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Anna-Marie is on top of him. She tends to be, most of the time—and if not physically, then in spirit. She’s wearing the collar, yet she’s in absolute control.
Her hand trails down Remy’s chest to his stomach, down to the happy trail below his navel, and he groans at the touch, skin-on-skin, rolling his head back into the pillow. It’s been way too long. It’s been way too long.
Next, her touch brushes up again, over his stomach to his chest, and she traces the scars under his pecs with a hum that makes him shiver.
Oh, he’s done for.
“Chere,” he gasps, his lashes fluttering as he tries to focus on her face—and she’s smiling at him, brown eyes glinting in mischief. He’s still wearing his pants. Anna-Marie is only in her panties, by now, and the metal collar around her neck, blinking away, red, red, red.
Remy wonders if it’s uncomfortable. But before he can think about that any further, his gaze wanders down her chest, and all thought is quickly chased out of his head when he looks at her nipples— a pink that borders on brown in a way that makes him twitch underneath her. His breath hitches in his throat at the soft swell of her breasts, at the pale stretch marks adorning them. God, he’s seen them countless times, yet the sight of her always leaves him like this.
Almost carefully, he reaches out. And he’s never been afraid of her or her powers, but he still feels almost… reverent when he cups her breasts. When he digs his fingers into her soft flesh, skin-on-skin. She’s right here. She’s right here.
“Yeah?” Anna-Marie breathes out, and she gasps when he continues to palm at her breasts. Remy is burning up. “What do you want, sugar? You want me to touch ya?”
Without waiting for a reply—Remy isn’t sure he could even muster one—her hand wanders behind her, behind where she’s sitting on his abdomen, straddling him. It’s a little uncomfortable. He’d never tell her to move.
She slips her hand into his already open pants, palming at the front of his pink boxers, and her hand squeezes his strap-on through the fabric. Even then, Remy swears he can feel it. He’s trembling underneath her, his head rolling back, his jaw going slack. She palms at him again, then again, then pushes against the silicone in a way that makes him jump, that makes him curse under his breath.
Her soft laugh is the most beautiful thing in the world. He can feel her heartbeat thrumming against where he’s holding on to her right breast.
“You like that?” she asks, amused, and it’s a rhetorical question, but Remy nods anyway. “Ah’m not even doin’ much. You want me to ride ya?”
Even for this, she wouldn’t need to wait for an answer. Remy gives her one regardless, whispered into the dark of the room, and she grins at it.
“Yes.”