Steele Burning

Remington raked in his remaining chips and called it a night.  Monroe, cagey as ever, had outmaneuvered him on the last hand, calling his bluff.  With a smile and a handshake for his old friend, he pocketed a few bills and nodded to the others at the table. 

“Good night, my friend,” said Monroe.  “Do not be so long to join my table again.  We have missed having the opportunity to take your money.”

Remington tugged on his ear.  “If I recall, mate, it’s been a bloody year since you’ve come out on top.  I thought I’d spot you one now and again.”

“Bullshit!”  The Caribbean accent made the expletive sound like a compliment. “I’ll see you next month.” 

“Aye, mate.”  Remington held up a hand in a kind of salute before taking his leave. 

He enjoyed the cool night breeze with the top down on the Auburn as he worked his way across downtown Los Angeles.  Even at three in the morning, it took time to navigate the dozens of lights and a pair of freeways to reach home.  He didn’t mind.  This was his time--the hours between midnight and dawn--even as he had less reason to frequent those hours as of late given the demands of the agency.  

His lips curved in a slight smile as he thought of Laura.  His mind rarely wandered far from his partner these days.  Since she’d admitted on the beach that she wanted to “move forward in their relationship,” she’d taken painstaking steps toward developing a real one with him. 

The first one had surprised him.  They still hadn’t gone to bed yet, but Laura no longer tried to hide their connection from her family.  She’d brought him along to dinner at her sister’s house and hadn’t shied away from kissing him in front of her mother.  Abigail had beamed approvingly the whole time.  Laura had mumbled her irritation all the way home.

The other steps were smaller, but no less important.  She’d had quit taking digs at him about his work ethic.  She didn’t fight her attraction to him quite so much.  She even said his name from time to time, rolling around “Remington” on her tongue as if attempting to speak a foreign language. 

He reminded himself to be patient.  Laura would come to him.  And he to her.  It wasn’t as if he didn’t have his own demons to fight.  She needed to know he loved her.  So far he’d been unable to tell her--not because he lacked the feelings –but because the emotion made him anxious.  Instead, he’d told her how he cared without actually saying the words.  He had seen in her eyes that every declaration had counted, but he still hadn’t hit the mark. 

At least now he could admit to himself he loved her.  For too long, he couldn’t do as little as that.  It seemed rather silly in retrospect.  Laura had shown him more respect than any woman previously.  Too many times he’d been pursued for his looks and manner alone.  Only she had looked beneath the layers of polish to find the real man within.  That she seemed to like what she found never failed to astonish him. 

Shaking his head, he glanced up at his darkened flat before parking the Auburn in the garage below.  For a moment, he debated whether to walk to the bar a block away for a drink, but realized it would be closed at this hour.  In any case, he’d had enough at Monroe’s. 

He nodded once at the doorman, more of a lobby attendant than an actual person manning the door, as he took the elevator to the fifth floor.  Not for the first time that evening, he wished Laura was with him.  It was a simple truth that he enjoyed her company.  As he’d missed the last few poker nights on account of the agency, Laura had insisted he go and spend time with one of the few men he counted as a friend.

As a matter of habit upon entering his own flat for the night, Remington loosened his watch.  He had every intention of dropping it and his other jewelry in the box he kept on his bathroom counter for that purpose.  His shoes would go in his closet along with his jacket.  Very rarely did Remington leave his things lying about.  It was an old habit that had little to do with neatness and everything with being able to cut and run if necessary. 

In any case, none of it mattered, for the flickering light from the television in his bedroom had him on full alert from the moment he stepped inside.  Of all the possibilities that flashed through his head as he rounded the corner, finding Laura curled up on his pillow wearing a dress shirt from his closet wasn’t even on the list. 

He didn’t disturb her sleep as he placed jacket, shoes, wallet and jewelry in their respective places.  But afterward, he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her cheek.  She awakened instantly, her eyes dark and heavy in the dancing light of the muted TV. 

“Now that you’ve satisfied one of my fantasies of having you in my bed, might I ask what brought you here?” he said lightly. 

