Forever Never

“If you open that oven one more time, I’m going to skewer and marinate you.” Jenise Heffernan, supreme ruler of the Tiki Tavern kitchen, slapped Brick’s hands away with a wooden spoon. She was 6’1”, blonde, somewhere between the ages of forty-five and sixty, and did not tolerate people—including the boss—invading her space.

“I just wanted to check—”

“You’re acting like you’ve got stage fright. This isn’t Tiki Tavern’s first private party, and this sure as hell isn’t my first catering gig. Now get your ass out of my kitchen and go panic over something else. The food will be perfect,” she promised.

He took her advice—and the parting slap on his ass with the wooden spoon—and headed for the stairs. An unseasonably warm March Saturday had worked in their favor barely a week after Remi and Kimber had come to him with big eyes and pouty lips.

Between his off-the-books investigation, getting Remi naked as often as physically possible, and actual work, he’d managed to pull together what he hoped would be an appropriate celebration of the Fords’ thirty-five years together.

He jogged up the steps and pushed through the door into a Caribbean wonderland. So themed out of necessity rather than sentiment. Their decor choices were either country-western or island, and the girls had gone with tropical. He’d negotiated the use of a tent from the Grand Hotel, setting it and a dozen patio heaters up on the Tiki Tavern’s rooftop bar.

Darius and Ken had gone all out on the decorations. The big fake palms they kept in storage until spring had been dragged out and dusted off. Strands of white Christmas lights hung from the tent rafters. The tables were decked with colorful linens and floral centerpieces. Every item downstairs that fit the festive theme had been hauled up to join the party.

The buffet table stretched out along one wall, ready for Jenise’s tropically inspired eats.

The margarita maker at the bar had been filled with Darius’s latest cocktail concoction, the pink and frothy 35-to-life.

Kimber waved from the DJ booth where she was making the last-minute changes to the slideshow she’d put together. Thirty-five years in one highlight reel. Darlene and Gil had been married almost as long as he’d been alive.

“Need anything?” he asked her, wiping his hands over the seat of his jeans.

She shook her head. “Nothing besides making sure my kids don’t get at those signature drinks,” she said with a harried smile.

“Got that covered. I made virgin strawberry daiquiris,” Brick told her.

She shook her head. “You’re a good man, Brick. Any woman who lands you permanently is going to be very lucky.”

Permanently. His palms were sweaty.

After Audrey, he’d sworn off permanent. He’d tried and failed. And learned there was no way to guarantee the person he chose would stay the same. Would want the same things forever. He knew what he wanted. To be here, on this island, with his community. But now there was a wild card in play. Remi.

The last two weeks had been the best of his life. Walking in the door and finding Remington Ford in his kitchen, covered in flecks of paint and very little else. Waking up each morning to her star-fished facedown on the bed, one hand clamped possessively around whatever body part of his she could get to. Witnessing her surrender her body to his again and again. He was living out a fever dream and never wanted to wake up.

He wanted more of exactly that. A lifetime of it.

But what kind of a lifetime did Remi want? She wasn’t one to plant roots. And he wasn’t one to comfortably tumble from place to place. He disliked cities, the anonymous crush of busy strangers. He loved horses, open expanses of water, and the people he served.

But he couldn’t ignore the gravitational pull of her. Just being in her orbit made his world bigger, brighter, more colorful. And he was fucking terrified.

He wandered over to the buffet table and inspected the plates, the utensils, checked the flames on the burners.

“Holy Lady Gaga.”

That familiar voice, the awe and excitement he heard in it, stuck him like one of Jenise’s famous jerk chicken skewers.

Remi didn’t look like Remi. She looked like Alessandra Ballard in a sequined dress that stopped several sexy inches above her knees. It shimmered like she did. Catching the light and the eye with its peachy gold sparkle and graceful long sleeves. Ken had done something goddess-like to her hair, pulling it back from her face in a high ponytail that rained down in thick red curls. Her eyes were smokier, lips bolder and redder.

His heart tripped in his chest, and for a second, he couldn’t believe she was his. And then he remembered. She wasn’t really. Not all the way. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to slide his hand up between her thighs and discover what she wore underneath that dress. Or wrapping that fiery tail around his fist. Or kissing her so hard, so rough that red lipstick smeared.

“Brick, I can’t believe you did this,” she breathed.

