Page 24 of Win You Over

Holden

W hen I walk out of the ensuite, dressed in my sleep wear, my glasses resting on my nose, Remington looks up from the weathered paperback on his lap.

“I like your glasses,” he says.

Scrunching my nose, I reply, “I don’t.” I’ve never been fond of them, finding them more frustrating at times than my contact lenses.

“Hmmm,” he hums, placing the book on the side table. “You look like a sexy Clark Kent.” He leans back, resting his arms beneath his head, his torso stretched, lengthening his muscular body.

“Isn’t Clark Kent always sexy?” I ask, sliding into the bed next to him and sitting with my back to the wall.

“I guess. But you look sexier. A sexier Clark Kent.” Remington gives me a salacious grin, which grows when I roll my eyes.

“If you say so.”

“I’m never wrong, so you shouldn’t argue.”

I chuckle before sliding down and resting my head on my pillow. Exhaustion from the day weighs heavily, my eyelids threatening to close.

“I have a question,” Remington says, his voice breaking through the quiet of the room. I turn my head towards him, raising an eyebrow.

He reaches for my hand, turns it over on the bed and traces lines up and down my palm, causing goosebumps to pebble on my skin.

“What’s with the knife?” He pauses, waiting for my eyes to meet his. “You said it’s really valuable, and that’s why you wanted to leave it at my place. But what makes it valuable? Is it a collectible or something?”

I swallow thickly, closing my eyes against the flood of emotions talking about my dad brings up, before opening them again and meeting his soft, warm stare. “It was my dad’s.” My voice is quiet, and he moves a little closer until his head is sharing my pillow and his hand wraps around mine.

“Mum and I chose it for him for his birthday.” I can vividly recall the excitement I’d felt the day Mum and I went to the fishing store in South London. How I’d run my hands along the glass counter tops, peering at all the options.

“We had it engraved with the word ‘Dad’ on the handle and put it in this fancy black box.” If I close my eyes, I can see my dad’s smile – so much like mine – when he unwrapped the gift.

“He was so happy when we gave it to him and he promised to take me fishing and show me how to use it.” I tighten my hand around Remington’s, our fingers linking perfectly.

“I was born on my dad’s birthday. We celebrated together every year,” I say. I was so proud of sharing a birthday with him. Lucky, I thought, because we always celebrated in a big way.

“The year we gave it to him,” I continue, “was no different. We ate cake, and we went bowling and we made plans to go fishing.”

I wipe my free hand over my face, letting out a deep breath.

“We never went fishing. The knife never got used.”

My eyes meet Remington’s as he shifts impossibly closer, his lips parting.

“What happened?” he asks.

“He went missing a few days after our birthday. A few days after that, the day we were meant to go fishing, the police found his body on the shore of the Thames.”

Remington sucks in a breath, the sound loud in the stillness of the room.

“Holden.” The way he says my name with so much emotion and affection in that singular word has my heart tripping over itself.

Remington closes the space between us, bringing our foreheads together.

“It’s not a weapon,” I say quietly, needing him to understand. “That’s not why I carry it. I would never hurt anyone. I know that day with Finn…I wouldn’t have hurt him. The knife, it’s all I have left of my dad.”

Remington brushes his nose against mine, lifting our entwined hands towards his chest and I continue, pouring my heart out to him.“It reminds me he was once happy, and that he loved me. My father was a brave, strong man. His knife helps me feel the same.”

“You’re exactly that, Holden. Strong and brave.” Remington’s lips meet mine in a chaste kiss that tastes like toothpaste and tenderness. I let my body sink into his, my eyes finally drifting shut, the impending fog of sleep washing over me.

“I’ll never be weak again,” I whisper.

When I wake up, it’s to sunlight streaming through the window, where we forgot to shut the curtains, and a hard, hot body pressed against me.

Remington is lying on his side, one leg over my lower body and his lips ghosting my neck.

The steady rhythm of his breath brushes my skin, causing a wave of goosebumps to spread over my heated flesh.

But it’s the hand tucked partly beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts that has my full attention. His palm rests on my pelvic bone, the tips of his fingers sneaking beneath the fabric. And my cock? It’s hard as a rock, tenting my shorts.

I’m in two minds now. One, to roll out of bed and play ignorant of the effect he’s having on me. Two, to shimmy myself into a position that brings his hand closer to my morning wood.

Kissing Remington was incredible. Earth shattering.

Before yesterday, I had experienced one singular kiss, and it was nothing like that.

