Obliterate

by Autumn Grey

  “We haven’t had time to really catch up, Selene. Forgive me for abandoning you for so long. I’m in Paris for a little longer now. Maybe we can catch up, yes?”

  “I wasn’t lonely for long.” I smiled slyly at her. When she cocked one eyebrow at me, I murmured, “Remington.”

  “And . . . ?” she prompted, her eyes wide with excitement.

  He’s addictive, adventurous, and since the recent developments, dangerous to be around him. “What you see is what you get. He is that kind of guy. And by the way, he will be dropping by later.”

  “Oh my! Looks like your plan to experience pleasure is going very well,” she said, her brown eyes filled with amusement as we halted in front of the dressing room. “I really have missed you, Selene. You are taking care of yourself, yes? Because that idiot ex-husband of yours did not know what he had.”

  I shook my head. “Water under the bridge, honey. Look at me. I’m here in Paris, back to my job and,” I swept a hand down my body, “healthy.” I had told her about the baby because I knew the chances of her figuring it out were high, considering I had a tattoo on my lower belly. Frankly, I didn’t want to start our work relationship based on lies. Thank goodness she didn’t pity me. I loved her for that.

  She nodded, hugging me one more time before shoving me into the room with a smack on my butt. “Go ahead and look pretty for the camera. The lingerie is numbered so you know which one you will wear and when. Have fun, lovely.”

  I laughed, closing the door behind me. It felt wonderful to be treated with such love and appreciation. Time in therapy, wholehearted love from my family, Grace and Andrew’s fervent encouragement, and now Remington’s determined effort to be in my life? All those things combined were destroying the negativity that had built within from being married to James.

  SULTRY, SEDUCTIVE French music played in the background while I posed in different positions on the wide, four-poster, canopy bed. Sheer, white curtains were draped on the black frame with large white pillows tossed haphazardly on the bed.

  We’d been shooting for the past thirty minutes when the photographer, a tall, spindly guy with a ponytail, announced we were taking a break. He glanced at me, a frustrated look on his face. I heaved a breath, tossed aside the large pillow I’d been holding against my chest, and slid off the bed. This session had been a bust. From the moment Remington dropped me at Curves, my mind had been in total chaos, and kept wandering back to the flowers and the person in a trench coat. Even the Chardonnay I’d been sipping to loosen me up hadn’t worked.

  I fluffed my hair before grabbing a ribbon from a table and tying my hair as I walked toward one of the women who were assisting with the shoot.

  “Thank you,” I said, smiling, and took a white silk robe from her hand and slipped it on.

  I caught sight of Remington, standing beside Grace, talking in low tones. His eyes were focused on me as I padded barefoot toward them.

  “Hey, baby,” I greeted him, pressing my lips to his cheek, but he moved his face so our mouths collided. One of his hands slid around my waist and pulled me to him. One thing I enjoyed about Remington was he wasn’t shy about showing his affection in public. No one seemed to mind anyway.

  By the time I pulled back, my body felt alive with this man’s attention and kisses. I glanced at Grace to find her smiling hugely, giving me a thumbs-up, and fanning herself.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” Remington asked, his deep voice teasing the lust in me as his hand traced circles on my lower back, sending tingles down my spine.

  “Um . . . yeah. Sure, I am.”

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “This girl needs to relax. Let herself go,” Grace said, waving her hand. “I have never seen you this nervous, Selene.”

  Remington’s hand halted its soothing motions. “I just need a few minutes. I didn’t think I would be this nervous, getting back into modeling.”

  “Please excuse us, Madame Dresner,” Remington said, flashing Grace a smile.

  Grace patted her flushed cheeks and I rolled my eyes at Remington’s blatant use of charm. “Certainly, and please, call me Grace.”

  “You’re incorrigible, St. Germain,” I said as he led me into the hallway, his arm a steel band of heat around my waist.

  He grinned at me, hitting me with a smile more potent than he had given Grace. “The room,” he murmured. I frowned up at him, wondering what he was talking about. “Your dressing room.”

