Filthy English

“Yes, love,” I murmured. “Lean up a little. Get closer to my mouth.” She arched into me, and I went for her tits, laving her nipples. Sucking. Biting.

We devoured each other, our bodies syncing together, knowing innately how to make the other feel good. Sweat dripped down my face and onto her skin.

She was the best sex I’d ever had. Always had been.

She yelped as she went over the edge, her muscles pulsating around me, legs locked around my hips as she spasmed.

I didn’t stop.

With my mouth deep over hers, I eased down the tree until I was lying on the grass and she straddled me. I tugged on her pearls, bringing her to my mouth. “Ride me.”

She sent me a heated look and took all of me, her eyes finding mine as we moved together.

Soft. Slow. Easy.

I cupped her face, my heart full. “I’ve dreamed about us for so long. I just didn’t know how to say it—didn’t know what it was.”

She leaned down and kissed me, her face radiating love. I ran my fingers down her spine. She was mine. Beautiful Remi.

“Here, let me,” I said eventually when she grew tired. I took over the hard work, my hands lifting her hips to get her where I wanted.

I hissed as I moved inside her, grinding my skin against hers, the top of my cock brushing against her clit.

“Dax . . .” she cried.

She was close.

With intense need driving me, I pulled her hair back, the arch of her neck a beacon as I latched onto it and sucked hard. Yes. This. Getting into a steady rhythm, I hammered into her ruthlessly, my mouth at her throat. I’d never get enough of her. Never.

The sounds of our sex, wild and rough, made me crazy. Sensation built in my spine, my strokes fast.

“Dax, yes, please,” she called, as if my name was a benediction. Her nails dug into my shoulders, tugging me closer, even though we couldn’t get any closer.

She screamed out her orgasm, her body clenching me. I told her I loved her, whispering it against her shoulder and came right after, yelling into the night. My heart pounded like a train. Fuck. Would it always be this crazy-hot with us? I suspected so.

Panting, I pushed hair out of her face. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” she murmured.

A few minutes later, I crawled around, found our clothes, and spread them out on the grass. I carried her over as if she were fragile, laid her down, and we held each other.

She cried quietly—happy tears—and I held her, my own emotion clawing at my chest.

My fingers idly traced her arm, and she traced the tattoo on my chest.

“This is the best night of my life,” I said later, softly, into her hair. “And we owe it all to fate.”

She grinned. “And tequila.”

I laughed. Tightening my arms around her, I pulled her until she was lying on top of me, her head on my chest.

She was my light, my breath. She was my Juliet.

Only we’d have a happy ending. I’d make sure of it.

WE WOKE THE next morning to the sun shining through the cracks of the thick, sweeping branches. It was our own private haven.

“Is everyone gone?” I whispered.

He eased away from me, stood, and stalked over to glimpse between the foliage. I bit my lip at the red marks on his broad shoulders and muscled back. His perfect ass.

How would I ever get used to such a man?

I grinned to myself. I’d come up with a few ways . . .

He turned, saw my smile, and smiled back.

He loved me.

He wanted us.

“I see a few cars and a couple of people are still here watching the fire burn down.”

“I guess Lulu left?”

“Why? You’re leaving here with me.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know, but I just want to check on her.”

He peeked out again and turned back to me. “Don’t see her truck . . . which reminds me . . . let me get dressed and run to my car. I’ve got something for you.”

What?

He’d done so much for me. Rescuing me in London, fake-marrying me to make me laugh, letting me live with him when he knew it was a horrible idea, the bracelet.

“Okay, but be fast. I’m feeling lonely.” I wiggled my eyebrows at him and he chuckled.

“Woman, my back and arse are so bloody right now, the next time I take you, it will be in a soft bed with no rocks or trees.” His lips tipped up in a cocky grin. “But if you insist, I wouldn’t say no . . .”

I shooed him and he pulled on his clothes and shoes, stepped out from the heavy leaves, and took off at a run. Getting to his car, he pulled out a bag and dashed back to me.

He entered the area under the tree, threw down the bag, and pulled out a Front Street Gym shirt and a pair of slick athletic shorts. “Put this on.”

My brow wrinkled. “Why? I have my dress.”

“You really want me to get pissed off when you put that dress back on and march in front of my brothers?”

Heat went through me. Yes?

I saw his point; I’d only done it to get his attention and obviously it had worked.

“Put on my clothes,” he murmured softly, his eyes vulnerable yet coupled with his domineering attitude.

He helped me pull the shirt on, and thank goodness the shorts had a drawstring so I could cinch them.

“I look homeless.”

“You have a home. Mine.” He pulled my pearls out to rest against my chest.

I sighed, brushing his tousled hair off his face. “Tell me how you came to know you loved me?”