But the oral artist desperately pawing him wasn’t what he wanted and sure as shit wasn’t what he needed.
Fuck my life.
Then again, maybe a quick blow job wouldn’t be such a crime. On his part. Not if he remained passive and she did all the work.
I’m a fucking pig.
And his dick was already hard.
It all pretty much went in the shitter from there. Wasn’t long before his jeans were around his ankles and she’d pushed him into the desk chair. Gripping the armrests with both hands, Finn’s common sense took a hike and he let what happened… happen.
Blowjob Betty Lou in her tacky nurse’s outfit assumed the standard cock sucking position on her knees between his spread thighs. She certainly knew what she was doing, and had the basics down to a science, but even though he was hard as stone, he felt nothing. And it kind of freaked him out.
He watched dispassionately as she bobbed up and down on his dick. The gross red lipstick was smeared all over her face and marked the base of his cock. Something about the visual of her mouth, his dick and the cheap lipstick coloring the tufts of hair around his dick made him queasy.
This isn’t going to happen, he thought as a bolt of clarity cleared his mind. No way was he gonna come with this girl. Any girl. Except Remy. Now there was a woman he could get excited about. The unbidden flash in his mind of emptying his balls inside the hard-shelled woman turned him on. But Betty Lou and her greedy mouth did not.
He was beginning to push her off when the door to his office opened.
Wait a minute. What the fuck. Isn’t the goddamn door locked?
When he was a paramedic, Finn often wondered what went on in a person’s mind the second before something terrible happened. Did the driver who hit a tree and go over an embankment experience a second or two of reaction time right before?
That’s what flashed in his head as the creaky wooden door to his shithole office started to swing open. Reaction time. Every single atom in his body fired off in rapid succession. I should not be doing this. Somehow he knew before the ice bucket dumped on his head that he was about to be so fucked.
His hand wrapped around the dick he was carefully trying to rescue, Finn was sitting up in the chair and had a hand on Betty Lou’s shoulder. In another few seconds he’d have pried the nurse’s blowjob lips off his flesh and been able to stand and pull his pants up. Just his damn Irish luck that the interrupter pushing the door open was faster.
As it was, he got caught red-handed so to speak, by a shocked and speechless Remy who stood frozen in the doorway, her arms overflowing with decorations.
Everything stopped. Time stilled as they stared at each other. When her eyes moved downward so did his, and he almost vomited all over himself. The trampy nurse finally stopped manhandling his junk and was sitting on her heels looking back over her shoulder and toward the door.
Remington Bissett caught him getting his dick sucked. Her stricken expression hit him like a baseball bat to the chest.
What the fucking fuck is the matter with me?
“Remy, shit,” he muttered hoarsely. He reached for his pants and swiftly covered himself but the damage was done. There wasn’t a single word he could offer to explain what she witnessed.
Betty Lou didn’t help things by chuckling.
Remy’s back stiffened and she glared at the woman on her knees. For a second he wondered what the enigmatic spitfire was capable of when he saw the venom oozing from her expression.
And then she looked back to him and her turbulent grimace went completely blank. He swallowed and became overly aware of how hard his heart was thumping.
Opening her arms, she let the pile of Halloween crap fall to the floor and hissed at him in a dangerous sounding voice. “Barry thought you might want to save this shit for next year.”
Her eyes blazed for a second—she glanced back at Betty Lou—then she smacked him hard across his stupid face by uttering a few well-chosen words.
“I’ll tell him you were busy probing a well-worn passage and need a few minutes to finish.”
The way she glared at him guaranteed that Finn was never gonna have another hard-on as long as he lived.
“Remington,” he ground out with his hands open, palms up, a sign of contrition. “Please.”
“Fuck off, Beantown. You’re no different than the rest of your smarmy kind.”
Betty Lou was staggering to her feet as Remy bolted into the bar.