Maybe she didn’t look like his Remi, but she sounded like her. And it made him only want her more.

He crossed to her, drawn to her like a planet orbiting its sun. A masochist ready for his next punishment.

“You like it?” he asked gruffly. His fingers flexed at his sides, wanting to touch her, but he was afraid once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

She nodded, and when she looked up at him again, he saw tears in her eyes.

He drew in a sharp breath. The desire to touch her, to taste her, was overwhelming. He wanted to give her this. He wanted to give her everything. To prove to her he was worth staying for.

A hand fluttered to her chest.

“Where’s your inhaler,” he asked.

She flashed him an aggravated eye-roll. “In my clutch in my coat, hanging up right inside the door,” she promised. “I’m just overwhelmed by this.”

He shrugged, pretending like it hadn’t occupied nearly every waking hour for the last week. Pretending that he hadn’t done it to put that exact look on her beautiful face. “It was no problem.”

“Well, shit.” Remi snatched a bright yellow napkin off one of the tables and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “This took work. A lot of that. I can see it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice strained.

Need had taken over. He couldn’t stand not being able to touch her.

When she looked at him, he read it in her eyes.

“Can I see you for a second to talk about that thing?” She hooked her thumb toward the door and batted those big green eyes at him. When her teeth sank into that full, red lip, he barely managed not to pick her up and carry her out of there.

“Sure,” he said, absolute shit at pretending.

His heart raced as he held the door open for her. When she made a move for the stairs, he grabbed her arm and hauled her inside the storage room instead.

He hadn’t even managed to shut the door or find the light switch when her arms looped around his neck and dragged him down for a kiss.

It was pitch black in the room, but his senses were full of her. That electric scent. The breathy little moan she made when he forced her mouth open so his tongue could thrust inside. All the soft, willing warmth of her body under his rough palms.

It was insanity. An obsession. This need that grew bigger in him, threatening to overwhelm him. The desire to claim her choked him.

“How much time do we have?” she whispered.

“Thirty minutes,” he said, dragging his teeth down the column of her neck.

“More than enough time to reapply my lipstick,” she said cheerfully. Her gasp was music to his fucking ears when his hands coasted down over those generous breasts.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Remi.”

She laughed lightly. “It’s pitch black in here,” she teased.

“You looked beautiful in the light and you feel beautiful in the dark.”

Her breath hitched and then her fingers began to work their magic in the waistband of his pants.

“Remington,” he growled.

“I forgot how hot you are in a tie. The beard, the tie, your sleeves rolled up. God, the way you look at me. It makes me stop thinking about anything but you.”

Fuck. His dick swelled behind his zipper. He hated that suddenly the words weren’t enough for the rest of him. He wanted more than Remi wanting his hands on her. He wanted her to need him, to love him.

“Let me thank you, Brick. Let me show you how much this means to me,” she insisted, her hands working his belt open.

His stomach muscles tensed as she undid the button and lowered his zipper.

“What are you doing?” he groaned as her hands slid down his thighs when she dropped to her knees.

“Thanking you,” she said. Her breath was hot against his aching cock.

His next words were forgotten as her velvet mouth closed over the tip of his cock.

Blindly, he slapped his hands against the door to hold himself upright as Remington Ford performed miracles on her knees. That mouth. That fucking glorious, wicked mouth was doing things to him in the dark that he couldn’t comprehend. The rough of her tongue, the drag of her teeth. And when she gripped him at the root, when she closed those eager fingers around him tight, he knew he’d never be the same.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said, the words coming out rough and tumble.

“You will. Later. This is just for you,” she said, her lips feathering over the tip. Tongue darting out to dance over the slit where even now moisture gathered. Getting sucked off by Remi in a dark closet. It had probably been a fantasy. Probably been something to keep him up at night after another family gathering. Another dinner across the table from her.

He couldn’t go back now. He couldn’t go back to before he knew what she felt like writhing under him, begging him for everything he could give her. Couldn’t go back to a time when he didn’t know what it felt like to fuck her sweet mouth. There would be no more Thanksgivings or Christmases together if she left. He wouldn’t be able to look at her and not remember this. She was going to ruin him.

And he couldn’t stop himself from letting her.

