Remy (Real Book 3)

I booked a suite for Brooke and Diane, and one of the ladies doesn’t like it.

My lady, to be exact.

I was caked with sweat and still panting from my workout when she massaged the back of my neck, leaning close enough to whisper in my ear, “Mind telling me why Diane and I are together in a suite, Remy?”

She turned my neck to one side, then the other, her fingers light on my jaw, but I still refused to answer.

“You can’t do this, Remington.”

Biting back a laugh, I turned and touched two fingers to her lips, holding her gaze for a long heartbeat. “Stop me. I dare you,” I told her, then I grabbed my towel and walked away to my suite to drown all my frustrations in a cold shower.

Now I’m in the LA Underground locker rooms, sitting on a bench at the end while Coach wraps my hands, some song in my ears, when I see Pete in my peripherals wave someone over.

I see Brooke heading over to me, at Pete’s insistence, and I immediately hook my finger on my headphone cord and pull them down.

Brooke holds my gaze as she quietly leans over and pauses my iPod, then she walks behind me to seize my shoulders and starts working on my knots.

The instant I feel her fingers on my bare flesh, I groan and feel my body both tense with arousal and relax from the knowledge she’s with me.

I haven’t kissed her in what feels like a year.

I miss her in my bed.

I miss the way she moans and the way her soft, silky mouth swells under mine.

I miss her touch; I want it badly.

“Deeper,” I command her, and she goes in deeper with her fingers, using her thumb to roll over one of the larger knots. Relaxing my neck, I let my head hang and drag in a deep breath as she presses down until the knot disintegrates, and I groan from the pleasure of feeling the heat spread into my tissue.

“Good luck,” she whispers into my ear before she draws back, and my skin feels taut as a drum cover.

I stand and look at her, and I don’t know why she’s so determined to make me fuck her that she keeps her kisses away from me until I do, but I’m going to make her cave in to me before I cave in to her.

I’m not fucking her yet, no matter how ready I am to kill for it.

I’m not touching that sweet pussy until it’s ready to be taken home—permanently.

Behind me, Riley comes with my robe, and I spread out my arms and ram them into the sleeves while I keep my eyes on her.

“Riptide!” I hear the call, and I bounce in place for a second, then trot out into the arena.

I take my ring like I always do, but tonight’s not a normal one. Tonight, I fight—

“Benny, the Black Scoooooorpion!”

I see him charge out of the walkway on the other side. That ugly black tat on his face, he storms out to the general booing of the crowd, but grins nevertheless.

Remembering the club incident, where he dared speak of my girl’s pussy, I remind myself I owe him a beating. The moment he takes the ring, he comes up to center, and so do I, fixing my gaze on his yellow eyes.

His rage and my rage combine to create a powerful effect on the air.

“Fucking pussy needs a woman to defend him now?” he says, spitting on the mat.

I laugh softly. “The bad news is, not even a woman can defend you from me now.”

We tap knuckles, and the fighting bell rings.

We wait it out, both of us inspecting the other, and I want my little firecracker to see this.

I want her to see me beat the living daylights out of this dipshit.

Flicking my eyes to the side, I notice Brooke’s chair is empty.

Scowling, I scan the arena and duck when Scorpion swings, then I come back and punch him, fast and hard, on the jaw.

Then I see her.

She’s calling out to a girl heading to the exit with one of Scorpion’s minions, while another of those motherfuckers holds her—Brooke—by the arms.

My blood runs cold, then hot in fury. I slam my fist into Scorpion’s jaw, shove him aside, grab the nearest rope and leap out of the ring onto the cement floor, leaving Scorpion spitting blood on the mat. The arena erupts with shouts and screams and the announcer yells through the speakers, “The victor, Scorpion! Scooooooorpiooooooon! Remington Tate has been disqualified from this round! Dis-qualified!”

I reach Brooke as she struggles to break free, and she looks tiny and feisty in that motherfucker’s grip, making me livid. I grab the hands on her arms and thrust them back, delivering him a look that promises he will die because of me, then I yank her into my arms and forget about everything but that she’s safely nestled against me.

Still, she fights me.

“No. No! Remy, let me go, I need to follow her.” She twists in my grip and lightly hits my pecs, her expression twisting in pain. “Let go, Remy, let go, please.”

