Page 22 of Win You Over

This area, much like the den at his house, sits in the villa’s basement. Once again, tastefully decorated by his mother, with dolphins and starfish replacing the lions.

We round the treadmills, coming to stand on a foam black mat that covers much of the floor in this section of the basement. I spy yoga mats and resistance bands and a punching bag secured to the ceiling.

Remington throws his towel over the side of the treadmill, then punches me on the arm.

“What the fuck?” I ask, turning my body fully towards him.

“Fight me, Booker,” he suggests, spreading his legs and bouncing on his heels, his body poised for a fight. He lunges at me and I sidestep, moving further onto the foam mat.

“I’m not fighting you!” I remark.

“Why? Scared of losing?” He smirks, and I grit my teeth.

“Fine. Bring it, Langford.”

Remington advances closer and I lift my hands in front of my face, punching out as he steps forward. He blocks me, lifting his hands to mirror my position.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunts, hopping from side to side.

I launch myself forward, punching him hard in the ribs.

He lets out an oomph, retreating, and I follow, punching him again, this time getting him in the jaw, before spinning and landing a foot to his kneecap.

His leg buckles, but his balance is on point and he rectifies himself before I have the chance to bring him to the ground.

Remington advances forward, getting his arms around my shoulders, and I punch him repeatedly, using less force than I would in an actual fight.

When he swoops his leg behind me, lifting my foot off the ground, he uses his full weight to unsteady me and we both crash to the floor, him on top of me.

The move steals my breath, and in the fleeting moment it takes me to catch it, Remington pushes up on his arms, one hand on either side of my head.

A diluted sense of panic washes over me before I remind myself that I’m safe.

He is safe. But the fight is not over. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, buck my hips and flip us.

He tries to resist, but I have the upper hand, his back hitting the mat as I splay my body over his.

“Fucker,” he says on a ragged breath. Remington tries to copy my move, bucking his hips while his arms grapple for purchase.

The way his fingers dig into the flesh of my lower back and the movement of his body beneath mine has my cock thickening behind my shorts, taking me by surprise.

I’ve never gotten hard fighting anyone before, let alone Remington.

I have no time to consider what any of this means before his eyes widen, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

There is no doubt in my mind that he can feel how hard I am.

Mortified is an understatement as I try to shimmy out of his hold, my cock appreciating the friction far too much.

“Stop moving, Holden,” Remington commands, his voice thick like molasses. I stop, looking down at him. Both of us are breathing heavily, his naked chest is slick with sweat and is rising and falling with each stuttered breath. His eyes are hooded, his pupils dilating as he squeezes my sides.

I whimper when he rotates his hips, then I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath.

“Look at me,” he commands. When I don’t open my eyes, he moves his hips again, holding my body tighter and sending zaps of electricity through me. My lips part on a groan and I lift my lids, taking in the hunger in his emerald blue eyes.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, and my head is moving to signal no before the question is fully out. He grins wickedly.

“Move your hips, baby.”

Baby . The word plays on a loop in mind as I do as he says, grinding my lower body against his.

Our eyes stay locked together and my heart bangs wildly against my ribcage, a gentle pressure starting in my groin, heat radiating to every corner of my body.

“I’m going to roll us over, okay?” he asks, his eyes dark with need.

I nod again and he slides his hands up my back, shifts his legs and, in one swift move, rolls us until I’m under him. Instinctively, I grab his shoulders, his skin hot and clammy in my hold. Remington’s hands land next to my ears, and he dips his head, bringing his face closer to mine.

“Holden?” he whispers, his breath warm on my skin, brushing my parted lips. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Butterflies and a thousand wild birds take flight in my stomach.

One nod is all it takes, and he crashes his mouth to mine, his hands finding my face as he tilts my head to control the kiss.

He licks against my closed lips, growling before pushing his tongue between the seam.

My mouth falls open and the kiss that started out gentle and reverent turns hungry.

Wild with feral desire as we fight each other for control.

Remington kisses like he lives. Full of passion.

Unwavering. Determined. He takes what he wants, because he wants it, and right now that’s me.

I submit to him, letting him own the kiss. His hands gripping my cheeks as he controls the angle, the depth and the ferocity of it. I cannot get enough, and while my lungs ache for a full breath of air, I don’t want this kiss to end.

When he pulls back, his lips are swollen and glistening with spit. He rolls his hips, pressing me down into the mat. I whimper as he does it again and again, pleasure building inside me at an alarming rate.

“You make the prettiest noises, Kitty Cat.”

He kisses me again, and all thoughts leave my head as he ravishes my mouth, biting and nipping at my lips. I do the same in return, sinking my teeth into his bottom lip and tugging. Remington lets out a guttural growl, his hips pumping against mine furiously.

My mind blanks, lost to everything but the feel and taste of him. My body tenses, lightning sparking in my blood as my cock pulses, cum shooting from the tip and settling in the fabric of my shorts.

I stop kissing him, my eyes widening in horror. Did I just…? Holy shit, I came in my fucking pants.

“Fuck that was hot,” Remington says, his eyes glassy as he pushes himself up to kneel, one leg still on either side of me.

My eyes snap to the tent in his shorts before snagging on the wet patch in mine.

There’s a stillness in the air that is hot with tension and the smell of sweat and cum.

Remington makes to move off of me. “Cold shower coming right up,” he jokes and I stop him with a hand on his arm.

“Show me.” I tip my chin towards his shorts.

“You want to watch me come, baby?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I push up onto my elbows, my tongue swiping across my lower lip.

Remington runs a hand down his chest, and into the waistband of his shorts, where he wraps it around his cock. He moves his hand, slow at first before picking up speed. The tip peeks out above his waistband, and without overthinking, I lean forward and move the fabric.

“Holden,” he moans, throwing his head back and pumping his thick cock hard and fast. Ribbons of cum shoot from his slit, some of it landing on my shorts, and some shooting onto my t-shirt. When he’s done, he locks eyes with me and licks his hand clean.

“I told you, fighting makes my dick hard.”

Remington tucks his cock away and rolls onto the mat next to me. Our pinky fingers brush, and as though it is the most natural thing in the world, he twines them together.