“This.”  She leaned up, placing a hand behind his head to bring him near.  Open-mouthed, her tongue touched his.  He supported her head with his own hand and delved inside.  Her sweet flavor ensnared his senses. 

She tried to draw him to the bed, but he pulled away before he became too entangled to let her go.  He had to ask.  “Laura?  You’re certain?” 

Her voice floated in the air.  “I am, Mr. Steele.” 

By the light of the television, Remington peered into her dark eyes, trying to divine what had inspired Laura Holt to cross this line.  But once she sat up on her knees and began unfastening the buttons, all rational thought fled.  He kept his hands to himself as hers drifted downward, leaving the shirt gaping slightly.  He could see soft flesh between her breasts as tails of the shirt puddled onto her lap. 

She brought her hands up pull the shirt off. 

He found his voice.  “Let me … please.”  With one hand, he brushed the collar away from her neck and kissed there.  The pulse in her neck sped up.  He pressed another kiss there too.  He was so engrossed in her satiny collarbone that he failed to notice she’d unfastened the buttons of the shirt he wore until she began tugging it from his shoulders.  He shook it free, leaving him bare-chested and breathing hard. 

Conscious of Laura’s need for parity, Remington shed the rest of his clothing first, not wanting to have her sitting bare on the sheets while he was still half-dressed.  That could come later when they weren’t quite so self-conscious. 

He sat next to Laura while the light played on her face.  He thought she blushed as her eyes swept the length of him, but he couldn’t be sure.  He drew her down, sliding the shirt aside to bare a breast as he did so.  Reverently, he circled it until it peaked, then he leaned into taste its flavor.  She inhaled, swift and strong as he sucked. 

He had fantasized dozens of times about how he’d make love to her, taking the time to savor every portion of her flesh.  But since she’d initiated this encounter, he let her take the lead.  He’d hardly begun before she changed position.  She let the shirt fall away as she straddled his legs.  With determination written all over her face, she stroked his erection. 

When her touch began to unhinge something inside him, he leaned up on an elbow and drew her into a deep kiss.  She didn’t break the connection as she leaned forward and took him inside her body.   He trembled from the heat and the clenching of her passage.  She hadn’t taken in more than half his length.  He dropped his head back in sweet agony while his hand found the curve of her bum. 

For a moment, he thought he might have hurt her from the way she clutched at his shoulders, but she began moving in a slow, steady pace that took him apart bit by bit.  He thought to turn the tide on her and pleasure her the way she was him, but she sank down, taking his full length this time.  He slipped back to the bed while she moved.  In the end, Remington could only clutch at Laura’s hips as he exploded within her.  Her echoing chant and contented sigh afterward led him to believe she’d found her own climax. 

She started to pull away, but he held her in place on his chest, not wanting to release her in any way.  He chuckled contentedly as her breathing evened out in only a matter of minutes.  While she slept, he wondered what had brought about this change of heart.  He fell asleep planning all the ways he would make love to her on the morrow. 

 

Remington only determined morning had come when he squinted at the clock.  8:30.   He deliberately kept his bedroom darkened so that he could sleep in whenever he preferred.  But this morning, with Laura deliciously naked and still sprawled half across his chest, he had no interest in going back to sleep.  Not yet, anyway.  He wasn’t quite certain how he’d slept with one arm curled around her, but he had found his hand could rest comfortably on the curve of her bum.  Lazily, he began stroking the bared flesh--at first with his fingers, then with long sweeps of his hand.  Laura arched into his palm, inadvertently baring a breast enough that Remington cupped it with his other fingers and began teasing the tip, flicking it expertly until she moaned in her sleep. 

Before she could wake up entirely, Remington rolled with her until she lay on the bed.  Unhappily, she muttered, “Don’t stop.” 

“Of course not, Miss Holt.”  He fastened his lips to a taut peak again while letting his hand roam from her neck to her knees.  A brush of his fingers along her slickening apex caused her to tense up.  Surprised by her reaction, he took his time, teasing fingers along her thighs while he laved her breasts with attention. 

His patience was rewarded when she leaned into his mouth, parting her legs at the same time.  Immediately, he found her center and took possession of it.  The speed and intensity of her orgasm gratified him; his fingers were drenched in her warmth as she softly called his name. 