“Lover’s tiff?” she asked with smirky pleasure. “Sorry Finn. You never said anything about a girlfriend.”
She was right even though Remy was about as far from a girlfriend as anyone could be, and he was so going to hell because of it.
His thoughts swirled as he observed her adjusting the nurse’s costume and tried to squash a thrum of anxiety. How crazy or desperate was Betty Lou, because he had a bad feeling about where this bit of unpleasantness could potentially go.
Not giving a shit what anyone thought of him, his only concern was protecting Remington. He could take it. Hell. Wouldn’t even be the first time he got caught with his pants down.
But he wasn’t a total moron. Women could be a thousand times more viscous to each other than men bothered to be. With guys, it’s all about the heat of the moment. It’s why fistfights break out so easily. But a man’s one and done is a woman’s springboard to a never-ending mean girls opportunity.
Shit.
His brain searched for something to say. He winced inwardly when a solution presented itself because to use it was a coward’s way out but he didn’t have much choice.
“She’s Justice,” he announced with something of a bite. He knew she heard the implied message by the way her jaw clenched. “And she has my sister’s ear,” he added hastily.
Meghan’s female alpha status was in place long before her position as the Major’s wife made it an absolute. She had a fuck-with-me-at-your-peril vibe that he always admired… even when he was pissed off at her. Having three brothers probably helped hone her personality.
Getting Betty Lou out of there was number one in his thoughts, but he knew if he kicked her to the curb she’d most likely make his life hell. He needed a heart-to-heart with Shelly since she seemed to have a history with the orally gifted nurse. Maybe she could point him to the safe zone, which is where he’d need to be if fixing the mess he just made with Remy was a possibility.
“Speaking of your sister,” Betty Lou taunted. “The grand opening of the outreach center looks like it’s going to be a party.”
An all too familiar drumbeat began pounding in his head. His last so-called girlfriend, Miss Buzz Cut, had the same tone when she intended to get her own way.
The proudly whorish nurse gave him a meaningful eye wag and waited for him to bite. Motherfucker. She was angling for an invite. Effectively trapped due to his dick having been exposed five minutes earlier, his teeth ground and jaw clenched.
He had two older brothers and knew an over-a-barrel quid pro quo like the back of his hand.
“Yeah,” he agreed as blandly as Finn could manage. “Probably.” He shrugged. “Can’t do much more than make a cameo,” he pointedly told her. “This place takes up all my time.”
Luckily, she was too dim to realize he’d just started laying the groundwork for why this was the last time he planned on being alone with her.
“Tell you what,” she simpered while attempting to cuddle up to him. “How about if I slide by and pick you up? We can check out the festivities and you can do your cameo.”
There was no way she wasn’t already planning something more involved so he cut her off right there. Nonchalantly muttering, “No can do. Meghan has me booked,” he shrugged her aside and reached for his phone.
He was done and so was she. Gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder to the desk he spelled out her departure terms. “Gotta get back to work. Hope you had a good time tonight.” Her eyes sparkled. Jesus. What a dumb twit. “Me and Barry want Pete’s to be the pl
ace to go for all the holidays.”
Shuffling her in the direction of the door, he pushed her along by using his presence instead of his hands and saw her efficiently to the front door of the bar. The cleanup crew was milling around and they had to step around bags of trash but he finally managed to get rid of her without much difficulty.
When he moved back into the bar, Barry was standing there with crossed arms and a deep frown on his face.
“Are you fucking insane, Finn?”
20
Remy was so mad she started looking for something to break. Or throw. If she had a gun, she’d be shooting up an armful of beer cans out in the desert. At night. Where she could easily blast her foot off in the darkness—that’s how fury-filled she was.
“This whole night was a fucking disaster,” she yelled into the silence of her pick-up truck as she sped along the darkened roads taking her back to the safety of her Justice sanctuary.
Gripping the steering wheel, she shook herself and growled. Inflamed, riled up and generally overcome, she was at the end of her rope.