I clench her tighter against me and walk her to the exit, because I don’t think she realizes what’s going on. “Not now, Little Firecracker,” I softly warn her. She stops squirming and peeks over my arm at the angry faces of some of Riptide’s fans, and I use my shoulders to shove through the crowd as they start getting vicious.

“Bitch. It’s your fault, you stupid bitch!”

Her eyes widen in horror as the crowd starts clawing angrily into the air, then she curls into me and lets me guide her out to the car.

“Fucking shit!” Coach thunders as the limo pulls into traffic.

“You’re down to third. Third. Possibly fourth,” Pete glumly tells me, handing me the T-shirt and sweatpants I wear after matches.

“You had this one down, Rem. You were training so fucking well you would have had his ass on a stick, man.”

“I’ve got it, Coach, just relax.” I shove into my casual clothes as quickly as I can, then I reach out and pin Brooke to my side, my blood still pumping hot as lava.

Rubbing my hand down her arm, I notice she won’t take her eyes off the window as if searching for that woman.

“You’re in the worst placement you’ve been in years, man, your concentration is shit!”

“Pete, I’ve fucking got it—I’m not screwing this up,” I assure him, rubbing Brooke’s arm faster so she knows it will be all right.

“I think Brooke should stay in the hotel next fight,” Riley mutters.

I burst out laughing. “Brooke comes with me,” I snap, shaking my head in disbelief at them.

“Rem . . .” Pete tries to reason.

I clench my jaw and shoot him a warning glare, not in the mood for this bullshit. We ride the elevator in tense silence, and I’m getting worked up by Brooke’s unease. The need to protect her from whatever it is that’s made her this uneasy is eating at my gut.

The doors roll open on her floor, and she gets out like a whirlwind I’m determined to calm the fuck down. The guys yell back at me and demand we have some words, making me snap, “Pete, we’re talking about this later, just cool your nuts, all three of you.”

“Get back here, Rem, we need to talk to you!”

“Talk to the wall!”

The door to her room is about to slam shut when I reach it and push it open to follow her inside. “You all right?” I demand.

The door shuts behind me, and she faces me with bewildered gold eyes and the face of my fucking dreams, and suddenly I feel as impotent and useful as a damn table, standing here while whatever it is tears my woman apart.

I’m not going to fucking let it.

Life can throw the curveballs at me, but not at her. I’ll catch them for her and I’ll throw them back. She’ll be untouchable if I can help it. She’ll be untouchable to everything and everyone but me.

She has to stop fucking risking herself!

As she eyes me, I hear her sharp inhale as she signals at the door behind me. “Go talk to them, Remy.”

My voice is rougher than usual, even to me. “I want to talk to you first.”

I start pacing for a moment, dragging my hand through my hair all the way down to the back of my neck. Then I drop my arm with a sigh because I’m at a loss for words here. “Brooke, I can’t fight and keep an eye out for you.”

“Remy, I had it covered,” she cries.

“My fucking ass, you had it covered!”

She jerks in surprise, and my fingers curl into fists as the need to drive my hands into that dark hair and crush her against me starts to slowly and painfully consume me. Suddenly, her eyes flash in fury. “Why is everyone looking at me like it’s my fault? You’re supposed to be fighting Scorpion!”

A dark scowl settles on my face. “And you’re supposed to be in your goddamned seat on the front fucking row to my left!”

“What difference does it make? You’ve been fighting for years without having me in the audience! What does it even matter where I’m at?” She glares at me and dares me to tell her all the shit I feel for her, and the lack of words in me only frustrates the hell out of me. “I’m not even a fling, Remington! I’m your employee. And in less than two months, I won’t even be that, I’ll be nothing to you. Nothing.”

God, is that what she thinks?

Does she think I haven’t taken her because . . . what? She’s a toy to me? I’m fucked-up and imperfect, but I’m human and I want things. And what I. Want. Is. Her.

I want her too much to fuck it up.

I exhale through my nose and ask, “Who was that girl you were chasing?”

She drops her voice to a whisper. “My sister.”

A silence stretches between us as I register that her sister apparently is friends with Scorpion’s crew. “What’s your sister doing with Scorpion’s goonie?”

“Maybe she’s wondering the same about me,” she says with a bitter laugh.

I laugh right along with her, my laugh a thousand times more bitter than hers. “Don’t mistake me for a fuckup like him. I may be fucked-up but that guy eats virgins and spits them out like vomit.”