  “Oh, yes. I need to freshen up a bit . . .”

  “Not what I have in mind.” He squeezed my butt to make his point.

  “Oh!” My face heated at the suggestion. “So what do you have in mind?” I tossed a flirtatious smile over my shoulder as I opened the door, letting us in. He kicked it shut with his foot as soon as we were inside and swung around, pushing me against the door, and pressing his body against mine. He gripped my hips, pulling me to him.

  “This.”

  His mouth came crushing down on mine, while his hand slid under the white lingerie. His fingers traced the curve of my hip, edging around to cover my butt. Caught off guard, I gasped and his tongue swept inside my mouth. I closed my eyes, and even then, he was all I could see, feel, and smell. I eagerly returned his kiss with helpless abandon.

  My body needed this man and my soul desperately demanded his presence. It was impossible to imagine how my life had been before him. At that moment, he was my sweetest distraction and I was a slave for his attention, for his touch. He told me I had cast a spell on him, but he was wrong. He had bewitched me with his green eyes, his addictive touch, and sinful mouth. When his mouth pulled away from mine, I opened my eyes and laughed. His lips were covered in red lipstick.

  Ignoring my amusement, he leaned to my ear and gently nipped my earlobe, and asked, “What are you thinking about?”

  I shivered at the sensation. “Those mysterious flowers and . . .” I stopped, suddenly feeling stupid for what I was about to say. The thought had not occurred to me until now and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I closed my eyes, breathed out, and shook my head to chase away those ugly thoughts.

  He pulled back, running his knuckles against my cheek. “And what? Open your eyes, Selene.”

  My eyes met his, filled with concern and warmth. “It has been eight years since I did this.” I waved a hand down my body.

  “You mean look like my own personal wet dream?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

  My heart did this hummingbird-wings flutter like it always did when he said things like this. I grinned, his words feeding my ego and boosting my confidence.

  He squeezed my hip in warning. “Truth, ma belle, we always tell each other the truth.”

  “I thought I’d gotten over some body issues, but apparently, I haven’t.”

  He frowned at me, looking confused, but the look in his eyes when he eyed me up and down was appreciative. There was so much hunger infused in that single look.

  “The last years before James and I got divorced, he used to say some pretty mean things. Eventually, I believed him. He shredded every wall of defense and confidence I had built since he had come into my life. I shouldn’t have believed him, but I did. Every ounce of negativity I’d gotten rid of while growing up, came rushing back twofold. It only takes someone to tell you something a few times for it to ingrain itself in your head.”

  “Oh, Selene,” he murmured, pulling me into his arms.

  “Please, don’t pity me. Instead, give me a good kick in the butt and kiss me hard. Then send me out there to finish this photo shoot. I shouldn’t let myself think like that.”

  He leaned back, cupping my face in his hands, his eyes intense, before kissing my forehead. “I want you to go out there and be the alluring, seductive temptress I know you to be. Do you hear me, Selene? Your ex-husband was an asshole. But let me tell you one thing. I love your body. Every little curve of it and I cannot get enough.”

  Then he kissed every single insecurity out of my bones, and fed my soul with piec
es of his, stealing another bit of my heart.

  My mind was still hazy from the kiss. My body shaking from it, I startled when a sharp pain on my right butt cheek swept through my body. I squealed and glanced up at Remington. Before I could open my mouth to sass him, he dropped to his knees. Grabbing my hip, he ran his hand over my skin, soothed the stinging with a caress as he kissed and licked it better.

  Remington St. Germain was becoming a welcome distraction and my addiction.

  I grabbed some make-up removal tissues and cleaned the lipstick off his face, his eyes never leaving my face.

  The make-up artist dropped by a few moments later to retouch my makeup. The rest of the shoot went well, and I was on fire. Remington was a few feet away, his hungry gaze never leaving me as the photographer continued excitedly snapping pictures. The photographer didn’t need to tell me what to do, because my body was doing everything on its own. At one point, I caught Remington discreetly adjusting the front of his pants. I met his gaze and winked at him before coyly running a finger down the front of my purple, lace bra.

