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The soft flicker of candlelight danced across the long mahogany table, casting shadows that whispered secrets along the walls of the private dining room. The opulence of the space was undeniable—velvet drapes, gold accents, and the finest crystal glasses—yet it felt stifling, the heavy air weighed down by tension masquerading as light conversation. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the room, but beneath the surface, an unspoken current of danger hummed. This was Remy LeBeau’s world, a kingdom where power and respect ruled, and any misstep could be fatal.
You sat beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body through the layers of tailored fabric and expensive linen. His leg rested against yours under the table, a silent gesture of connection that was as grounding as it was intimate. It was a reminder—a quiet declaration in this volatile world—that no matter how dark things got, you were the constant in his life. The only one who truly knew him beneath the mask he wore so well.
To the outside world, Remy LeBeau was a force to be reckoned with—a man who commanded loyalty and fear with equal ease. His charm was legendary, the kind that could make people trust him even when they knew they shouldn’t. He was suave, dangerous, and always in control. But with you, all of that fell away. When it was just the two of you, he wasn’t the infamous Head of the Guild, the kingpin, or the rogue gambler. He was just Remy—your Remy.
He loved you with a quiet intensity, one that simmered beneath the surface of every touch, every glance. It wasn’t always spoken aloud, but you didn’t need words to understand the depths of his devotion. You saw it in the way he looked at you, as if you were the one thing in his life that made sense, the one thing he could always count on. With you, there were no games, no pretence. You were the only person who saw the parts of him he kept hidden from the world—the vulnerability, the doubts, the weariness that came from living in a world where trust was a rare commodity.
When his hand lingered on yours under the table, fingers brushing over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes, it was a reminder that you were his anchor. In a life filled with chaos and danger, you were the calm in the storm. You were the one who saw the man behind the mask, the one who loved him not for his power, but for the person he was beneath it all. And that was something Remy cherished more than he could ever put into words.
Sometimes, in the quiet moments late at night, when the world outside seemed miles away, he would hold you close, his head resting on your shoulder as if he could bury himself in your presence. “Y’ keep me grounded, chère,” he’d murmur, his voice hushed, his accent thicker when the weight of his emotions got the best of him. “Y’ keep me whole.”
And you did. You were the one thing that reminded him he was more than the reputation, more than the leader of a dangerous empire. You saw him—the real him—and loved all the parts that even he sometimes struggled to accept.
Remy’s love for you was fierce and unwavering. He’d burn bridges, topple empires, and face down any danger if it meant keeping you safe. But it wasn’t just about protection. It was about trust, about the way he let you into his life, into the darkest corners of his heart that no one else had ever touched. You were his sanctuary, the one place where he could let his guard down and just exist.
And in return, you gave him everything. Your trust, your loyalty, your heart—all of it belonged to him, just as his belonged to you.
His leg pressed a little more firmly against yours, the subtle pressure a quiet assurance that even in this world of power plays and dangerous loyalties, you were the one thing that mattered most to him. You leaned into him ever so slightly, your fingers finding his beneath the table, the warmth of his skin a comfort in the midst of the volatile world you both inhabited.
To everyone else, Remy LeBeau was a man of shadows, a figure who could never be truly known. But to you, he was simply Remy—the man who loved you with a depth that went beyond words, beyond actions. It was a love that transcended the chaos of his world, a love that was quiet, fierce, and unshakable.
Remy’s hand found yours beneath the table, his fingers brushing over your knuckles in a gesture meant only for you. When he turned to you, his smile softened, and for a moment, the room and all its dangers seemed to fade. “Y’ doin’ okay, chère?” His voice was low, a deep rumble that slid through the air like velvet.
You nodded, returning his smile with a soft one of your own. “I’m fine, Remy. Just… keeping an eye on things.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, like a balm to the tension that always seemed to hang in the air at these gatherings. “Ain’t nothin’ y’ need t’worry ‘bout, darlin’. I got it all under control.”
But control was a fragile thing in his world, and it took only one careless voice to crack it.
Dinner was winding down, the remnants of the main course being cleared by the staff. The conversation had lightened, the mood growing more relaxed as the night wore on. Remy’s men, his most trusted lieutenants, were gathered around the table, their loyalty as unwavering as it was dangerous. But loyalty had its limits, especially when pride and arrogance were involved.