Her lips coasted down over his shaft, taking him to the back of her throat, working him in wet strokes. He could imagine her on her knees in front of him. Picture those green eyes looking up at him in wonder as he swelled in her mouth. As his balls drew up against his body, fire burning inside them.

She gave him so much with her body. But he wanted more. He wanted forever with her.

But right now. Right now. She was taking him to heaven.

His fingers dug into the metal of the door. He couldn’t help himself, he had to thrust. Fisting one hand in that glorious hair. He used his grip to guide her pace. Soft grunts clawed their way out of his throat as a pleasure so intense burned him from the inside out. It was building at the base of his spine. In his balls. The pulsing throb was almost painful.

Remi moaned, the hum of it like a match to turpentine. It lit him up.

“Remington,” he hissed.

She gripped his shaft tighter with both hands and took him deep.

Again and again, he thrust into her mouth until he was mindless, until nothing else existed to him but the razor’s edge of pleasure.

“Baby,” he rasped. “I’m going to come. Don’t try to—Oh, God.”

She wouldn’t let him pull out. It only made her suck him harder. And when she released one hand from the root of his erection to palm his balls, he lost it.

The release caught him by the throat as it lanced through him. It scalded him from the inside out, that first fiery rope of come as it exploded forth. Into her mouth. In a panic, he found the light switch and slapped it on just so he could watch.

She was worshipping him, a goddess on her knees.

His breath caught, every fiber of muscle in his body tensed as pleasure sharp as pain stabbed him. Again and again, he rocked into her mouth, bucking his hips in erratic thrusts as she took everything he had to give. As she milked every drop from him, allowing nothing to be held back.

That’s what she did. She’d never settle for anything less than all. And for once, he wanted to demand the same.

Even after he was done, even after she’d sucked him dry, he kept up with the shallow, greedy thrusts.

He was dizzy. His thighs quaked with the effort it took to hold himself upright. Remi had been made for a lot of things. One of those things was giving him pleasure. He was sure of it.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he couldn’t do anything but lean his forehead against the door and try not to collapse on top of her. Try not to tell her that he loved her. That he’d always loved her. That he’d never be the same without her.

Her hands were stroking up and down his thighs. Soothing the beast after she’d riled it.

“Are you okay?” he asked gruffly after a long minute. “Did I hurt you?”

“Okay?” There was laughter in her voice. “I feel like a million bucks making big Brick Callan’s knees shake like that.”

She’d been making his knees quake for years.

“Baby, you are going to be the death of me,” he whispered.

Her lips skimmed the sensitive head of his still half-hard penis. A kiss. Christ. How in the fuck was he supposed to survive this? Realizing he still had her hair wrapped around his fingers, he loosened his grip.

Unable to do anything else with his body, he stroked his hand over her hair as she tucked him back into his pants.

He finally managed to reach down and pull her to her feet.

“That was… You are… I’m…”

She framed his face with her hands. “Thank you for doing this for my parents,” she said. “For Kimber. For me. Thank you for always being there. Thank you for always taking care of me. It means the world to me.”

“Uh-huh.” It was all he could manage.

She kissed him on both cheeks and then once on the mouth. “I’ll see you out there, big guy.”

“Uh-huh.”

She was reaching for the doorknob when he caught her and pulled her back against him. “Wait.”

She tilted her hips against him, teasing his half-hard dick with that sweet ass. “I don’t think we have time for another round,” she teased.

“Can I touch you? Out there I mean. Can I hold your hand? Dance with you?”

Remi turned in his arms to face him. She looked stunned. “Of course.”

“We haven’t been out in public together. We haven’t been together in front of your parents.” He needed to be able to touch her. To remind them both that while she was on this island, she belonged to him.

“Everyone knows we’re…you know. It’s not a big deal,” she said, patting his arm as if trying to reassure him.

Not a big deal. The words echoed in his head. We’re…you know. It was a big deal, and no, he didn’t fucking know. She was trying to shoehorn distance between them after she’d gotten on her knees for him. After he’d barely slept for a week trying to do this for her.

“Just don’t try to find out what kind of underwear I’ve got on under the table, or I might embarrass us both,” she said lightly.

It seemed there was only one language Remi understood. He caught her by the hair and dragged her over to the folding table that until about an hour ago had been buried under catering supplies.

“Brick! We don’t have time,” she said, her voice husky.