Brooke starts pacing, her face scrunched up in worry for a moment, then she closes her eyes sadly. “Oh, god. She looked awful. Awful,” she whispers.

That’s it.

That’s fucking it.

Brooke won’t be suffering like this over anyone.

Not in front of me.

I’m not a person who can stand and talk about stuff when there’s something to be done.

Quietly, I open the door, but before I leave, I look at her pretty face, all its color lost, and I have to say something. I’m no good at this, but I make an effort and gruffly tell her, “You’re not nothing. To me.”

Shutting the door behind me, I head straight for the elevator.

It’s not difficult to find a man who tattoos a fucking insect on his face.

Plus the fighters always stay in one of the hotels close to the Underground location.

Feeling bloodthirsty, I curl my hands into fists as I cross the lobby and head out into the night. A huge crowd litters the hotel driveway.

“Riptide!” they scream.

Camera flashes explode all over the place.

“Ohmigod!” A woman starts crying while members of the hotel staff struggle to keep the crowd at bay.

I’ve successfully shoved through one side of the crowd while a good dozen hands rub my ass and my chest muscles when I hear, “That’s her. Her fault he was disqualified tonight!”

Turning in confusion, I see something white flying in the air and smashing straight on Brooke.

Another white ball follows the first.

Simmering with rage, I clamp my jaw and stomp my way back to her as the fucking crazy people keep throwing shit at her.

Brooke has ducked and run to one of the parking valets, who sees me come up and says something to her.

Another egg crashes into her shoulder as I reach her, and I swear I feel like the fucking Hulk. I’m so damn mad, I feel fucking green!

“Whore!” they shout. “Bitch!”

Using my back as a shield, I catch an egg on my trapezius as I lift her up in my arms and swing around to face these fucking lunatics.

“It’s because of this woman I’m still fighting!” I shout at them, feeling angry, feeling betrayed by them.

A sudden silence falls across the crowd, and I’m not done yet—motherfuckers!

“Next time I’m in the ring, I’m going to fucking win for her, and I want all of you who hurt her tonight to bring her a red rose as an apology and tell her it’s from me!” I demand.

After a second, they get it.

They fucking get it. . . .

And they start screaming and clapping as I take her back inside.

Breathing through my nose, I’m trying to calm down when Brooke starts laughing in my arms, her eyes shining in disbelief as she looks up at me.

I frown in confusion and press the elevator button a dozen consecutive times.

“And they say Justin Bieber’s fans are crazy,” she gasps.

My voice is raspy and rough as I brush off some eggshells from her shoulder. “I apologize on their behalf. I disappointed them today.”

Her laughter fades, and she links her fingers at the back of my neck and stares up at me as I carry her into the elevator. A couple decided not to join us and remained outside the doors.

“You coming?” I snap as I cradle her against me.

They both step back and say, “No.”

So we ride upstairs alone, and Brooke presses the tip of her pretty little nose into my neck. “Thank you,” she breathes.

I tighten my hold. She feels so right and perfect in my arms, I never want to let her go. I don’t care if we smell like sulfur; I’ve been hungry to have my arms around her and her arms around me, and right now I can’t think of anything else that I’d rather be doing or anywhere else I’d rather be than here.

After sliding the key into the slot of my suite, I carry Brooke inside. “What the fuck is going on, Rem?” Pete demands as he and Riley charge over.

“Just get the hell out, guys.” I hold the door open for them with one arm and cradle Brooke to my chest with the other. They stare at Brooke as if she can solve some unnamed mystery for them, so I snap at them, “I do what I want, you hear me?”

That reminds them I’m here—glaring—and they turn their attention to me. “We hear you, Rem,” Riley answers as he follows Pete out to the hall.

“Then don’t fucking forget it.” I slam the door shut and bolt it so no dipshit can come here to interrupt my time with her, then I take us into the bath of the master bedroom. She tightens her hold when I pull open the shower door, and I’m so fucking happy that she wants to stay with me, I keep her in my arm as I turn on the shower.

The water falls, and I quickly kick off my shoes, take off hers, and then step into the shower stall with her in my arms.

“Let’s get this shit off you.” She slides down to her feet as I run my hands over her wet hair, the water falling on her face as I pull her dress over her head. I toss it aside and soap up my hands, then watch her face as I run them up her body.