One thing was for certain, even in her sleep she either fantasized about him or she knew exactly with whom she slept.  As the shudders left her body, Remington rose over her and placed himself firmly at her entrance.  Once again he plucked her center.  Her glazed eyes opened as he pressed, stroking her both inside and out in a heady rhythm.  This time, when her body convulsed, he felt every ripple, every shudder as it happened.  Before it ended, he buried himself deeply within her and let her body coax his over the edge.  Laura dug her nails into his shoulders and cried out his name one last time. 

He held her while she trembled in the aftermath of their lovemaking.  He stroked her back as he eased to his side.  Unaccountably, he felt bereft as his body left hers.  She rested her cheek against his chest and laid a hand on his hip. 

For a while they slept that way--or rather, Laura did while Remington dozed.  When he was sure he wouldn’t disturb her, he eased from the bed.  In the bathroom, he glanced in the mirror and grinned at the faint red marks on his shoulders from Laura’s nails.  He’d long known she would be a tigress in bed, and he hadn’t been disappointed this morning.  Even in her daze, she had tilted her hips unconsciously to coax the most sensation from their coupling.  Last night, she’d demonstrated how to set the pace so that he gained the most pleasure.  He tried not to think about how she’d learned those little tricks that elevated the sexual experience to another level. 

As he showered, he wondered what she could do when she wasn’t half-asleep.  Good Lord, he looked forward to finding out.  Finished, he toweled off and reached for his dressing gown, thinking he might prepare a breakfast that would serve to fuel their energies for the rest of the morning. 

When he reached for his comb, he realized Laura didn’t have anything of hers scattered about.  Not a jar of cream on the countertop nor a totebag of clothing on the floor.  Frowning, he wondered if perhaps he’d missed it as he came in the door last night.  A quick survey of the rest of the flat revealed nothing else of Laura’s though--not even a purse or the clothes she must have worn last night.  Deciding that she must have left nearly everything in her car, he swiftly dressed in a casual shirt and jeans to retrieve her things. 

He picked up the newspaper lying outside his door and tucked it under his arm in the elevator.  He nodded to the doorman on his way to the garage, stopping when the young man--a different one than had worked the nightshift--said, “Is Miss Holt okay this morning?”

Remington turned.  “She is, I think.  She’s sleeping at the moment.” 

“Oh, good.  She seemed pretty upset when she came in last night.  I would be too if my house burned down.”

Shocked, Remington had to think to keep his composure.  Laura’s loft?  “Ah, how did she look when she arrived?”

Coloring a bit, the young man replied, “She had on a pair of pajamas, and she looked pretty pale while the officer escorted her up to your place.  She didn’t have a key, so I let her in per your instructions that she could have access at any time.”

Nodding to reassure the doorman, Remington asked, “Did the officer say what happened?”

“No, but Miss Holt told me that the furnace in the building next to hers exploded.  Half of her building collapsed, and the other half caught fire from the explosion and the broken gas lines.”  The door man pointed to the newspaper Remington carried.  “The story made the front page of the Metro section.” 

“What time did she arrive?”

“Oh, I got off right after she came in, so maybe a quarter to ten?”

Covering the fact that all this was news to him, Remington replied, “Thanks, mate.  I didn’t get in until quite late, and I haven’t wanted to press her for answers.”

“Yes, sir.  Let me know if you need anything from me today.  I’ll be happy to help.”

Remington’s temper erupted the moment he stepped into the elevator.  What was Laura thinking to offer herself after such a terrible event?  She had to be devastated, losing her second home within three years.  Did she think he would insist on sharing a bed in these circumstances given the state of their relationship? 

While she slept on, he found her ash-streaked pajamas stuffed in his kitchen waste basket.  A glance at the paper showed a burning building and details echoing the doorman’s words.  “Bloody hell, Laura.  This isn’t the way it should be,” he muttered.  Still angry, he dashed off a note and taped it to the door before he left again. 