It was Marco, one of the newer recruits, who shattered the fragile peace. Young, brash, and intoxicated by both the wine and his newfound proximity to power, he leaned back in his chair, eyes lazily drifting over to you. You felt his gaze before you saw it, a slimy prickle on your skin that made your stomach churn. You shifted uncomfortably, hoping it would go unnoticed. But nothing ever escaped Remy’s attention.
Marco’s voice cut through the murmurs of conversation, slurred and dripping with misplaced confidence. “Hey, boss,” he drawled, his words thick with arrogance, “gotta say, you got good taste.” He gestured toward you with the tip of his fork, his smirk widening as he continued. “But uh, if you ever get tired of ‘em, you know where to find me.”
The room fell into a suffocating silence.
Your heart pounded in your chest, a flush of anger and humiliation rising up your neck. You could feel the tension in Remy’s body beside you, the way his fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass until his knuckles turned white. The easy charm he had worn all night was gone in an instant, replaced by something far more dangerous. You knew Remy better than anyone else here—you knew the storm that brewed just beneath the surface when it came to you.
And so did his men.
They had learned, some through whispers and others the hard way, that you were untouchable. To insult you, to even hint at disrespect, was to invite a wrath that not even the bravest of them dared to face. Remy LeBeau was a man of patience and strategy, known for playing the long game in the world of power and alliances. But when it came to you, there was no calculation, no restraint—only swift and unrelenting fury.
His men had seen it before, the way his entire demeanour would shift the moment your name was mentioned with anything less than reverence. They’d witnessed the transformation—the dangerous glint in his red-on-black eyes, the way his casual posture would turn rigid, shoulders tight with barely-restrained violence. It didn’t take long for them to understand: you weren’t just someone Remy cared about. You were his everything, and to cross that line was to invite consequences no one wanted to face.
There had been a time, early on, when some of the newer recruits hadn’t grasped the gravity of your position in Remy’s life. A careless comment here, a snide remark there—nothing overt, but enough to test the waters, to see how much Remy really cared. The first time it happened, the room had gone silent, the air thick with tension as every man waited to see how Remy would react.
He hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t even stood from his chair. But the look in his eyes—the cold, dangerous calm that settled over him—had been enough to make the offender’s blood run cold. Remy had leaned forward, his voice soft but deadly, as he made it clear that such disrespect would never be tolerated again. After that, it was understood: to disrespect you was to cross a line that no one could come back from.
And if there were any doubts, they had been erased a long time ago.
It had been a careless, drunken comment—a stupid, arrogant suggestion about you that had barely left the young man’s lips before Remy’s fist had shattered his jaw. The room had erupted into chaos, but the message had been clear. Remy’s men had learned in that moment, once and for all, that your name was sacred, and any insult, no matter how small, would be met with swift and brutal consequences.
Since that night, there had been no more jokes, no more careless glances in your direction. When you walked into a room, they stood straighter, their eyes averted, as if they were in the presence of royalty. And in a way, they were. You weren’t just Remy’s partner—you were the queen beside the king, the one who held his heart, and by extension, the one who held their fate in your hands.
Remy never had to say it aloud. He didn’t need to. His men knew, from the way he looked at you, from the unspoken protection that surrounded you like a shield, that you were off-limits. And should anyone forget that, they would be reminded in the most painful way possible.
Now, as you sat beside him, your heart still racing from the tension in the room, you could feel the weight of his protective fury radiating off him like heat from a flame. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as everyone waited for Remy’s response to the insult that had just been thrown your way.
You didn’t need to look at him to know what was coming. His fingers, still clenched around the wine glass, began to loosen, but the danger hadn’t passed. If anything, it was just beginning. The air crackled with anticipation, every man in the room holding their breath, knowing that what came next could very well be the last mistake Marco would ever make.
Then, in a move that startled everyone, Remy threw his head back and laughed—a deep, ringing sound that echoed off the walls, startling in its suddenness. Some of the men around the table hesitantly joined in, their laughter tinged with nervousness, unsure of what the boss’s reaction really meant. Marco’s grin widened, clearly thinking he’d somehow earned Remy’s approval.
