Filthy English (17 page)

“I see you noticed Mr. Argentine Duck is awake.”

I flicked my eyes up to his and held them there.
Don’t look down.
“He appears quite happy.”

He shrugged. “Morning wood. Happens to everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

“Thanks,” I snipped back. “I don’t need reminders that you get hard for all girls.”

“No problem.” A muscle clenched in his jaw.

Why was
he
so ticked?

For the first time, I noticed the patch of white on his chest. “Your tattoo. Let me see what you got.” It was much bigger than mine.

He peeled back the gauze until the hand-sized design above his chest was clearly visible.

“What’s that?” I squinted.

He stared down at his chest. “Looks like an American flag and an eagle with your name on it. Since you don’t recall, we got matching tattoos—or
friendship ink
as you called it. It was your idea, and judging by the horror on your face, you regret it.”

My mouth opened. “I haven’t had time to process it!” I groaned and flopped back against the pillows. “I mean how am I going to explain your name on my body to people?”

He looked at his nails, completely unconcerned about my distress. “I don’t see the problem, love. Most girls would love to have my name on their body.”

I trembled with banked anger. “The problem is you’re Dax and I’m me! We don’t go together.”

His face darkened, and I almost thought I saw hurt there. No, that couldn’t be right.

His chest swelled as he took a breath. “Fine. Tell them you were drunk and it was an impulse. That’d be the truth, right?” He pivoted away from me, strode over to the window, and pulled the blinds open. I blinked as he dropped down and started doing push-ups, his clipped voice counting out a fast one hundred.

Of course, I watched. Because I’m clearly still drunk. Not really, but I felt woozy just being naked and this close to him.

With his sculpted muscles executing an effortless athleticism, he rose up and down from the floor, the tendons in his arms and shoulders bulging.

I tore my eyes away.

I should be mad at him for acting so surly—but I wasn’t. Maybe it was because his one-eyed monster was rock hard and seemed to be looking right at
me
.

He stood back up, and then as if he’d had enough of me, he stalked into the bathroom and shut the door.

Well.

His moodiness was worse than a teenage girl on her period, but right now I couldn’t worry about him.

I needed clothes!

Jumping out of bed, I ran to the closet and pulled out a white peasant top with lace at the hem and a pair of cropped red pencil pants. Because of the tattoo, I went braless.

Next stop was the mirror. I let out a gasp. Holy morning of shame, my hair was a bush on one side and flat on the other. Globs of leftover mascara and black eyeliner smudged the skin under my eyes. Groaning, I pulled a brush out of my make-up bag and went to work on the tangles.

Crap!

I should have never drunk tequila!

I should have never gotten a tattoo!

But at least you didn’t have unprotected sex!

I snorted.

My phone rang. Rummaging through the mess I’d dumped out on the bed from my bag, I snatched it up and answered.

“What?” I bit out.

“Remington?” A familiar male voice came through the speaker.

The room spun. Only one person used my God-given name.

“Hartford?” My hand clutched the phone like a lifeline.

A beat of silence. “Yeah,” his deep voice said, and I heard flapping in the background as if he were outside and it was windy. I imagined him in Raleigh, finishing up his morning run and walking back to the apartment.

Leftover anger bubbled to the surface, but I kept my voice even. “What do you want?”

“To see you.” A long sigh. “Look . . . I’m sorry.”

Elation surged. My eyes closed in relief.

He wanted to see me. He was sorry.

I bit my lip to keep a shrill laugh from escaping.

“Remington? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here.” I paused. “What—what are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know. Everything, I guess.”

He didn’t know?

My free hand gripped the edge of the nightstand.

“Remington? Are you there?”

I inhaled a deep breath. “I’m here. Are—are you sorry for the wedding dress I’ll never wear? For the gifts I returned? The emails and phone calls I had to make?
For hurting me?”

“Remington—”

“You know what? Stay on your break. Tell your
study buddy
I said hello, and
fuck off
.” I hit the end button.

Tears threatened my eyes and I pushed them down.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“Remi?” Dax had come out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his middle. His hair was wet from a shower and rivulets of water traced down his chest to his hips. His forehead furrowed as he raked his eyes over me. There must have been something telling in my expression because in three quick strides he stood in front of me. “Who was on the phone?”

I rubbed my face. “Hartford,” I croaked, trying not to break.

He exhaled, sat down on the bed next to me, and gave me a gentle shoulder hug. “Shit. I’m sorry. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it? I know I joke around a lot, but people tell me I’m good to talk to.”

I looked at the phone and then back at him. I did want to talk, and somehow I knew Dax would keep whatever I said between us. “Our relationship was so easy, you know? He never cheated or even glanced at another girl, and I’m sure he could have. He wanted
me
, and I thought he wanted me forever, but . . .” I twisted my wrist, aching for my bracelet. “It’s just . . . after my dad died, I wanted someone like him. I even had a list. I wanted someone kind. Responsible. Smart. Someone who’d help me take care of Malcolm someday and wouldn’t mind that he was part of the package. But sometimes . . . I think I miss the idea of Hartford more than
him
.”

He brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Do you love Hartford?”