The familiar drive to Laura’s loft was a quick one on this Saturday morning, and he berated himself again for not cruising past her place last night.  Never sure exactly why he had the need to drive by her loft, he nevertheless had made a habit of it over the years.  He never stopped, only slowed long enough to note any lights in her windows--always feeling vaguely disappointed when they were dark.  He liked it best when she had only the bedroom light on; knowing that she had ensconced herself in bed with either a book or a stack of files.  In either case, he could envision her sitting cross-legged with her hair pulled back into a pony tail or leaning on her elbow idly reading.  The thoughts made him grimace in sadness as he made the right turn that would take him up to her street.

As he idled at the light to make the next left turn, the odor of ashes and smoke made him sneeze.  He scowled as he drove, the lights brightening and the smell growing stronger.  Just a block away from Laura’s loft, the police had set up a road block and waved him through a detour.  He steered away, parking the Auburn exactly one street over. 

He approached the building with his stomach clenched into a hard ball.  The left half of the building lay in ruins, most of it crumbled in unrecognizable lumps on the street.  The right half still had water trickling out the front door.  Every remaining window had shattered, with blackened streaks marking where fire had scorched each floor from the inside. 

A police officer approached him.  “Do you have friends or family in the building?”

He stared at the area where Laura’s loft had been, wondering how she’d come out alive.  Absently, he replied, “My partner.” 

 This was L.A.  He should have known better.  The officer tried to look compassionate but only partially succeeded.  “What’s his name?”

Remington shook his head.  “He?” he asked in confusion.   “Bloody hell.  She’s a detective.  Remington Steele Investigations.  Laura Holt is my partner.”

“You’re Remington Steele?”  The officer checked his clipboard.

His eyes traveled across the building as he answered, “Aye.”

 “She went to your place last night.  Is she all right?”

Good question.  “Ah, yes, she’s as well as to be expected.”  Two houses now.  They say lightning never strikes twice.   Remington chewed on his thumbnail, then caught himself and found a toothpick in his pocket.  “Is there anything left?  Her car at least?”

The officer shook his head.  “No, I don’t think so, but you’re welcome to take a look.  Just don’t try to go inside.  It’s not stable, and the firemen haven’t finished their investigation.” 

The Rabbit was little more than a burned out husk along with the other cars in the parking lot.  From this side though, he could see that Laura must have escaped through the front door and down the stairs.  Her whole bedroom and kitchen had been blown out, leaving a narrow part of the living room still standing.  Ice skittered down his spine as he realized how close he’d come to losing her entirely. 

Abruptly, he realized Laura must have had the same reaction.  Anger drained away as he understood why she’d come to his bed last night at long last. 

 

*****

 

Laura stumbled out of bed wondering what she’d done.  Remington was sure to be angry when she told him.  He wouldn’t like thinking he’d taken advantage of her.  But he hadn’t.  She’d needed him--needed to be with him in a most fundamental way.  

Last night, the officer has asked her if she had a place to go.  She’d automatically answered, “Yes.”  Until she had settled in Mr. Steele’s bed to watch television, feeling comforted in spite of his absence, the thought that she could have gone to her sister’s hadn’t crossed her mind.  

As she fastened the buttons on the shirt she’d borrowed, the memory of this morning made her blush.  She’d awakened to find him doing the most marvelous things to her body.  He’d caressed her until she’d fallen asleep again with her face pressed against his skin. 

She wanted to brush her teeth but had to settle for rinsing with the green mouthwash she found in Remington’s cabinet.  After finger-combing her hair, she went looking for Mr. Steele.  She found a note taped to the front door instead. 

L-- Gone to pick up a few things.  Don’t dare think of leaving.  --R. 

As if she could.  Without credit cards or a purse, she didn’t like the feeling of being completely dependent on him.  At the moment, she didn’t even own a pair of underwear.  The thought started to make her laugh.  But in the midst of her chuckle, she choked on a sob instead.  Refusing to give into tears, she hugged herself in the middle of the living room until she had her composure again.  Behind her, the door opened and closed. 

Remington dropped an armful of bags to the floor and opened his arms to her.  Laura was sure of his shock when she walked straight into them.   

