"Can't think straight." He laughed shakily, his hands sliding down to grip my hips, his thumbs tracing circles against the fabric of my dress. "Can't remember why we're in public instead of somewhere private." His voice dropped lower, rough with desire. "Can't remember my own name when you look at me like that." He added, his gaze dropping to my mouth like he couldn't help himself.
"Then stop thinking." I pulled him back down by the collar of his shirt, kissing him again, slower this time, deeper, my teeth catching his bottom lip in a way that made him groan. His tongue swept against mine and I moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the music and the crowd and the pounding of my own heart.
We were barely dancing anymore—just swaying together in the middle of the floor, bodies pressed close, hands wandering. His palm slid down my spine to settle at the small of my back, fingertips brushing the curve where my dress dipped low. I arched into the touch, pressing closer, feeling the hard evidence of his arousal against my hip.
"We should—" He started, pulling back with visible effort, a groan rumbling in his chest, his pupils blown wide and his chest heaving as he fought for control.
"Yeah." I agreed breathlessly, my lips swollen and tingling, my whole body aching with want, not even sure what I wasagreeing to, just knowing I needed more of him, more of this, more of everything.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd, weaving between dancing couples and groups of drinkers until we burst through a side door into the cool night air. The parking lot was dark, lit only by a single streetlight at the far end, and Remy pressed me against the wall of the building before I could catch my breath.
"Tell me to stop." He said, his voice strained, his hands braced on either side of my head, his body close but not touching. "Tell me this is too fast and I'll stop. I swear I'll stop." His golden eyes searched mine, desperate and wanting and terrified all at once.
"Don't stop." I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him against me, gasping at the full-body contact, at the heat of him pressed along every inch of me. "Don't you dare stop." I commanded.
He kissed me again, harder this time, his hands finally moving—sliding down my sides, gripping my hips, lifting me until my legs wrapped around his waist and my back was pressed against the rough brick wall. I moaned at the new angle, at the pressure of him between my thighs, at the way his mouth moved down my jaw to my neck.
"So beautiful." He murmured against my throat, his lips finding my pulse point, sucking gently until I gasped. "So perfect. Been thinking about this for weeks." His teeth scraped against my skin, not quite biting, just teasing. "Thinking about you. The way you smell." He inhaled deeply, his nose tracing the line of my throat to my shoulder. "Like apple cider and something sweeter." The last word came out possessive, almost a growl.
"Remy." His name came out broken, a desperate plea, my nails dragging down his back through his shirt, my whole bodyarching toward him, trying to pull him closer even though there was no closer left to get. His hand slid up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare skin that made me shiver. I could feel the roughness of his calluses—from guitar strings, I realized distantly, from years of playing music—and something about that made me want him even more.
"I want—" He started, his voice a low rasp against my skin, his hand climbing higher up my thigh, his mouth hot and urgent against my collarbone.
"Yes." I didn't even let him finish, too far gone to care what he was asking for. "Whatever it is, yes." I pulled his face back up to mine, kissing him desperately, my hips rolling against his in a rhythm that had nothing to do with zydeco.
He groaned into my mouth, his hand sliding around to grip my thigh, holding me steady as he pressed closer, harder. The friction was maddening—too much and not enough all at once. I whimpered against his lips, the sound embarrassingly needy, and felt him shudder in response.
"We have to stop." He gasped, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his whole body shaking with the effort. "If we don't stop now, I'm going to take you right here against this wall, and you deserve better than that." His voice was wrecked, his eyes squeezed shut like he couldn't trust himself to look at me.
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I didn't care about deserving better, that I wanted him here, now, any way I could have him. But some small rational part of my brain—the part that hadn't completely short-circuited—knew he was right.
"Okay." I breathed, letting my legs slide down from his waist, feeling the loss of contact like a physical ache. "Okay. We stop." I agreed, even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to pull him back.
He stepped away, running both hands through his hair, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He looked wrecked—lips swollen, shirt untucked, hair wild from my fingers.
"You're going to kill me." He said, a slightly hysterical laugh escaping his throat, his golden eyes still dark with want as they traced over my disheveled appearance. "I'm going to die and it's going to be your fault and I'm going to enjoy every second of it." He declared, shaking his head like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
"Dramatic." I smiled despite myself, smoothing down my dress with trembling hands, trying to make myself look like I hadn't just been thoroughly ravished against a brick wall.
"You like it." He grinned back, some of his usual charm returning now that he wasn't actively trying not to combust. "Admit it. You like all my dramatic bullshit." He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle now, reverent.
"I like you." I corrected, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm, feeling him shiver at the contact. "All of you. Even the dramatic bullshit." I smiled up at him, watching his expression go soft and wondering.
"Artemis." He said her name like a prayer, like a promise, his free hand coming up to cup my face. "I'm going to fall for you. I'm probably already falling. I don't know how to do this—share you with Harper and Silas, be part of something bigger than just us—but I want to figure it out." His thumb traced my cheekbone, his golden eyes serious for once, no charm or deflection in sight. "I want to be worth it. Worth you." He finished quietly.
"You already are." I rose on my toes and kissed him softly, sweetly, a contrast to the desperate heat of before. "You always were. You just couldn't see it." I whispered against his lips.
We stood there for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. The music from inside theclub was muffled now, just a distant thump of bass and the wail of an accordion, and the night air was cool against my overheated skin.
"I should get you home." He finally said, though he made no move to step away. "Before I lose what's left of my self-control and do something we'll both regret." His voice was teasing, but I could hear the genuine struggle beneath it.
"Would we regret it?" I asked, tilting my head to study him, my fingers still laced through his, feeling the warmth of his palm against mine, genuinely curious about the answer.
"No." He admitted instantly, then laughed at his own honesty. "But I want to do this right. You're not just some girl I picked up at a bar. You're—" He paused, searching for words. "You're it, chere. You're the whole damn thing. I'm not going to rush this just because my body has other ideas." He explained, his jaw set with determination.
Something warm bloomed in my chest at his words—this man who everyone assumed was all surface, showing me the depth he kept hidden from the world.
"Take me home." I agreed, lacing my fingers through his. "But Remy?" I waited until his golden eyes met mine. "Thursday night. Pack meeting at my cabin. I have something I want to tell all three of you." I said, squeezing his hand.
