I see the way he goes through women. He was never the settle-down-and-have-a-family type. He loves to live life in the fast lane, have fun, and be spontaneous—things I love so much about him, but things I worry make us incompatible. My career in real estate means everything to me, and over the last 10 years, I’ve worked my ass off to build my team and grow this business to heights I never imagined. I want the happily ever after with the church wedding, the babies, and the white picket fence.
“I’m sorry, you’re drunk and I—I shouldn’t have done that.”
And there it is: the same regret he had 15 years ago when he tried to apologize for having sex with me after graduation. I can’t take the rejection again.
“I’m not that drunk and I willingly went along with it.” I hop down from the truck and start to make my way back inside the bar. “It was just a kiss, Remi. Relax. No harm, no foul.” I say with a finger gun before turning around and pulling the bar door open.
Did I just do a finger gun? Ugh . . . I bury my face in my hands, wishing I could scream away the frustration. Instead, I grab another beer and plop back down on the stool by Jade, who is being held back by Memphis. She’s pointing a finger at Blake Winthrop, who’s staring at her with a big smirk on his face. Classic Blake: always antagonizing Jade. It’s really not that hard to do, though. She gets fired up at the drop of a hat.
“What’d I miss?” I ask Steph, the bartender.
“Blake told Jade he doesn’t think aliens are real,” she says, deadpan. Sounds about right for Jade to go off on one of her conspiracy theories when she’s had a bit too much to drink. I just sit back and watch the hilarity unfold as I push thoughts of Remi and his wicked mouth out of my head.
It’s been three days of replaying that kiss over and over in my head. I’ve already gone through a full charge on my vibrator, and at one point I was worried I did actual damage to my clit given how numb it went.
I think about Jade’s comment about dressing up and going to his house, and the more I think about it, the more I’m starting to believe it’s a good idea. That way, I can play it off as a joke if he rejects me, and if we do end up hooking up again, I can just say this is our new thing . . . friends with benefits. People still do that, right?
I roll over in bed and check my toy: not charged yet. Then I grab my phone and check the time: it’s only 9 p.m. and I’ve already showered and had dinner and there’s nothing but shit on TV.
I walk over to my dresser and rummage through my bra drawer, reaching far in the back. Sure enough, I still have one of those ridiculous bombshell bras Jade was talking about.
“Oh. My. God.” I audibly gasp as I look at myself in my full-length mirror. My tits are almost up to my chin and they look like they were paid for. I laugh at how ridiculous I look, but I want to complete the ensemble. I spritz some volumizing spray at my roots, fluff up my hair, add a few coats of mascara, and apply a red gloss to my lips.
I look through my closet, pushing through all of my sensible work attire before finally pulling out the dress: the short, tight dress I wore back when I was on the prowl. This dress always got the job done. It turned heads—broke necks, really—and had all the boys following me around like little puppy dogs.
“Shit,” I say as I shimmy it up over my ass and thighs. Seems I’ve gained a little weight since the last time I wore it. It’s a black bodycon dress that comes right to the top of my knees with a slit up one thigh. It sits just off the shoulders with a sweetheart neckline, so I have to tuck the bra straps down into the dress, which actually causes my breasts to fall a little, making them look way more natural—just very much on display.
I look at myself in the mirror now that I have the full outfit on. I pair it with some sky-high strappy black stilettos. It’s been years since I’ve seen myself looking like this; I kind of miss wild August. I loved going out and painting the town red in college. We’d get a group of girls to go out dancing, get free drinks from some local hotties, then go back home without them—innocent fun.
Before I can think twice, I grab my phone and pull up my text thread with Remi.
Me: What are you doing?
I toss it back on the bed like I’m too afraid it will burn me if he responds while I’m holding it. Two seconds later, it pings with his response.
Remi: Sitting on the couch. What are you doing?
I don’t hesitate. I grab my keys and wallet and run outside to my car. Five minutes later, I’m pulling into his driveway and ringing the doorbell. Panic grips me when I hear footsteps coming toward the front door.
What the hell is my plan?
What am I going to say when he sees me dressed like this?
But the moment he opens the door and his blue eyes darken as he rakes me up and down, all my fear disappears. He’s shirtless with pajama bottoms slung so low I can see where the curly trail of hair disappears in the middle of the V at the bottom of his abdomen.
I step forward and wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my tits against his bare chest as I pull his mouth to mine. His lips instinctively react, covering my own as he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth. He pulls back, hesitating for a second before pulling me inside, slamming the door and pressing me against it.
“I want to finish what we started the other night,” I say as I reach for the drawstring on his pants. He growls into my mouth as he pins my hands above my head.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. I thought at the very least, he would laugh and tell me I’m being ridiculous, but the look of pure lust in his eyes right now tells me that’s the last thing on his mind. So I summon the courage to say exactly what’s on mine.
“I want you, Remi. I—I want you to fuck me.”
2
Remi
I don’t have time to rationalize what’s happening or what I’m doing. For a minute I think I’ve fallen asleep on the couch and I’m dreaming this right now. But it’s not a dream. August is grabbing at my pants, and her delicious tits look incredible pressed tightly against me as she begs me to fuck her.
What the hell is she wearing? Goddamn! Wait, was she on a date with some prick? White hot jealousy surges through my veins. I know I shouldn’t. I know I need to say no, but how? How the hell can I say no to my ultimate fantasy on my doorstep asking me to fuck her?
“Is that right, August?” I pull back, staring into her heavy-lidded eyes. I grip her wrists tighter in my hand as I press my fully rigid cock against her. I want her to look me in the eyes and tell me she wants this. I don’t want this to be another regret come morning.
“Yes,” she practically pants, and it’s doing wonders for my ego. Something I’m not sure I need. I already know the way women look at me, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take full advantage of that for several years. But this right here, having August Belmore at my mercy—begging me to take her—has my head about to fucking explode.
“Is this my fantasy or yours?” I ask. I see her think about what I’m saying before she slowly licks her lips.
“Yours,” she says, barely above a whisper.
“Good girl.” I step back, releasing her hands, and I see disappointment settle over her face. I reach down, slipping my hand beneath my pants and stroking myself a few times. “On your knees,” I say as I pull the drawstring, letting them fall to the floor. I’m standing there butt-ass naked with my cock in my hands, hoping she doesn’t come to her senses and bolt.