But you knew better. You saw the telltale twitch at the corner of Remy’s eye, the slight clench of his jaw that hadn’t quite relaxed. He was playing a dangerous game, letting Marco believe he was safe, if only for a heartbeat longer.
And then, without warning, Remy picked up his fork and drove it into the back of Marco’s hand with a brutal, precise force. The sharp tines pierced through skin and muscle, embedding deep into the wood of the table beneath. The violent sound of metal meeting flesh and bone echoed through the room, cutting through the low murmur of conversation like a gunshot.
Marco’s strangled yell tore from his throat, his eyes wide with shock and pain as he looked down at the fork now pinning his hand to the table. Blood welled up around the wound, pooling under his palm and running in rivulets across the tablecloth. The room froze, every man too stunned to move, too terrified to intervene.
Remy didn’t give anyone a chance to react. He was already moving with a terrifying, fluid precision, his hand shooting out to grab the back of Marco’s head. In one swift motion, he slammed the young man’s face down onto the table with a sickening crack. The force of the impact sent plates and glasses skittering across the surface, the once-elegant dinner table now a chaotic mess of spilled wine and shattered glass.
Marco’s cry of agony was muffled as his face collided with the hard wood, his nose breaking instantly under the pressure. Blood spattered across the table, mingling with the wine in a gruesome tableau of violence. His body jerked involuntarily, his free hand clawing at the table, but the fork still lodged in his other hand kept him pinned in place, helpless beneath Remy’s unrelenting grip.
For a moment, the only sound was the ragged breathing of the men around the table, all of them too shocked, too afraid to even think about stepping in. Remy stood over Marco, his chest rising and falling steadily, but his eyes—those cold, red-on-black eyes—were alight with a fury that chilled the room.
With deliberate slowness, Remy leaned over, his grip tightening on Marco’s head as he yanked it back, forcing the young man to lift his face from the bloodied table. Marco’s nose was a mess of blood and broken cartilage, his breathing coming in ragged, wet gasps as blood poured from his nostrils and down his face, staining his shirt and the pristine tablecloth beneath him. His hand, still pinned by the fork, trembled violently, the pain etched into every feature of his face.
Remy’s expression remained eerily calm, his voice low and deadly as he spoke, his accent thicker now, the Cajun drawl wrapping around his words like a noose. “You think you can talk ‘bout her like that, mon ami? You think I’d let you walk away after disrespectin’ what’s mine?” He leaned in closer, his lips curled into a dangerous smirk, though his eyes held none of the humor his voice suggested. “Non, boy. You don’t know me at all.”
With a sharp yank, Remy ripped the fork out of Marco’s hand, the tines dragging through the already torn flesh with a sickening squelch. Marco let out a guttural scream, his hand now a bloody, mangled mess, trembling and useless. Blood spurted from the wound, staining the tablecloth in a growing pool of crimson, but Remy didn’t seem to care. His focus was solely on the man before him, bleeding and broken, but still conscious enough to understand the gravity of his mistake.
Remy’s grip on Marco’s head remained firm as he pulled him back again, forcing the young man to meet his gaze. Blood dripped from Marco’s face, staining his lips and teeth, his eyes wide with fear and pain. He was a far cry from the arrogant, cocky recruit who had dared to speak against you just moments before.
Remy’s voice was steady, cold as ice, as he tilted Marco’s head back further, making sure the young man couldn’t look away. “I told you once, and I’ll tell you again ami—you ever disrespect her again, I’ll do worse than this. You understand me?” He twisted Marco’s head slightly, the pressure making the younger man wince, though he barely had the strength left to nod.
“Y-yes, boss,” Marco managed to choke out, his voice barely a whisper through the blood clogging his throat. His body shook with pain and fear, every breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps.
Remy gave a slow, satisfied nod, though the fire in his eyes had yet to fade. He let go of Marco’s head, allowing the young man to slump forward, his body collapsing onto the table as he cradled his wounded hand to his chest. Marco whimpered, his face still streaked with blood, his pride and arrogance shattered along with the bones in his hand.
The room remained deathly silent, every man at the table too terrified to move, too terrified to speak. They had all seen Remy angry before, had all witnessed his temper flare in dangerous ways, but this… this was different. This was personal. And every one of them knew, without a doubt, that this was a line none of them could ever cross.