“I fucking hate you Jace,” she bellowed. “This is all your damn fault.”
Yeah. She was pinning this unequaled disaster squarely on her cousin. Him needling her about socializing and at least loosening up in group situations involving her work had been what got her to Pete’s tonight in the first place. Figuring he’d be her wingman for the night, Remy was left floundering when he hooked up with a set of twins and essentially disappeared.
That was the damn reason she lingered at Pete’s after everyone else left. Helping Thunder’s affable roadies, a bunch of Brody’s canine crew, pack up gear had killed time while she waited for Jace to answer the text, FaceTime and phone call she’d sent. When he finally surfaced saying he could catch a ride back to the compound with someone else, she quickly made moves to leave. Hauling an armload of party crap to the office behind the bar was a last minute helping hand for Barry.
Pounding a fist on the wheel, she grunted and quickly cringed at the anguish-filled primal sound.
Finding Finn red-handed hurt her deeply and it opened her eyes to the uncomfortable truth that she liked the brash, stuck up, know-it-all.
And by liked she meant liked as in person-to-person. Her interest had nothing at all to do with his gorgeously muscular chest or the sexy way he played a guitar slung low across his hips.
“Aargh!” Her shocking sob filled the truck’s cab.
An unpleasant gurgle rumbled low in her belly. Her fingers tightened on the wheel as saliva flooded her mouth. A cold chill ran up her spine at the same time that a droplet of sweat rolled down her neck and into the collar of her shirt.
With a quick, deliberate jerk on the wheel, the truck shot off the asphalt onto the dirt and stopped about fifty feet from the road. She kicked open the driver’s door, lurched awkwardly from the cab and stumbled to the rear of the truck. One hand on the bumper, she bent in half and started puking her guts out.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, her brain chanted.
Control Remy. Get control.
She tried to suck in some air but the heaving wouldn’t stop. This was a place she’d been plenty of times before. Sometimes she was aware of the trigger before it happened and then other times like tonight, she walked into it blindly.
Pulling closed an internal cloak of self-defense around her emotions, she forced her mind to empty. Thinking wasn’t going to settle her stomach or her nerves, and if she wanted to get back in the truck and drive, she had to get some control and do it fast.
The panic slowly receded leaving her with a familiar emptiness that perfectly summed up her life. It had taken her a long time but at least she wasn’t kidding herself anymore.
She was, in every way that mattered, damaged.
So damaged that Remy no longer held out hope for what she once thought was a life worth dreaming of. There wouldn’t be a partner. A friend. A lover. A husband. No children. No happy family celebrations.
Damaged people like her were the worker bees. The ones who kept the bad stuff at bay by keeping busy.
And she was okay with that.
Or had been until Finn O’Brien made her secretly yearn for things that she knew damn well were out of her reach.
Why’d it have to be him?
Swiping the sleeve of her shirt across her mouth, she groaned from the foul taste and spat repeatedly, trying to clear the awfulness.
Great. And now her shirt smelled like puke. “Anything else?”
Peering in both directions of the two-lane road and finding no approaching headlights, she peeled the grey turtleneck over her head, wadded it into a ball and tossed it into the truck bed. From a go-bag she kept stashed behind her seat Remy pulled out a ratty Dallas Cowboys t-shirt and quickly put it on.
Back in the truck, she slammed the door shut and locked it. The puking might be over but she wasn’t in any condition to drive yet.
Her head flopped back onto the rest and she closed her eyes. The craving for a cigarette was distracting her from focusing her way through this episode. Giving up smoking was one of many things she pointed to as control validation.
Funny thing about free will and control. It was her experience that people don’t generally value either until they’re taken away. Once she experienced how a dual loss affected the psyche, combining the two became imperative.
With my free will and understanding I exercise total personal control. Not so much a mantra as a statement of fact.
