27. Scarlet

TWENTY-SEVEN

SCARLET

Though his eyes remain fixed on the road, Remington's hand has spent nearly the entire drive home up my skirt, only retreating when he has to change gears. When he comes back, his fingers resume gliding along my damp panties, pressing between my lips to circle my clit before drifting back down to pet my opening through the lace. By the time we make it home, my breath is gone, the glass of the passenger window is fogged over, and my lip is poorly abused from fighting back the urge to beg him to pull over. I don't even think he's secured the brake of his Jeep when I unbuckle my seatbelt and crawl back over the console to return to his lap, a relieved sigh escaping me as I feel his hard cock between my thighs, his belt having been undone at some point on the drive, along with the button and zipper of his jeans.

All night, things between us have felt more expectant, deeper. But his words, my words… they've changed the atmosphere. Every thought we each quietly keep to ourselves is now out there. My too quick and irrevocable love for him; his equally hard and fast fall for me; the promise and acceptance of more, of forever being what we both want; the unquestionable actions that back up and fortify his words to me. He may have been clear of his intentions, of what he sees as his endgame every step of the way but now… it's real. I see it, feel it, want and crave every offhanded comment and alluded to wish for the future with him.

The surreal cloud that has kept me waiting for all this to be over has passed. This, with him, is my reality. The passion, lust, love, comfort, safety, trust, vulnerability—they're not just whispered words and hopes or fleeting emotions when we get caught up in a moment. They exist. He brings it all to life within me and somehow I breathe it back into him. Somehow this man who has claimed my very soul as effortlessly as breathing is as recklessly in love with me as I am with him.

He sees the broken pieces I can't love and finds beauty in them, loves them enough for the both of us. He sees beyond the smile to the loneliness and wraps me in his arms. Sees beyond the name to who I am, what I want from life, and finds it to be enough. He sees me and wants me, loves me.

Tugging his sweater over his head and throwing it into the backseat to land amongst Stitch, Angel, and Snowball, I leave open mouthed kisses along his neck as I work to free each of the buttons of his shirt, demanding, "Say it again, Remington."

"Say what?" he groans, hips jerking up to meet the roll of my own, his hands kneading the bare muscle of my ass as he draws out the grind of my cunt along his cock.

"The dress," I answer shortly, running my palms down his chest. "That I should start looking for one. That you don't want to wait to marry me." Resting my head against his, I press my nails into him to mask their sudden trembling, my voice giving me away as it quietly breaks. "Please tell me again."

Cupping the back of my head, he pulls me away just enough to meet my eyes and murmurs, "Come inside with me. I want to show you somethin'."

Remi doesn't bother to fix his shirt or grab his sweater as he turns off the car. He simply opens his door, slides me off his lap and steps down, lifting me out and gently putting me on the ground. Once we're in front of the heavy front door, he turns to face me, hand reaching out to cup my face, thumb dragging along my bottom lip. "I didn't do this with the objective of sleeping with you tonight. I just wanted every part of tonight to be memorable for you and not have you coming home feelin' like Cinderella once the clock struck midnight."

"I don't understand."

Kissing my forehead, he murmurs, "You will." He turns me to face the door as he punches in the code on the handle, opening it for me the moment the lock disengages.

Though the lights are turned out, the room glows. Thick pillar candles in tall and stout hurricane vases are clustered throughout the open space, their light reflecting in the windows and bouncing their warm illumination back at us. Stepping over the threshold, I slowly follow where they lead, occasionally spinning to take in the view from all angles as if I'm expecting it to vanish if I don't keep my eyes on it at all times.

Stopping at where Winnie is snoring on the giant upholstered ottoman, not bothering to wake up and greet us, I scratch between her ears and meet Remington's distorted reflection, asking, "You did all this for me?"

Hands in his pockets as he lingers back watching me, he shrugs, "Technically I requested Wanda to do it all when she came to clean while we were out, but yeah, it was my idea."

Kissing Winnie's head, one of her caramel eyes sleepily peeking open before closing again, I slip off my heels and in a flurry of tulle, run for Remington, and jump into his arms. His catch of me is effortless, his stance steady as my weight collides with him, a truly immovable force. Legs locked around his waist, arms secured at his neck, and his hands cupping my butt, I kiss him without preamble, my tongue immediately seeking his. It's fast and hot, an overflow of the emotions crashing through me and over far too quickly yet only beginning.

