Special shout out to Warrior Princess, who wisely mentioned to me that Dodge Chargers didn't have a back buck seat. She is amazing for pointing that out. Totally my bad on this one.
A short chapter this time, and Remy is only a tiny bit sexist in the beginning. This one runs parallel to Flying South so you may want to read it for reference.
Domestic Bliss
Chapter 3 - Snow Birds
I loosen the tie at my neck. These Guild events are getting a bit ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, my Guild and I love to party, and the celebrations will continue well into the wee hours of the morning, but that doesn't mean I'm going to enjoy wearing a tie.
Heaven knows why on earth Jean Luc instituted the formal dress code a while back.
Well, actually… I look around at the restaurant we've booked for the party, and seeing the general drunkenness, I guess I get it. We look good even if we're wasted (I look good at all times, though).
I grab my coat off the rack and I hear Emil call out my name (albeit, a drunk slurred version of it). Waving the package of cigarettes at him that I just removed from my coat pocket, he nods and takes another drink from one of the scantily clad cocktail waitresses.
I take a moment to admire the view as the waitress bends downward and places two more drinks on the table near some other members of my extended family. Whoever came up with that uniform was a genius. I watch the tight little black hot pants ride up slightly over her red fishnets before she straightens her stance. She turns towards me and catches my eye. I wink at her and smirk before making my way to the door.
She's got a nice body, and she's brunette.
I love brunettes.
I hurry outside before anyone else can catch me. After the next round of shots, they won't even notice I'm gone.
I may or may not have a long day a head of me tomorrow… haven't decided yet.
I have a room in the Guild Mansion on the outskirts of New Orleans, but I also keep a smaller apartment in the heart of the city. It's helpful for a number of reasons, including walking distance from the bars. I start walking in that direction, having made the smart choice to not drive. I'm assuming its because its Christmas Eve, but there's barely anyone else on the street.
Heading towards my place, I pass my favorite bar. It's an unfortunate consequence of my night that I haven't had a lot to drink. I could do with one more before I make it back.
I'm not gonna lie, I'm expecting the place to be empty. I mean, who visits a bar on Christmas Eve? I shrug to myself and reach for the door handle, letting myself in.
Shit.
Surprise doesn't even start to cover it. It doesn't matter that I've just walked in and that she's at the complete other end of the bar. I'd know those white stripes anywhere.
I'd know that perfect 10 body anywhere.
Mon Dieu.
It doesn't even matter that she's looking down at her phone, she's bringing a glass up to her lips. Those lips make me hunger for them as they meet the glass edge of her champagne flute.
Hot damn.
I can feel my nerve endings come alive as my heart rate picks up just from looking at her.
Who, you ask? Anna Marie Howlett. If you don't recognize that name, you might know her by Rogue.
What is she to me?
Well, ex-girlfriend doesn't explain the half of it. I'll just leave it at this: she's the best I've ever had.
In every way.
In every thing.
I can't tell you the last time I saw her. It's been a while - at least a year - but she still looks so good. Her hair is done up in some sexy kind of pony tail and those white streaks are framing her face and looking as good as I'd ever seen it.
I'm trying to make my mind up what to do - and trust me, it's pretty difficult because I think I'm thinking with a very different head. She hasn't even noticed me, sitting at the bar and staring at her phone. I sit down at the stool next to her, before I notice that I'm walking that way.
Rogue, being Rogue, doesn't even look my way as I brush my arm against hers. That's who she is though. If she doesn't want to give you the time of day, she won't, and there's nothing you can do to change that.
She is one stubborn son of a bitch, and I love her for it.
I know she wants me though. If the things she let me do to her a year ago are any indication, then she most definitely wants me.
And good for her, because tonight, I plan on letting her have me.
I promise you this right now: that woman is not going to be able to walk when I'm done with her.
I reach for her drink, watching her turn towards me with a look of outrage on her face.
I finish the drink and motion to the barkeep for two more.
It takes no time at all for that look to morph into a smile, even though I know she's trying to fight it.
The quick grin on her face just about stops my heart.
Shit.
"Well, well, well," I can't seem to look away, and my eyes find themselves focused on her lips. Knowing what those lips are good for, I have a brief thought of her on her knees. I hold back a smirk as I notice her lean towards my body slightly as I start to speak to her. Oh, she wants this all right.
I reach out, my gloves still on, and tuck that tempting little white streak behind one ear, "Wat do we have 'ere? Un little sno bird, flyin' sout fo de winter?"
She's as beautiful as ever, and happy to see me which is definite plus. I ignore it, but for a second I can feel my heart ache at the thought that I once let her go. My mind wants to question if choosing Louisiana over her was the right thing to do, but I push that thought away.
It would be inappropriate to ask, but at this moment, I want everything from her.
She's smiling and I see her look over my body. In turn, I do the same. I let my eyes roam over her curves, her breasts, her bare hands. Everything about her is wrapped up into this sexy little package - a sexy little package that I want to unwrap with my teeth.
It takes me back, years ago, right after her sophomore year of college. When I got to feel her bare skin for the first time.
I see her start to shrug out of her coat, and of course I move behind her body to help. I am not missing any opportunity to touch her. It's been a year and my fingers are itching to touch her skin, her body. I can't deny myself that. My hands can feel her body heat in the leather and I want it to burn itself into my skin.
I settled for taking her back to my place, and it was just like old times. Sex with her is as perfect as I can imagine, but so much better than anyone else I've been with.
I forgot what she does to me, how she makes me want her so badly that I can't even think, how the curves and cuts in her body are so beautiful that I can barely remember my name.
I don't know what it is, but I just can't help myself around that little vixen.
She's laughing and smiling and it takes me back to the past we used to share. I know you're wondering how two people who weren't 'together' were able to fall back into something from a long time ago? Well, I think Roguey and me never fell out of anything.
That's not to say that I didn't see other people. Because I did, sometimes two or three at a time. I love women and there's no way I was willing to give up that vice, especially not with me in Louisiana and Rogue in New York.
Not that I didn't think of her when we were apart, I did. Mostly when I was in hotel rooms for work with time and energy to burn, and I found myself jerking off with leather gloves on trying to remember our early days together.
That's when you know you have a problem, right? When your actual fantasies aren't as good as the real thing? When the girl you want is so right for you that you can't even imagine an 'improved' version?
Yeah, I knew I had a problem and it was months before that little Christmas meeting.
I guess, when it comes to Rogue, I was never able to fully get her out of my system.
We spend most of the night reacquainting ourselves with each other's bodies. Hers is still deceptively soft, all that smooth skin hiding her strong muscles.
Morning comes, and I make her breakfast, in the same way I used to. I can hear the shower running while I flip pancakes on the griddle.
I plate the food and looking down at it, I can only think of one thing . . .
I can't live without her.
I can't let her leave.
