, then you have to agree to talk to me, Remy—about everything, even the little shit.”
It was her turn to huff and bury her face against his chest. “Do I have to?”
“Do you want me to do therapy?”
“Yes,” she muttered.
“Then consider me your therapist.”
She barked a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Not even close. Deal?” He held out his hand, waiting for her to take it.
She scrunched her mouth to the side, but she didn’t see a way out of this. She already knew she could talk to Stan about almost anything, but she worried that certain issues would make him think she didn’t want to be there with him. Her fluttering heart told her she was definitely falling for this man. Doubts popped up in her mind, one after the other, that after he worked through his issues, he would realize he didn’t need her like he thought he did. He might not want her around to mess things up with his son.
“Remy?”
“All right,” she agreed and shook his hand. “Does my therapy start right now?”
He gave her a wolfish grin. “Your physical therapy, maybe,” he growled and drew her over his body, kissing her passionately. She glanced at the clock and settled into his arms. They had a few more hours of alone time, and this was the perfect way to spend it.
Chapter 12
At first, when the therapist, Wendall Price, arrived at the house for the initial sit-down with only him, Stan had second-guessed his decision to agree to this. But as the hour ticked by and he found himself talking openly about the accident and the guilt he carried from it, he actually liked Dr. Price. The man was down-to-earth and encouraged Stan to show his feelings more towards his son and everyone else he cared for in his life. During the second meeting, still one-on-one, Stan felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he let everything out. Afterwards, he tracked Remy down, and they disappeared into his bedroom for the two hours before Louis needed to be picked up from school.
They didn’t simply have sex that day. They made love, and the passion flowing from every touch she gave him in return showed him that what blossomed between them was real for her, too. He still couldn’t get all the words out he wanted to say, but he prayed she would understand from his kisses.
August faded into September, and by the time October arrived and Remy had decorated the house for Halloween, Stan had been in physical therapy for two months. Louis joined Stan for their once-a-week home meetings with Dr. Price. During the first meeting, Stan learned how alike he and Louis were and how much the boy bottled up inside. By the end of the first session, he hugged Louis close as his son cried about his mom and missing out on all the time he could’ve had with Stan. He was amazed to learn Louis was actually angry with Lara for never telling Stan he had a son. The breakthroughs they both made at communicating with each other and beginning the long path to overcoming their issues was astounding.
Halloween grew closer, and Stan spent five days a week with his physical therapist, Bert. Stan wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but Bert pushed him hard. No matter how much he cursed and sputtered about the pain, his physical therapist told him to work through it. Remy was usually present during these sessions to encourage him—or yell at him, depending on his temperament.
It was on such a day, when Remy was busy in her studio and Louis was at school, that Stan managed to walk around the entire first floor of the house using a cane.
“Well now, look at you go, speedster,” Bert teased.
“Not too shabby for taking a few months off from rehab,” Stan agreed.
“How are your legs? Pain?”
“Tolerable. More than tolerable, actually,” he admitted, amazed at how great he felt standing on his own two feet. He held the cane out to Bert and staggered forward the full length of the room and back before collapsing against the kitchen counter. “Damn it.”
Bert handed back his cane. “Don’t push yourself too hard. You’ll damage your legs.”
“I want it to be like old times, that’s all.”
“You’ll get there,” Bert insisted. “Patience—patience and hard work.” He checked his watch. “Well then, I’m off. See you Monday.”
“You mean see you in November,” Stan corrected. “I think I’m going trick or treating this Sunday.”
Bert grinned. “I think finding out you had a son was the best thing for you,” he said then turned when Remy strolled into the kitchen, smiling at the sight of Stan standing. “Well, one of the best things. Later all!”
“Bye, Bert!” Remy called out and hurried to Stan’s side. “You’re walking!”
He threw back his shoulders with pride. “With a cane, but yes, I’m walking.”
She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. “Told you.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll find a way to thank you later…or right now.”
Though he couldn’t yet pick her up and carry her like he wanted, he kissed her as he guided her down the hallway towards his bedroom. She tugged on his shirt-front, dragging him into her studio instead.
“I want you to see something,” she whispered against his lips and stepped aside.
His eyes took in the newer paintings leaning against the walls, filled with vibrant oranges and hues of reds and yellows, representing the surrounding
landscape of the house. He smiled at such warmth and color showing through her work, but it was the piece at the back of her studio he was drawn to.
“This is what you’ve been working on?” he asked on a breath, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to trace the wires delicately. “Remy.”
“You don’t like it?”
“What? No, no—it’s incredible.” No other word could describe it, and what he said barely did the piece justice. It left him speechless. The beauty of the two figures taking shape from the wires, the love in their embrace, was palpable, and he felt as if he could disappear into it if he stared any longer.
“I still need to finish the wings and the rest of the hands, but it’s getting there.”
He nodded as he leaned his cane to the side and faced her. The same love he sensed from the wire sculpture was reflected clearly in her eyes, and it touched that burning ember deep within Stan. For the past two months, they’d found solace in each other, spending as much time as they could wrapped in each other’s arms and their evenings talking about their lives. He wanted to tell her so many times what he truly felt, what he wanted, but every time, fear got the better of him that she would reject him after everything they’d been through. Even when he thought they were on the same page, he sensed uncertainty from Remy. She would come to understand what he did in time, and pushing her would do nothing except place pressure on her to make a decision.
For now, Stan would continue to explain to her the only way he could what was in his heart. His fingers laced through hers as his other hand pushed up through her hair and freed it from the loose braid. She sighed, closing her eyes as his lips met hers.