Short of breath and filled with renewed desperation to have him as close and as deep inside of me as possible, I barely pull away from his mouth as I gasp, "I love you."

"I love you too, Scarlet."

"No, like, I really love you. All consuming, desperate for you every minute of every day, counting the steps when you leave the room, can't have enough of you, longing for you to be a part of me in every way possible, hopelessly gone and forever committed, in love with you. First, last, and everything in between, it's yours. Take it, all of it. I don't want it if it's not with you. And too fast, too soon, too insane, I don't care. I don't want to wait either. For any of it."

"What are you saying?"

Smoothing my hands up his dark ash blond hair, I answer, "I'm saying, there is no perfect wedding to plan. There's only you, me, my dad, Ro and Reeves, Winnie, and anyone you wish to be there. That's it. That's all I need, all I want." As an afterthought, I add, "And okay yes, a dress; but that shouldn't be a surprise. I never turn down a chance to shop."

Chuckling, he asks, "That's it? You never?—"

"Just you, Remington. You're all I see when I think about it."

Kissing my neck, he murmurs, "You're all I see too." Then unleashing a little bit of naughty, he amends, "You and your legs trembling in your pretty little shoes while you hold your dress up so I can take you in the pantry because I'm too fuckin' hungry for my wife in order to wait."

Letting my head fall back as his fingers sweep through my cleavage, his tongue tracing my collarbone, I sigh, "Remi?"

"Hmm?"

"Bed. Now. Down or up I don't care, I just?—"

Nipping at the swell of my breasts before licking the sting, he devilishly asks, "Is my girl impatient for my cock?"

"Yes!" I shout hoarsely.

Wholly unrepentant as he smiles at me, he coos, "But I haven't shown you the answer to your question yet," setting me down only to pick me back up in a bridal carry and start making his way to the stairs.

Each step is marked with an alternating arrangement of candles, their flames casting long shadows across the floor and walls as he climbs. At the top of the landing, even more await us, acting as a beacon to the bedroom.

Crossing the threshold, Remington puts me back down but keeps his arms around me as he stoops to rest his chin on my shoulder, quietly asking, "Did I get the right ones?"

Intermingled with the candles in our room are vases filled with arrangements of white peonies, dusty pink roses, and stems of eucalyptus, their fragrance delicate but unmistakably perfuming the air. Shuffling more than walking over to one on the dresser, I lower my nose to the cluster of flowers and inhale, asking, "You did, but how did you know?"

"I shamelessly stalked your social media," he confesses. "You have a series of pictures captioned, ‘My Favorites,' and amongst the collages of Ro, Colt, Winnie, and baseball, you had these."

"You do way too much for me, Remi."

"Impossible. Nothing will ever be too much if it's for you. But…" he trails off, letting me go and walking backward toward the bed. "This still isn't what I wanted to show you. I told you, this was all planned before we even left."

"It's not?"

Shaking his head as he reaches his nightstand, he answers, "No," beginning to shuffle through the items inside, his entire house an organizer's dream except for that drawer. Pulling something out, he playfully announces, "Catch," before tossing it my way.

Clasping it between my hands, I open them up and immediately close them again, looking between him and what my hands conceal.

"Remington…"

"Scarlet…"

Lifting my thumb up just a bit, I peek inside and see the small satin box I hold hasn't morphed into something else or vanished.

"Is this…" I squeak, clearly my throat. "Is this what I think it is?"

"The package you signed for? Yes."

"No, I mean is this…"

Stepping up to me, his hand covering my own, he softly replies, "Why don't you open it and see, baby girl?"

Shaking my head, I shove it back at him.

"I can't. If I open that and what I think is inside isn't, I'll be devastated. And if it is what I think, I won't want to give it back to you so you can ask me later. So take it, please," I urge, trying to force it into his hand, pocket, anything just so long as I no longer have access to it. "Remi, please…"

"Open it, Scar."

"I can't."

Finally taking it from me, I feel the elephant that plonked down on my chest lift only for him to collapse right back on my lungs as Remington kneels before me.

"Marry me."