She bites her lower lip as I touch her, spreading her arms up and sliding soap into her armpits, down her abdomen, between her legs, up her neck. My T-shirt is plastered wet to my chest, and I grab it in one hand and jerk it off me, quickly running the soap over me.

“I can’t believe your groupies called me a whore,” she says as she watches me.

Quickly, I lather my hair. “You’re going to survive.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah, you do.”

Then I lather Brooke’s hair, my fingers digging down to her scalp. “They hate me,” she tells me miserably. “I won’t be able to go to your fights now without fear of getting lynched.”

Taking the showerhead, I turn it so the water slides over Brooke’s head, and her eyes drift shut as the soap slides down her body.

Holy god. Holy god.

Her nipples poke into her bra, soft peach and puckered. And the cotton of her white panties clings to her pussy lips. Fucking bare as the rest of her. My eyes jerk up to hers before her eyelashes flutter open, and she looks at me. Her oval face, pink lips, dark, wet hair, those eyelashes glistening wet, and those gold eyes, looking at me like they do. Like there is nothing on this earth she would rather see but me. My throat feels thick as I brush a strand of damp hair behind her forehead, my heart beating as fast as it has ever beaten for anything in my life.

She’s so beautiful and so perfect, my lungs hurt. Lifting my arms, I frame her face as gently as I can in my palms and stare at her, then I use one finger to touch her mouth. She’s kept this mouth from me, and I want it back. I want it back because it’s mine. It’s fucking mine and she’s killing me right now, looking at me with those eyes, her body wet and shivering against me.

“That’s never going to happen,” I tell her gruffly, because I’d have to be dead first before anyone harmed her, fans or otherwise.

The sleek tendons of her throat work as she swallows. “You shouldn’t have . . . said that about me, Remy. They’re going to think you and I . . . that you and I . . .” She shakes her head, and looks at me, out of breath.

“That you’re mine?” I prod softly.

She blinks for a moment, then laughs.

“What’s so funny?” I ask her.

I shove open the glass shower door, then I wrap a towel around my hips and get rid of my sweatpants. She’s still laughing as I come back to get her, engulfing her with a towel as I scoop her up and carry her to the bed.

I set her down on the center, and I’m not sure if her laughter amuses me or not. “Is the thought of being mine funny?” I tease her.

Reaching under the towel, I tug off her panties and pry off her bra, then I rub the towel over her body and hair with brisk, sure moves.

“Is the idea of being mine funny?” I insist, running the towel over her bare little tits as I watch her. “Is it funny, Brooke?” I repeat, looking deep into her eyes.

“No!” she gasps, her laughter completely gone as she tilts her hips to help me dry her. I dry her legs, and when I reach her knee with the small scar, my movements slow down as I survey it. I’ve never wanted to kiss anything other than lips and pussy, but I’m fighting the urge to kiss her bad knee.

A small hand trembles against my hair, and I hear her whisper, “Have you ever been anyone’s?”

My eyes flick up to hers, her pupils dark as night as she watches me. A consuming jealousy rips through me as I think of someone else having her before me. Feeling a roiling in my chest, I cup her cheek in my palm and look at her. “No. And you?”

She tucks her cheek into my hand and whispers, “I’ve never wanted to be.”

“Neither have I.”

We stare, and the air crackles between us. She needs me. And I fucking need her.

I trace her jaw with my thumb, searching for words to tell her. “Until I saw this lovely girl in Seattle, with big gold eyes, and pink, full lips . . . and I wondered if she could understand me . . .”

Her chest heaves, and I bend closer and scent her, pulling the towel up to cover her body before I break down and take this little body of my dreams, and fuck this woman of my life, and let her shatter me when she realizes who I am, what I am, and what is completely fucked-up about me.

My voice roughens at the thought. “I want to say so many things, Brooke, and I just can’t find the words to tell them to you.”

Resting my forehead on hers, I inhale deeply as I run my nose along the length of hers.

“You tie me up in knots.” My lips find hers for a moment, briefly kissing before I withdraw and look into her eyes. “I want to play you a thousand different songs so you get a clue of what . . . I feel inside me. . . .”

A shiver runs through her as I caress my index finger along the bow of her top lip, then her bottom one. She whimpers softly, and I hold her face between my hands and set my mouth on hers, pulling her tongue into my mouth so I can suck her.