“Don’t make a sound,” he warned her as he forced her to fold over it.

The dress rode up indecently high, sending him into possessive overdrive. She was already pressing her thighs together, trying to relieve some of the pressure. He’d relieve it for her. And in the process, he’d remind her that what they were to each other was a very big fucking deal.

Impatiently, he nudged her feet apart and shoved the skirt of her dress up. He loved the bite of the sequins against his skin, but it was the view he was obsessed with. She wore a skimpy black thong with straps that crisscrossed above and around her shapely cheeks.

“Hold on to the table,” he growled.

She obeyed, her entire body vibrating, anxiously anticipating what he was going to do to her. He wanted to punish her for making light of what they had. To parade her around the dance floor with his handprint hidden under that dress.

But more, he wanted her absolute submission. Wanted her helpless and needy.

For that, he sank to his knees behind her. He hooked his fingers into the delicate straps and dragged the material down to her thighs. She was shaking now as he admired how wet her folds were. There was no time for reverence though. Just enough time to dominate.

He leaned forward and brought the flat of his tongue to the slick flesh between her legs. She let out a choked sob, which he rewarded by grabbing both of her cheeks and spreading them wide. He continued to tongue her, stroking through the folds, licking her from clit to anus and back again. Back and forth, until he could feel her clenching hollowly around the tip of his tongue.

“Brick! Brick!” It was half whisper, half moan, and went straight to his dick.

He pulled back and let his hand fly hard and fast. The sharp slap and her soft, breathy gasp rang out in the small room, making his balls ache. He returned his attention to her sex. Stroking over that tight bundle of nerves with his tongue before dipping into her entrance. He wanted to devour her. Wanted to bathe in her. He wanted to break her. Again and again, until she was strung so tight he thought she might snap.

She bucked against his mouth, begging without words for more. And when he knew she was close, when he knew it was time, he sank two fingers into her tight channel. She was biting her lip, trying not to make a sound as he fucked her.

“Good girl,” he rasped as he pressed his thumb against the tight ring of muscle in her cleft.

She rocketed up from the table on a gasp as he slid inside.

“Do I need to put my hand over your mouth or can I get you off with it?” Brick demanded in her ear as he pumped his fingers in and out.

She nodded quietly.

“Then put your hands on the table, Remington, and spread your legs for me.”

He felt like a fucking hero when she complied. When she submitted, hinging forward and pressing that tight little ass against him.

He could come again. He could fuck his way into that tight pussy and go off on her hungry squeezes, but he needed to hold back something. Needed to keep a part of himself safe from the devastation.

She was riding his hand now, bucking against him as he thrust into her. He slid his free hand around to her front.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. Did sucking me off do that to you? Did making me come in your mouth make you hot?”

She nodded, a small sob clawing its way out of her throat.

“Don’t forget who makes you wet.” He brought his hand between her legs to possessively cup her sex. “Don’t forget who you belong to. Who makes you come.”

Using the pads of his fingers, he circled her swollen clit. The shuddery moan that escaped her drove him to the edge of sanity. He couldn’t stop himself from grinding his erection against her ass while he fucked her with his fingers.

“Say it, Remi. Who do you belong to? Who’s making you fucking come?”

She was writhing against him, lipstick smeared, eyes shut tight, as she waited for him to deliver her pleasure. It was an arresting, filthy picture that was only complete when she tightened around his fingers.

“Y-you,” she whispered.

“That’s right, baby. Push back against me. Come all over my fingers.”

Her lips parted, and her body went rigid against his. He kept on thrusting with his fingers, with his cock against the soft curve of her ass. Kept on rubbing dirty little circles over her clit as she went off. Clenching, clamping, releasing, relaxing. She collapsed to her elbows, covering her mouth with her own hand as she sobbed through a devastating release.

She trusted him to give her this. To take it so forcefully. She trusted him to protect her. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted it all.

He waited until she was done, weak and shaking, before pulling back. Before he gently tugged her thong back into place.

His fingers traced the outline of the handprint he’d left on her, making goose bumps appear.

She made no move to stand after he smoothed her dress back down, thrilling him with a perverse triumph.

They’d both gotten off and they’d both lost something.

“Next time you want to tell me this isn’t a big deal, or you don’t want to say that we’re in this together, I want you to remember this,” he said darkly and then he walked out the door.