I closed my eyes. “I do, but we were so perfect, and maybe this is weird, but part of me wonders if maybe true love or soul-mate love isn’t perfect or easy at all, but dirty and hard and crazy.” I sucked in air. “I don’t know. I’m confused and angry—yet I want to see him.”

He tilted my chin up, his eyes meeting mine. Compassion mixed with something else I couldn’t define—sadness?—crossed his face. “I’m here for you, whatever you need. I—I’ve never been in love, but I can see you’re hurting, and it makes me . . .” He stopped.

“What?” I asked.

He exhaled, his face tight. “I just don’t like seeing you upset. If he were here right now, I’d beat the bloody shit out him.”

I studied him, taking in the banked anger he was obviously keeping on a leash for my benefit. I pushed out a smile. “I believe you, and thank you for the sentiment, but he’s a battle I need to fight on my own.”

He reached over and touched the hair tie that was still on my finger. “You’re the kind of girl who will never be alone for long. You’re too beautiful and the best kisser I know.”

“I’m not beautiful.”

“Indeed, you are.” His voice rang with sincerity. “I thought so the moment you walked into my Tau party with your sweater all buttoned up. There’s something about you I don’t see in other girls.”

My mouth parted. “Like what?”

“Balls. You lost your dad, and somehow, it made you stronger.”

Something inside me cracked—or shifted. I looked into his stormy gray eyes and saw understanding staring back at me. And desire.

Maybe it was finally talking to Hartford after weeks of silence, maybe it was the fact I had another man’s name on my heart, or maybe it was simply the fact that he
got
me.

But suddenly I wanted to forget about Hartford, and the only way to do that was to have throw-down hard sex with the one guy I’d never been able to get out of my head.

I STOOD FROM
the bed and faced him, causing him to start at my abrupt movement. “You have too many clothes on,” I said and pulled the towel off from around his hips.

He inhaled as I stared down at him, his erect cock like a lead pipe as it rested on his thigh. Hard. Thick.

I lifted my eyes to meet his molten gaze. His chest rose. Up. Down. Lust shot through me. “You’ve been hard for me all morning.”

“Remi?” he breathed, biting his lip. “Don’t—”

I put my hands over his mouth and went to my knees in front of him. “Shhh. I—I just want to . . .” I swallowed, struggling to find the words. “I—I want you to rip me apart then stitch me back together.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Think hard about this, Remi, because I can’t tell you no.”

“I have. A million times.”

I traced my hand down his chest slowly, easing over his defined pecs and abs. His body was perfection, tan and smooth.

He groaned at my touch, his head going back, his entire body tightening in anticipation of what he could clearly read in my eyes. I wanted him. I wanted him fiercely, with the kind of passion I believed few people ever experienced.

I bent over, took him in my mouth and sucked, sliding my tongue over his long shaft from base to tip. My hand snaked around his hardness and tugged as I devoured him.

“Fucckkk.”
His hands went to my hair and clutched.

I pumped his velvet skin as I took as much of him as I could.

He breathed my name and maneuvered my head, silently telling me what he wanted.

But I already knew. I’d never forgotten.

My mouth explored him, tasted him, finding places I remembered, mapping out new ones.

He tried to pull me up. “Remi,” he said hoarsely.

I raised my face to him. “You want me to stop?”

His chest rose. “No. I—I can’t breathe. I—what are you doing to me?”

“What I’ve wanted since the night I kissed you at Masquerade.”

He slid his thumb across my lips. “This will change things. I don’t know how it will end. I can’t promise you anything. This is all I can give you.”

I nodded.

I wanted the forbidden fruit, even if it was for just one time.

He pulled me to my feet, cupped my face. “But I don’t want you on your knees for me—not this time.
I want you
.”

Getting his meaning, I stood up, unzipped my pants and let them fall to the floor. With shaky hands, I lifted my blouse over my head. My panties were next as I slipped them past my ankles and tossed them on the floor. With his eyes burning into my skin, I walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out my strand of pearls and looped them around my neck. Long and creamy, they hung past the V between my breasts.

“You like?” I asked softly, turning to face him as I threaded them through my fingers.

He came toward me, a majestic male, his heated gaze never leaving mine. “I do.”

“Want me to put one of my little cardigans on?” I smiled impishly.

His eyes went low and heavy. “No. I want you just like that.”

“Wait,” I said.

He halted, teeth snapping together. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not. It’s just . . . the contract. Let’s say no kissing on the mouth—and we can still be friends, right?” I paused, nibbling on my bottom lip. “Your friendship is important to me, Dax.”

He’d reached me by then, and his hand curled around my neck, careful of the bruises there. “You could say anything right now and I’d agree to it.” Grazing his nose up my neck to my ear, he whispered, “And you better hang on the first time.”

My body clenched at
first time
.

He eased between my legs and hoisted me up by my bottom to straddle him, biceps bulging as his hands palmed my ass. My limbs wrapped around his hips as he pivoted us around and eased me down on the edge of the bed.

He pushed my arms out to their sides and pinned them there gently but with the touch of a warrior. My chest rose. Waiting. Anticipating him.

“You like control?” I whispered, angling my chin up at him, spurring him on with a defiant look, knowing he liked the resistance.

“You complaining?” His eyes caressed my lips and I bit down with my top teeth, knowing his fascination with them.