  During another short break, he strolled forward and whispered, “I hope you don’t mind being tied to a bed because that’s what I’m thinking about right now. Tie you up, devour your pussy, and fuck you hard. Later tonight.”

  Heat curled low in my belly, but I couldn’t let him have the last word. My gaze darted around the room. No one was paying us any attention, so I did something I would never have done before in public. I palmed him through his jeans and I was rewarded by a growl, dark and sexy. “This, in my mouth, will be heaven.”

  His hand slid to the nape of my neck. “Fuck, woman. You’re driving me insane.”

  He dropped his hand when the photographer returned and resumed his position on the wall on the far end, hands crossed on his chest and feet planted on the floor. Watching. Every movement on the bed seemed to bring my senses to life as I imagined his hard body on top of mine. Heated cheeks, tingling limbs, sultry eyes.

  “Magnifique!” The photographer repeated with every click of his camera, grinning. “Très belle.”

  My body felt alive and I was back on my element. At this moment, seeing Remington’s reaction to my poses on the bed and knowing that I was the reason for that possessive look on his face, seduction was my super power.

  RIGHT AFTER the photo shoot, we said good-bye to Grace. She hugged and kissed us on both cheeks in turn before retreating into her office where she had a meeting with one of her designers. Remington grabbed a black leather jacket from the hook on the wall next to the door¸ put it on, before holding out my trench coat for me. Once I slipped it on, he took my hand and led me outside toward the parking lot, and into the cloudy morning. We stopped in front of a sleek, black motorcycle. I glanced up at him, then at the grey skies above, and back at Remington.

  “You okay with this?” he asked, smoothing the frown between my eyebrows with his thumb.

  I bit my lip. What if it rained? The roads would be slippery and we could end up slipping . . .

  “I will not let anything happen to you. I promise.”

  I licked my lips, nodding. This was part of enjoying the little pleasures I’d promised myself when I left home. Besides, as much as he radiated recklessness, he was very cautious. It was in every movement of his hard body.

  I smiled. “I know.”

  He nodded, seeming pleased with my words. Maybe, it was the way he looked deeply into my eyes as he made the vow or the pure confidence in his voice; whatever it was, I trusted him.

  After pulling out another jacket from the storage compartment under the seat, I removed my trench coat and folded it, shoving it inside the compartment and shrugged on the bike jacket. Then he picked a helmet slid it over my head, and worked the chinstrap, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “You have beautiful eyes.”

  He grinned. “Thank you. And you, my lady, look absolutely breathtaking.” He tugged the wild curls behind my back before picking the second helmet and working it around his head.

  “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

  “And here I thought it would turn you on enough to let me do dirty things to you on this motorcycle.” He sighed dramatically as he lifted one strong thigh, straddled the bike, and then held his hand out for me.

  Sweet mother of all that is holy, that is hot!

  I placed my hand in his as I settled myself behind him, my pulse thumping hard in my ears at the thought of us doing it on the bike. I squirmed, pressing my thighs around his, and gripping his taut waist. “Where are we going?”

  “I want to show you something.” He sounded calm and collected, but I felt him tremble as he pressed his hand where mine linked on his tight abs.

  I smiled and buried my face into his back. Remington wasn’t as controlled as he wanted everyone to believe. At least not with me.

  Remington in control of the bike was such a turn on. The muscles beneath his jacket shifted and his thighs tensed as we swerved and raced down the street. Some curls escaped the knot, slapping my face. I peeked around his back and my gaze was drawn to his hands. His strong fingers wrapped around the handlebars, looking capable of anything. He swerved around corners, raced down streets, and slowed down when traffic got too heavy. Riding with him was addictive.

  Remington parked the bike on Rue Rouget de Lisle and lifted me off the bike before unbuckling the chinstrap and removing the helmet and his as well. He stored them inside the bike’s storage compartment.

  “You lift me as if I weigh nothing. I love it.”