“Oh Laura.  You’re all right.  I saw … I saw.”  Without further thought, he sat and pulled her into his arms.  She shuddered but only rested her head on his shoulder. 

“How--” Her voice came out in a rasp, and she had to clear her throat to try again.  “How did you know?” 

“Doorman.” 

She surprised him by placing her arms around his neck, unabashedly taking comfort from him.  In a throaty voice, she asked, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Start over from nothing again and again.” 

“Laura--”

“I need you to tell me,” she insisted, pushing away as she began to pace the room.  “Tell me how to walk away from everything you love and start over without it hurting so much.”  Her voice broke on a sob once more, but she ruthlessly forced it down. 

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?  You did it for years.  Just walk away when things get too difficult.  Now tell me,” she insisted in a near shout, “how to leave it all behind.  I can’t--I can’t do this again.” 

“Laura.” He grabbed for her hand and held on.  “They’re only things.  You’ve still got the agency--your living hasn’t been touched.  You damned well have me, and you know it.”  Drawing her to him again, he buried his head in her hair.  “I don’t know how you got out alive, much less without a mark on you.”

“I was playing the piano when everything exploded,” she said softly.  “If I’d been in bed, I wouldn’t be here.”  She shrugged and dropped her head on his shoulder again.  “The fire started burning.  I could hear people yelling for everyone to get out.  It’s all gone, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Laura, it’s gone.”

“I seem to be making a habit of this.”

“I don’t recall sharing a bed with you last time.” 

“You turned me down, I think.”

“I didn’t ask.  Why didn’t you tell me last night, Laura?”

She didn’t answer right away, but she didn’t pull away from him either. Her answer came in a low voice.  “I wanted you.”

“Why now?”

 “Suddenly all the reasons for not being with you seemed silly.”  Laura closed her eyes, hoping she hadn’t made an enormous mistake. 

But Remington only hugged a little tighter.  “I thought as much.”  He patted her hand as he got up from the sofa.  “Now let’s see how I did at the store for you.”

“What do you mean?” 

He dumped the bags in her lap.  “I thought you might need a few things before we began dealing with the insurance company and all that.” 

Laura dug through, coming up with lacy underwear and a bra, a pair of jeans and two different shirts--one heavier and one lighter.  “Where did you get these?”

“I lifted them off an old lady’s clothesline a few blocks over.” 

His quip made her laugh.  “Remington!” 

“Ah, Target, I think.  It’s nothing fancy, certainly not what you prefer, but we can get whatever you need later today.” 

From another bag, she pulled out a toothbrush, hair brush, bands for a pony tail and several other toiletries.  In astonishment she could only sit with the pile on her lap and stare at him. 

“Go freshen up, love, while I make breakfast.” 

Staggered by his thoughtfulness, she did just that. 

 

* * * * *

 

A week later, Remington had discovered a whole different kind of torture.  While Laura blew about in a whirlwind of activity as she handled the intricacies of the insurance claim, they shared a bed every single night.  He had thought that intimate relations with his delightful partner would satisfy his craving for her. 

For the first four days, he thought the way she made love had to do with needing to stay in control of some small aspect of her life, but now he wondered how much deeper the issue really went. 

Laura pleasured him.  That was the only description that fit.  She seemed to have found every secret of his and exploited it until he shouted his release.  Her abilities rivaled that of the courtesan who’d taught him the finer aspects of seduction as a young man.  But she only let him touch her until her own passion began to rise, then she firmly reined herself in while leading him to the finish line.

 The one and only time she’d given herself over to him had been that first morning he’d made love to her as she woke.  She’d been horrified at the marks she’d left on his shoulders and had taken care not to do it again.  Despite his best efforts, Laura hadn’t climaxed again--although she appeared to enjoy their time together.  For someone who considered himself well-versed in the bedroom, the situation was simply unacceptable. 

Dusting off abilities gone unused in half a decade, Remington set the scene in the dining room while Laura wrapped up a conversation with the insurance adjuster. 

 

*****

 

Laura hung up the telephone in the living room, having been assured that she would be paid enough money by Monday that she could begin hunting for a new place to live. 

