A/N: NC-17 content ahead. If you are under 18 or uncomfortable with such content, please wait until the story is complete and read the final chapter. ~ RSteele82
Chapter 9: Her Dreams
Laura stilled at the words, searching Remington's eyes with hers. The need still resided there, but now there was something new: a plea she knew he'd never voice. Not because he couldn't, but because he wouldn't. He'd never press her for more than she was willing to give. She didn't even realize that she nodded in the second before she pressed up on her knees, turned around, then straddled his lap. Drawing her fingers through his hair, she leaned in to kiss him, her fingers caressing behind his ears, soft as a light breeze. He drew in a sharp breath as their lips made contact, froze, then wrapped an arm around her, lifting the other hand to stroke her neck.
"Lose the shirt…" she whispered, then raising her eyes to his, gave him one of the most precious gifts she had to bestow, "…Remington." He closed his eyes, briefly, as a shudder raced through his body, the simple, unadulterated joy of hearing the name pass her lips, the name he'd tried for three years to earn. He reached for the buttons on his shirt, as she leaned in to kiss him again.
"I dream of your eyes," she told him, pressing a kiss on first one, then the other, "How they change color with your clothes," she scattered kisses along his brow, "With your emotions… How they look at me." She drew her fingers through his hair again, while leaning in to kiss him. "I dream of your hair, how it feels sliding through my fingers," she moved away slightly to brush back to the lock of hair on his forehead, "Of how this lock of hair never stays in place," she trailed kisses over his forehead, as he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it aside, "Making you less perfect," she frowned, almost baffled by how it was, then added, "…but somehow even more appealing." She sat back in his lap, took one of his hands in hers and traced finger of her other hand over his palm, his fingers. "Your hands. How… gentle," she nodded as if confirming the thought, "they are." Closing her eyes, she drew in a breath, then opening them, caught his gaze. "Of how it would feel to have them, touching me," she breathed, then lay the hand over her breast. The feel of him cupping its sleight weight left her breathless, as a jolt shot through her body to her very core. Instinctively, she ground her hips against him, ripping a moan from his throat, his free hand reaching out to clutch a slim hip as he fought hard for control. With a nip at her lip, she settled her hips so that she nestled against his hardness.
"What else?" he rasped. "What else do you dream of, Laura?" She kissed him again, then nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.
"How you smell… rich, woodsy," she pressed her lips against his neck, then shifted against erection, pulling another groan from his throat, as she strung kisses and little nips up his neck. "Of your bare skin beneath my hands," she pulled the lobe of his ear into her mouth, to suckle it, "Of my bare skin, beneath yours," she whispered next to his ear, then blew on the wetness, sending chills skittering down his spine. It took a great deal of thought to recognize her invitation, and when he did, his hands moved to free one of her arms, then the other, from the straps of her teddy, before he eased it down her slim frame. Their bodies quaked in unison when his fingers teased the nipple of a bare breast as her hands skimmed over his shoulder, then turned to trek downwards.
She'd forgotten. After more than a year of Wilson's own inhibitions – 'not there', 'don't do that' – she'd simply forgotten the joys of exploring a man's body freely… of leaving him gasping, his hands clutching at her, the oaths muttered as she nursed every bit of pleasure out his body that she could. Remington left nothing to guess work, having absolutely no reticence about letting her know what every touch of her hands, her mouth did to him. His responsiveness only served to fuel her own desire. When she dared to bend forward, to flick the tip of her tongue against his nipple, a heartfelt
"My God, Laura," was torn from his throat.
His hands urged her upwards on her knees, so he might capture a puckered peek in his mouth, as his hands unsnapped, unzipped her khaki's so they could slip beneath the teddy to knead the rounded cheeks of her bottom unimpeded. With a moan of her own, she weaved her fingers through his hair, and clutching at his head, urged it upward, away from her breast. He released her nipple with a soft 'pop', then seized her lips with his own.
"Laura," he mumbled around her lips. Her fingers stopped behind his ears to caress, to tease.
"I want you," she murmured in turn, soothing her hands down his neck, over his shoulders, then raking her nails lightly down his back.
"My bed," he insisted hoarsely, urgently, kissing her a final time before standing. Leaning down he swept her up into his arms. "I want you in my bed," he repeated, gruffly, hungrily exchanging kisses with her as he carried her from the room.