  He shrugged. “You don’t weigh much.”

  I rolled my eyes, at the same time flattered by his words.

  He reached out for my hand, guided me down the street and toward the Tuileries Garden. Surprisingly, it felt natural, as though I’d done this for years. I glanced up at him, wondering if he remembered our first lunch date, and met his knowing gaze. His lips curled up, faintly flashing his dimples as he lifted my hand to his lips and I knew he was thinking about the same thing.

  I was so lost in him and also taking in our surroundings and breathing in the scent of wet leaves that when I looked up I realized we were walking toward the L’Orangerie Museum.

  We headed toward the checkpoint and Remington presented two museum passes, and then linked our fingers as he led the way to the top floor.

  “When did you buy the passes?”

  “I bought yours after dropping Adrien at school.”

  Before I could thank him, he was already tugging my hand and grinning playfully over his shoulder. I grinned back, I couldn’t help it. When he looked like this, he resembled Adrien. We stepped into a large oval room with pristine white floors. The walls were covered in water lily paintings as far as the eye could see. Everything around me faded—the crowd of tourists, the low murmurs—just the feel of Remington’s hand in mine and the Monet’s Nympheaus’ remained.

  I sucked in a breath, pressed a hand on my chest, and studied the painting and the way light played across the greens, blues, and whites.

  “Wow,” I whispered, breathless at the beauty surrounding me. In all the times I’d visited Paris, I’d never had a chance to visit this museum. I’d seen images in magazines and the Internet, but never his close. Never like this. Why didn’t I ever take time to visit this place?

  I turned to Remington to ask him about the paintings, but stopped to take in the look on his face. A look I could only describe as peaceful was on his face. The first time I saw this expression was when I walked into the kitchen and saw him interact with Adrien when I stayed over in his house, and while we danced in the club, and then again, after we had sex following our painting session. And yes again today, while holding me in his arms on my bed.

  He moved to stand behind me, pulled me into his chest, and slid his arms around my waist, pulling me flush to him. “Welcome to my Fortress of Solitude,” he whispered in my ear. I leaned my head back into his shoulder, and I couldn’t restrain the giggle bursting from my lips.

&
nbsp; “Fortress of Solitude? Like Superman?”

  He nodded. “When I was a child, whenever my mother brought me to Paris, she would bring me here. The first time, I sat on the bench over there and never wanted to leave. I loved how peaceful this place was. Pure, as if nothing could permeate its walls and destroy me. After a while, it became a ritual for us. She would drop me here and go ahead with her business, and later, pick me up in time for lunch or dinner before flying back to Provence. When things were bad with my father, I came here. I would sit here and stare at this painting, imagining my life was different. After Colette passed away, I spent most of my time here wondering how I was supposed to continue. I wondered how I could raise a nine-month-old on my own, even though I had practically done that for the previous four months.”

  His voice was cold when he said her name. I wanted to ask him what happened to his wife, but I didn’t want him to stop talking. I’d wanted to know more about her for a while now. The fact he was opening up to me was a huge step. So I brought my hands to his, squeezing them gently to let him know he had my attention.

  “I met Colette for the first time in a club I was visiting with my friends her in Paris. She and I got along very well from the beginning. She was twenty-one and had just lost her parents in a car crash six months prior to our meeting. They were travelling together to Paris after spending their summer holidays in Marseilles. She was a mess. Vulnerable. My need to protect her, be there for her, overwhelmed me. She did not have anyone else other than her estranged aunt and me. She never visited her grandparents. She refused to tell me the reason, so I stopped asking about them. One year later, we were married.

  “Colette was an archaeologist and she used to travel a lot before she became pregnant with Adrien. She picked up where she had left off after our son’s birth, as if he didn’t exist. I suppose she was bored and in a hurry to resume her work.” He sighed deeply. “Nothing could hold her down. Not our child and definitely not me. She travelled, but she always came back to us. One day, she came home in an exuberant mood and told me her company had discovered a site in Chile. She had been chosen as part of the excavation team.”