The thought of not staying here bothered her more that she liked.  Perhaps though, it was for the best.  It seemed that she and Remington were destined to be good friends, not great lovers. 

Each night she’d tried harder to give him exquisite pleasure, but each morning she could see the disappointment in his blue eyes.  She should have known she couldn’t match him in bed.  Wilson had constantly complained about her “enthusiasm.”  Remington seemed to like what she did but somehow their lovemaking lacked the passion of their everyday relationship. 

Pasting a smile on her face, Laura turned to find Remington lighting candles on the table.  The smile became real.  He held out a chair.  After she sat, he grazed lips along the back of her neck, sending a shiver through her.  Kisses had never been a problem. 

The herbed chicken melted in her mouth.  In a single week, Laura had become outrageously spoiled on his cooking. 

“Remington, I think I’ve gained three pounds already this week.  I can’t resist anything you make.” 

“Of course you haven’t.  We’ve burned it off in the bedroom, remember?”

She flushed.  “If you say so.”

He took her hand and kissed it with a flourish.  “I do.”  Then he turned it over and nipped at her wrist, grazing his teeth along her pulse point.  She nearly knocked over her wine glass as she reached for it with her free hand.  Remington merely smiled and released her. 

Three bites later, he picked up her hand again and began stroking it while she gave him the rundown on the conversation she’d had with the insurance company. 

“I guess I can start looking for a place to live next week.”

His thumb circled her palm, and her hand closed in response.  “Why?”

Laura sat up straight.  “I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?  Haven’t I given over enough closet space?”

She didn’t want to admit they had a problem in the bedroom.  She wasn’t sure she could stand to see his disappointment one more time.  “I--I can’t.”

“May I ask something of you, Laura?” 

Automatically, she nodded as he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into the center of her palm. 

“Give us another week.  Next Sunday, if you aren’t comfortable staying with me, I won’t ask again.”

 She snapped her head up to meet his eyes.  In them, she saw a promise that had nothing to do with what he’d just said and everything to do with making things right between them.  “All right.” 

He flashed a grin and speared another bite of chicken.

“Wait a minute--am I agreeing to live with you?  Assuming--” Laura’s mouth dropped open.

“I think you did,” he said happily.

Laura shoved her chair back from the table and stalked away.  “You conniving con artist!” 

In a flash, he was on his feet after her.  “Oh, no, you don’t.”  He clutched her wrist to spin her around to him.  “You didn’t agree to anything you don’t want to happen.  You like living with me.”

“Yes, but--”

His mouth hovered over hers, so close she could feel his breath as he spoke, “But what, Laura?”

She shook her head.  He touched her chin with a single finger and kissed her.  If only making love could be as incredible …

“Still hungry?” he asked.

 

After dinner, Remington convinced Laura to watch a movie with him.  She liked stretching out on the bed and taking in whatever film he’d picked out. Tonight it was Now, Voyager starring Bette Davis (1942, Warner Bros.).  She wasn’t sure where he’d found it on VHS, but he promised she would like the romance.

 Instead of settling in behind her as he usually did, he picked up her feet and began rubbing them.  She moaned. 

“That feels divine.” 

“Strip and I’ll work you over.” 

She shot him a look over her shoulder.  “Promise?” 

He tugged off his shirt on the way to the bathroom, returning with a bottle of massage lotion and wearing only a pair of loose pajama pants in his favorite dark blue.  Laura’s heart thumped faster.  For sheer physical beauty, his was hard to top.  But no matter how handsome, if he’d been an arrogant creep, none of it would matter.  As it was, she found the whole package impossible to resist--though she’d tried mightily over the years.

He arched a brow, challenging her.  “I thought I told you to strip.”

Scrambling off the bed, she shed her clothes as he laid a towel across the bed for her to lie on.  Laura didn’t have any illusions that this massage wouldn’t end with sex.  She had to consciously relax her body so not to give away her anxiety. 