In fact, my one fumbling attempt at intercourse with a girl I kind of liked had been flat and unremarkable.

Theo had briefly dated her twin brother, so the four of us spent a lot of time together and we got on well – as well as two nineteen-year-olds with little in common could.

She was kind and pretty, but there was no spark.

No tornado of butterflies or jolts of electricity. No fizz, no pop, no explosions.

Not like the myriad of sensations that ran through me with Remington’s lips pressed to mine. The flush of my skin, the flutter in my chest, the swooping of my stomach.

There wasn’t a moment during that kiss that I wondered what I was doing, kissing a guy. Everything about it felt right, like he was the answer to a question I hadn’t asked. Slotting into place like a puzzle piece.

Remington shifts, his mouth connecting with the skin at my neck.

“You smell sleepy,” he mumbles, voice rough.

His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t pull away from my waistband, nor does he reach them in further.

“Is sleepy a smell?” I ask, shuddering when the rough of his tongue drags over the sensitive skin beneath my ear.

“You taste sleepy, too.” His mouth closes, and a sharp pain steals my breath as he sucks my flesh into his mouth. Hard .

I whimper, wrap my hand around his wrist, and guide him to my cock.

His hand fits perfectly around my hard shaft, then he groans and continues sucking marks onto my body.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, bringing his lips to mine and nibbling at my bottom lip. “Can I?”

“You...” I take in a deep breath, my mind blanking as he twists his hand. “Already…” Another breath. “Are.”

“Not here,” Remington kisses my lips. “Not here,” he kisses my cheek. “Or here.” He kisses the dip at the bottom of my neck, the whole time rotating his hand up and down my cock in steady strokes.

Remington releases me, and I let out a needy whine. He chuckles, then shimmies down my body and slides his tongue into the top of my shorts, licking a long line over the soft area slightly above the start of my pubic hair.

“I want to taste you here.”

Oh. Oh.

His chin rests on my groin as his blue eyes, dark with want, meet mine.

Blood rushes in my ears, my heart flying in my chest. I want this. So fucking badly. Remington Langford wants to give me my first blow job.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Wordlessly, I slip a hand into his hair, grip him tightly and guide his face to my covered cock. He nuzzles me through the fabric, sucking and moaning. The tighter I pull his hair, the wilder he becomes. My shorts are wet with his spit and though the scene is erotic as hell, I need more.

With one hand in his hair, I tug his head back, dark lust-filled eyes and a wicked grin meeting my gaze.

With my other hand, I free myself from my shorts.

Remington teases my tip, licking over it and twisting his tongue to wipe along the slit.

I suck in a sharp breath when warm heat engulfs my head and he’s sucking and licking me from top to base, before taking me to the back of his throat.

My eyes close, white sparks igniting behind my eyelids, and I force them open, not wanting to miss the vision in front of me. Heat travels from the tips of my fingers and toes, coming to rest in my groin, before turning into an inferno.

Remington gags when he takes me too far, his throat constricting around the sensitive head of my cock.

“Remi,” I gasp. “I’m gonna…”

He doesn’t stop. Instead, he sucks on the head of my cock and gives one last twist, setting off a volcano of pleasure that pulses out of me. He swallows everything I give him, making obscene noises before he pulls back.

“I like it when you call me that.”

“Remi?”

He crawls up my body and kisses me. His kiss is salty and a little bitter and I guess I finally know what cum tastes like.

“Yeah, say it again.”

His hand moves into his shorts, and he jerks his cock while kissing me.

“Remi,” I mumble against his lips. “Show me what to do. How you like it,” I say.

“Anything you want,” he moans, rolling onto his side.

“Wrap your hand around my dick.” I do as he says. His cock is thick, thicker than mine, with a mushroom head and a prominent vein that pulses beneath my finger.

“Twist your hand.” I move my hand the way he was doing to me. The way I’ve done to myself plenty of times before.

“That’s it, baby. Don’t stop.” Remington moves his hips, thrusting into my hold.

“Holden…Holden...Holden…” He chants my name like a prayer.

“Bite me.” His eyes close and he throws his head back, exposing the long, luscious line of his neck to me. “Please baby, make it hurt.”

O-kay. This is new and unexpected.

My lips barely touch his skin as I drag them over his neck, peppering him with featherlight kisses.

“Bite me,” he demands.

Another gentle kiss.

“Holden,” he whines.

Kiss.

“Please, baby.” I could definitely get attached to making him beg.

Finally, I sink my teeth into his neck. He groans, deep and guttural, like a wild animal.