"Are you sure? Because you can't really walk this back and I'm, like, a lot. I'm high maintenance, insecure, lack social skills. I've got baggage—hell my whole family does and we have, like, zero boundaries and you know we're a package deal—and I'm?—"

"Perfect," he interrupts, setting the box down to take my hands in his. "You are perfect. Every facture, every flaw, every jagged edge you wrap in beautiful, delicate sunshine, is perfect. I love that you're so unapologetically yourself even when others try to force you to be less, to be small. You are everything to me, Scarlet, and I want to spend every minute of every day for the rest of my life loving you like you deserve, showing you just how much you own me and how happy and grateful I am to be yours, to be loved by you. So marry me and let me be the one to give you every piece of the future I see when I look at you."

Pulling my hands free to wipe the tears from my face, I nod, "Okay," the word barely audible. Sniffling, I repeat louder, "Okay, yes, I'll marry you," bending over to cup Remington's face and kiss him, murmuring against his lips, "I love you," before sinking to my knees with him.

"I love you too, baby girl. So fuckin' much. You're my entire life," he returns, letting go of my hip to pat around the floor between us for the box as he continues to kiss me.

Once located, he reluctantly parts from my lips to pull the ring free and slide it onto my finger. I don't stop to look at it though. Instead, I keep kissing his jaw, neck, and chest as I work his open shirt down his arms, only noting how right his ring feels on my hand, how at home I feel with him.

Beyond that, it's a frenzy of emotion, of need, of longing to be with him. To be filled by him, claimed and marked.

With his shirt triumphantly wrenched free and tossed aside, I rest back on my heels, palms on his chest, his heartbeat a racing match to my own and say, "Love me. Fuck me. I don't care. Just make me yours, Remington."

Scooping me up and laying me out on our bed, he reverently trails his fingers between my breasts, drawing goosebumps in his wake as he responds, "Baby, no matter how I take you—rough and fast, slow and sweet, hand around your throat and ass red from my palm—I'm always loving you. My touch will never grace your skin with anything less than absolute love, respect, and adoration for you."

Working his hands around to my back, he grasps the tails of my sweater's bow and deliberately begins to untie me, bringing the ends out and undoing their crisscross over my ribs. Leaving them parted at my sides, his rough palms are gentle as they caress up my sternum, opening the fluttering fabric to reveal my bra. With the space between his thumbs and forefingers molded to the underwire, he purrs, "Stunning," giving my breasts a light squeeze before covering them and continuing up to my shoulders to peel my top off the rest of the way.

Sweater dropped and forgotten on the floor, Remington lightly brushes his fingers up my sides. The barely there touch has my breath catching and my nipples hardening and peaking against the sheer lace cups. When he finally does come to the darkening, rosy points, circling and pinching them, my shoulders lift from the bed on a short, needy exhale.

"So pretty," he hums.

Though we've just begun, I'm already on edge, the fine hairs along my body standing at attention, blood sizzling as it races through my veins, pussy wet and clenching in desperate search of his touch. Already pleading, "Please," the relief I found from my orgasm in the parking lot of the festival is long gone.

Running his hands over the tulle that covers my thighs, Remi spreads my legs and lowers himself between them, pushing the layers of my skirt up around my hips as he hushes, "Shh baby girl, I've got you." Then with my eager cunt and soaked panties exposed, he hooks his hands under my knees and yanks me to the edge of the bed, smiling up at me as he says, "I've been dying to taste this pussy, fucking my hand over the very idea of sucking on your clit and licking your tight little holes." Massaging my inner thighs with his thumbs working to keep me relaxed and open for him, he instructs, "Now be a good girl and take off your pretty panties so I can make your cunt feel all better."

Working my panties down my thighs and over my knees, I let them go to fall down my legs and puddle at my ankles.

"Such a good girl for me," Remington lovingly praises, though his voice is rough. Freeing one foot from my panties, he drapes my leg over his shoulder. Then removing them completely, he picks up the scrap of lace and tucks it into the pocket of his jeans before bringing my other leg over his arm so I'm spread open for him. Then with one knee lowered to the ground as if he's about to catch a fastball, he orders, "Now scream for me," burying his face between my legs, hands folded over my abdomen to keep me in place.

At his first lick of my pussy, my hips instinctively try to shoot up and squirm, his name a hoarse cry on my lips as I grab hold of his short hair. And when his tongue flicks against my clit, I collapse with a whimpered moan of his name, his mouth a thousand times better than my toy.