Remington started with her feet again, sliding his hands over her calves and back again.  Laura tried to pay attention to Bette Davis’ clever dialogue.  After nearly half an hour, she had to admit that his massage was surprisingly asexual.  He’d moved to her back and neck.  Not a single pinky strayed to create tension anywhere.  She found herself relaxing in spite of herself.  By the time he nudged her to lie on her back, she stretched out with one arm overhead as she kept an eye on the movie.  She hadn’t forgotten she was nude; it just seemed unimportant at the moment.

He lay beside her, creating warmth down one whole side of her body.  One hand echoed the long strokes he used in his massage as it traveled from her shoulder to her waist and hip.  She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch.  Her mind began to drift.  Fantasies she’d long entertained began surfacing.  Remington didn’t change his stroking, but the sensation became something erotic.  She bit her lip to stop her restless movement. 

But Remington only moved his hand to stroke her bottom lip, releasing it from between her teeth.  She turned her head to press a kiss into his palm.  He cupped her cheek before trailing fingers down the length of her body again, this time with a firm, comforting pressure that she’d come to associate as his way of settling her nerves.  It worked. 

Laura turned her head toward Remington, enjoying his clean, dark scent and the soft hair that tickled her cheek.  The heat of his body against hers fired her imagination again.  His stroking didn’t change, but the images she saw in her head had her twitching again.  She didn’t realize how far into her daydream she’d descended until Remington closed his mouth over her taut breast at the same time he feathered his fingers down her stomach to find the slippery knot of nerves below.  Discovering she was wet from her fantasies alone made her blush. 

She opened her eyes instantly, only to close them again as he nipped her breast and slid two fingers deep inside while his thumb flicked the tight knot of flesh.  She tried to push him away, but strength failed her.  What he was doing felt too good to stop.  Still, she struggled to sit up. 

“Laura?”  Her eyes found his.  “I like watching you become aroused.  Your skin pinks and your freckles stand out.”  She stilled, listening while his hand did magical things to her insides.  “Your brow dampens with sweat.”  He smiled down at her.  “I don’t know what you were thinking about, but your nipples tightened into peaks while I watched.  What were you thinking, Laura?”

“A-about you.” 

“What was I doing?”

“This,” she admitted.

“Good.”  He circled her nipple again while he shifted his thumb to made identical circles around her nub.  The dual sensation drugged Laura’s brain.  Involuntarily, she parted her legs, giving him better access.  With his breath hot on her breast, he coaxed, “I can feel your body opening up to mine, wanting more and drawing my hand inside.  My hand is wet from you.  I like it, Laura.” 

She arched her back, and he mimicked the motion of his body in hers, thrusting hard.  She fought the sensation, trying to make it stop. 

“Let go, Laura,” he ordered.

“I can’t.  I can’t,” she chanted.

“Yes, love, you can,” he said before suckling a breast once more.  His lips surrounded and his tongue drew in her nipple, tugging deliciously in time to his thrusts and the swirling of his thumb.

 Heat lightning streaked from her breasts to her core.  She arched her back as shocks began making their way to her center.  Wildly, she grabbed his head with one hand, his back and neck with the other.  One last time she begged, “I can’t do this.”  Then she screamed as her climax ripped through her.  Remington didn’t hesitate.  He took possession of her core with his mouth.  Heat flooded her center.  She could hardly breathe when he closed his lips over her knot.  Again, he took her to the edge, fought with her as she tried to hold on, then sent her over with another scream.   

Desperate for more, she yanked at his sweatpants until he shoved them off.  His arousal pulsed in time with her heartbeat.  She started to touch when he growled, “Not this time.” 

Dragging her upward until she straddled him, he took possession of her in one full-bodied thrust.  And then another and another as Laura merely held on for the ride.  He leaned up to take a rosy peak into his mouth.  The harder she rode, the more he suckled until she gasped for air. 

He pulled his head away and stayed buried deeply inside her for a moment.  She looked down, wondering what she’d done wrong.  The intensity in his dark blue eyes had her fighting to bring her body under her command again.  But he shattered whatever resistance she summoned. 

 “I love you, Laura.”  

She stilled, suspended in time.  Then she echoed, “I’ve always loved you, Remington.” 

He broke, burying himself so deeply within her with such forceful thrusts that she could only hold on as she did the same. 