And part of her control exercise was ditching cigarettes. It was a filthy habit to begin with and a thin, unwanted, connection to another time and her much different life.
Pretty soon though, the craving subsided and she was able to corral her wildly lurching and jumbled thoughts.
Control, Remington. She didn’t need anything except control.
In her mind’s eye she created the swirling yellows, reds and golds that embodied the protective flames she visualized surrounding her. The phoenix symbolism was her psychic go-to in times of stress.
Heat gathered in her feet and around her ankles. She breathed slow and deep.
The power of her thoughts created a whirling spiral of phoenix flames circling her body as it moved up her calves gathering energy along the way. Her knees burned as the flames climbed higher. All thoughts but one—control, Remington—vanished from her mind.
This was who she was now. Being broken and damaged did not mean she was weak.
As the flames grew in intensity and spiraled around her torso, she gave herself up to the transformative energy. This was her phoenix. Every time the agony dragged her down she let the flames consume her so she could emerge, unshackled from the past and soar free once more.
Feeling more centered with each passing moment, her eyes opened and the first thing she noticed was her business card stuck in a slivered opening on the dashboard.
The Justice logo, three flames, stared back at her. It wasn’t a fluke that she ended up where she did. In some strange, baffling way, this was where she was supposed to be. Bendover was the needed lifeline thrown as she was going down for the third time.
Remy stared at the distinctive logo until her eyes burned. A weird feeling in her left hand made her reach out with the other and grab hold. Her thumb pressed softly into the muscle at the base of her forefinger and thumb, causing her to shiver as a jolt of energy shot up her arm.
She looked at the Justice flames again and massaged the sensitive spot on her hand. The next time she went into town, she was going to have the flames tattooed right where her thumb landed.
A car sped by and disappeared in the distance. Time to be present and get her ass in gear. Sitting straight, she secured her seatbelt and pulled back onto the road. With any luck she’d be back in the protective cocoon of the Justice compound in twenty minutes and could forget all about this entire day.
Sometimes the best defense was to pretend nothing happened and nothing was wrong. And besides. She answered to no one where her persona
l life was concerned. As long as she showed up and did her job damn good she didn’t see the need for Family Justice or anyone else to get involved.
Beantown was nothing but a splat on her bug screen.
Had she foolishly freaked out on Barry about what she’d seen?
Yes. It couldn’t be helped.
But that was then and this was now.
Control, Remington.
She flicked on the wipers and sprayed the windshield clean in a symbolic act meant to shut down all future thoughts surrounding the brother of her boss’s wife getting his wang throat massaged.
Finn O’Brien could literally fuck himself for all she cared.
Yep, yep, yep. He was feeling mighty fucking good.
Inhaling, Alex’s chest expanded as the deep breath filled his lungs.
Mighty fucking good.
He looked sideways to the profile of his beautiful wife. Smiling softly with her gloved hands folded in her lap she looked sweet and docile. Half of him wanted to laugh and the other wanted to thump his manly chest in primal triumph because sweet and docile in no way described the wanton who had her very wicked way with him in a back room at Pete’s.
He totally let her top the fucking shit out of him because after all…Irish Fuck Goddess. Need he say anything more?
And she’d been on fire, shoving him onto an old discarded dressing room sofa and earning her bad self a rodeo belt buckle by how fiercely she rode him. And with such spine tingling desperation.
He ran a finger down the side of her face. She turned to look at him, her emerald eyes looking dreamy and bursting with love. For him.
“You made an excellent slave, my dear.”
“Thank you, master,” she merrily snickered. “Does that mean I’m not in trouble for being, um…pushy?”
He had a fine laugh at that. Pushy. Jesus. She’d been pushy, handsy, oral and insatiable.
“It pleased me very much to let you take what you wanted. You know perfectly well that I find your need very sexy, wife. Plus, it’s good to know you’re turned on by more than my charm, looks and wallet.”
Unforgettable (Family Justice Book 5) Page 23