She moans and sinks her nails into my shoulders, gasping, “Why won’t you take me, Remington?”

Groaning at that, I pull her closer to me. “Because I want you too much.”

Pushing my tongue harder against hers, I lean over her and feel her body pressing into mine, her tits, her abs, her legs tangling between my thighs.

She gasps when I pull her closer and keep devouring her mouth.

“But I want you so much, and I’m protected,” she pleads to me. “I know you’re clean. You get tested all the time and I . . .”

The tips of her nipples brush against my ribs, and she shudders and tilts her hips upward, silently begging me to slide in there and take what I want. What I fucking crave. Fuck me.

“I want you in my bed again. I want to kiss you, hold you,” I tell her roughly.

She grips my shoulders harder and whispers against my lips, “I can’t do this anymore, please just make love with me. . . .”

I silence her with my mouth and fuck my tongue into her as I shift my frame, which makes my cock hit her hip bone . . . and my thigh feels her pussy.

She’s wet.

Wet as fuck.

I’m so hot for her, I can’t stop nibbling her lips, biting softly, fisting my hands in her wet hair as she rakes her hands down my arms and rubs herself against my thigh. She whimpers softly, and my gut coils with need as she rocks her hips against me and kisses me back.

Two . . . three rocks . . . and she starts shuddering uncontrollably against me.

I stop kissing her for a moment—then I realize what’s happening. My cock starts dripping semen as I feel her come, and I spread my hand on her back and push up my leg, forcing her to ride me harder, making sure her clit gets a nice little rub as I take her mouth with mine and force her to take my tongue as she comes for me.

The noises she makes . . . the way her body goes slack against mine . . .

My chest feels heavy with tenderness as I brush her hair back and look down at her flushed face and glazed eyes. “Did that feel even half as good as it looked?” I ask, trailing my finger along her cheek.

She pulls the towel around her and angrily avoids looking at me. “I assure you that’s not happening again,” she whispers.

God, I love her. I love her sass and her spunk, and I love how she gets shy with me. Amused by her shyness when she just came for me in a way no other woman has ever come before, I bend closer to kiss her ear, my voice husky. “I’m going to make sure that it does.”

“Don’t count on it. If I wanted to have an orgasm all alone, I could have taken care of myself without giving anyone a show.” She keeps the towel to her chest as she sits up and asks, “Can I borrow a damn shirt?”

She’s so cute angry, I smile as I head over to the closet and grab one of my usual black T’s.

Her dark scowl is still in place when I come back. “This okay?” I ask, feeling possessive as fuck when she takes it and slips it on.

She still looks shy and embarrassed about it all, which I don’t want her to be.

“Come eat something with me,” I say, and I’m happy when she slides off the bed and follows me to the kitchen.

“Let’s see what Diane left you,” she mumbles as she pulls out the contents from a hot drawer and uncovers a plate, her smile mischievous. “Eggs. They must’ve been on sale tonight.”

My smile flashes, and I look at her lips, and I want them more than the eggs and more than anything in this kitchen. Watching her so she doesn’t leave, I pull out two forks from a drawer and approach her. “Come share.” Because I want to fucking feed her.

“Oh, no,” she quickly says, palms up in the air. “No more eggs for me tonight. You enjoy.”

I set the fork down and follow her to the door, catching her wrist before she leaves and telling her, “Stay.”

She holds her breath and her eyes fly up to mine.

“I’ll stay,” she firmly whispers, “when you make love to me.”

She stares at me and I stare back, battling within myself. I want her. Fuck, I want her more than anything. She has to know that. I can’t fuck it up because I’m hornier than a goddamned devil.

I won’t fuck it up because of my cock.

Sighing drearily, I hold the door open for her and place myself so that she has to brush past me to leave. Every muscle in my body contracts as she brushes past . . . and I watch her as she heads down the hall, a vision in my fucking T-shirt, giving me the bluest balls of my life.

After dinner I have to take another shower, this one cold, and when I set up our clothes to dry, I find myself sniffing her wet dress, her wet bra, and her wet, fucking, cute white panties.

For hours, I imagine charging into her room and forcing her back here with me.

I imagine stripping her, fucking her, then kissing and petting her all night until the sun appears.

And then I imagine the look on her face when I tell her I’m bipolar.