They collapsed as they were, still joined, flesh to flesh, with hands buried in hair, hearts and lungs working in unison.  Only when the movie stopped, leaving static on the television, did they separate.  Laura had to peel herself off Remington.  He laughed as she wrinkled her nose in distress. 

He rolled off the bed in a smooth motion.  A quick check in the bedroom mirror revealed dozens of red streaks on his shoulders and back.  He grinned at his reflection.

Laura moaned.  She hadn’t noticed how she’d marked him.  “I’m s--sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I should have watched what I was doing.”

Taken aback, Remington arched a brow.  “Hurt?  Laura, I think you’re quite mistaken.  Think of it as counting coup.  The more the better.”  He leaned down to touch his lips to hers, but she turned away, embarrassed.

He tilted her chin to him.  “Who was it, Laura?”

“Who was who?” she replied woodenly.

“Who was it that tried to teach you that lovemaking was supposed to be rigid and neat all the time?” 

She flinched and looked away. 

Remington sat down beside her.  “No, don’t hide from me.  I love what you can do to me, Laura.  But I also love doing those things to you.  And if that makes you scream or moan, get my sheets wet, my back scratched and my shoulders bitten, then it’s all to the better because I know that I’ve given you exquisite pleasure.” 

Shocked, Laura stumbled out of bed, gathering the towel from the floor and wrapping it around her.  She escaped to the kitchen.  To keep her hands busy, she made tea.  Remington was right, of course.  Until this moment, she hadn’t realized just how much Wilson had twisted her thinking with his constant complaints about her passionate nature. 

She jumped when Remington laid a silk dressing gown over her shoulders.  He drew the towel away, laying it on the counter while she poked her arms through the sleeves.  He tied the sash for her and covered it with his arm around her waist.

 “Tell me,” he said in her ear. 

Sighing, she answered, “Wilson.”

His arm tightened.   “The bloody prick.”  The frank outrage gave her instant satisfaction.  “Why ever did you give him the time of day?”

“I loved him.”  She shook her head.  “At least I thought I did.  At the time, I assumed being in love meant doing what he wanted.”

“Too damned passionate, too sensual, too outrageous--all the qualities I adore in you.  I’ll lay odds he had a fit.”  She shrugged, not wanting to castigate Wilson even though she utterly agreed with Remington.  “Or he couldn’t keep up,” he added. 

Giving in, she laughed. 

“Now, I do have to ask—although I might not like the answer--how did you learn all those things you do to me?”

She played with the ends of her hair.  “I read a lot of inappropriate books.”

“You must have nearly killed the next bloke.”

“You’re still standing.” 

“Me?”  His eyes widened.  “You thought you’d disappoint me?”

She stared at her feet.   “Maybe.”

“Laura--” he cajoled.

She hated having to be this honest.  “I loved Wilson.  But it doesn’t compare to … what I feel for you.”  She picked at her nails.  “I can’t stand the idea of not being your equal.”  She looked up to see his expression.  It was a little baffled. 

“Laura, you’ve led me on a bloody, convoluted chase all these years.  Do you think if you weren’t my equal you’d have been able to pull that off?” 

She shrugged, but he squeezed her waist.  

“Christ, Laura.  I’ve said it before.  Wilson is a bloody prick and an idiot to boot.  Men have killed to have a woman make love to them with abandonment.  I’ve seen men at the poker table strip off a shirt to show off a particular set of scratches as proof of their prowess.”

“Would you?”  She tried to make a joke. 

“Damn right, if Murphy were here.”

Laura choked on her laughter as she turned in his embrace.  “He’s been gone for three years, and you still see him as a rival?”

“I do when he checks twice a month to make certain I haven’t run off and abandoned you.” 

“As if you would,” she said without thinking. 

A smile stretched across Remington’s face.  “Exactly, Laura.  Now--” He slipped the knot of the sash free, exposing her body once more.  “Since you’ve had a week to demonstrate your skills, I believe it’s my turn.”  He lifted her in his arms.  “If the neighbors don’t call in with a complaint by morning, I haven’t done my job.”

 

21 April 2011