Remy straightened, brushing a hand across his suit jacket as if to wipe away some invisible speck of dust. He didn’t spare another glance at Marco, who lay trembling and broken on the table, his blood staining everything around him. Instead, Remy turned to you, his expression softening instantly, the fury in his eyes melting into something far gentler, far more familiar.
“You alright, chère?” he asked, his voice low, filled with concern for you, as if the chaos of the last few moments hadn’t even happened. He reached for your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles in that familiar, grounding way that always anchored you to him.
You nodded, your voice caught in your throat, but your gaze never left his. In that moment, you knew—just as every man in the room now knew—that Remy would tear the world apart for you without a second thought. And as much as the violence had shaken you, the sight of him standing there, his eyes filled with nothing but love and concern for you, reminded you of one undeniable truth: you were his, and there was nothing in this world—or any other—that he wouldn’t do to protect you.
Remy gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before turning back to the room, his voice sharp and commanding once more as he reached into the jacket and threw several hundred-dollar bills on the table. “Clean this up,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And make sure Marco remembers his lesson.”
Without another word, he led you out of the room, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, his body still radiating that quiet, dangerous energy. But with each step away from the carnage, his touch softened, his focus shifting entirely to you.
As the heavy door to his suite clicked shut behind you, the tension from the dining room still clung to the air between you and Remy like a thick fog. His arm remained around your waist, his touch protective, but you could feel the residual energy of his anger still thrumming beneath his skin. The soft glow of the room’s golden lighting contrasted sharply with the chaos you’d just left behind—this space was a sanctuary from the violence and danger of Remy’s world, but tonight, even here, the weight of what had just transpired followed you.
He led you deeper into the suite, the warmth of his body pressed close to yours, but you could sense the quiet storm beneath his calm exterior. It was always like this after someone crossed that invisible line—Remy’s fury was a force of nature, but it was only ever ignited when it came to you.
Once you reached the living area, he gently released his hold on you and turned, his eyes searching your face for any sign of distress. The intensity in his gaze had softened, but the concern still lingered in the depths of those red-on-black eyes. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the quiet of the room.
“Y’ alright, chère?” His voice was low, gentle now, the rough edge of his anger smoothed away for you. He always checked on you after moments like that, as if he needed to be sure you were okay, that his actions hadn’t shaken you too much.
You nodded, but your heart was still pounding, not just from the adrenaline of the evening, but from the lingering tension between you. “I’m fine, Remy,” you said softly, meeting his eyes. “But you… you don’t always have to do that. You don’t have to—” Your words faltered for a moment, trying to find the right way to say it without setting off his protective instincts again. “You don’t have to hurt people just because they say something stupid about me.”
His expression shifted slightly, his brow furrowing as he studied you. He stepped closer, his fingers trailing down your arm until his hand found yours, squeezing it gently. “Non, chère, I do,” he said, his voice still soft, but the intensity in it unmistakable. “Ain’t nobody gonna disrespect y’. Not while I’m around.”
You sighed, your gaze dropping to where his hand held yours. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Remy. I don’t want you to lose control because of me.” You looked back up at him, your voice steady but filled with concern. “You’re not just putting yourself at risk—you’re carrying this whole empire. It’s more than just you and me.”
His hand cupped your cheek again, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His eyes were smoldering now, not with anger, but with something deeper, something fierce and unyielding that made your heart race. “You don’t get it, do y’?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Ain’t nothin’ more important to me than y’. Not this empire, not the money, not any of it. You’re the only thing that matters.”
Your breath caught in your throat at the raw honesty in his voice. He wasn’t just saying it to reassure you—he meant every word, and that knowledge settled into your chest, heavy and warm. But still, the way he protected you, the way he reacted with such violence, it was something you struggled with. “But—”
“Non,” he interrupted softly, his voice dropping lower, his eyes darkening with emotion. “Y’ listen to me, ma belle. You’re mine. An’ I’m yours. Ain’t nobody gonna touch you, not even with their words. I’ll rip ‘em apart if I have to.”
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your temple, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t care how many of ‘em I gotta deal with. I’ll do it every time if it means keepin’ y’ safe.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, not just from the possessiveness in them, but from the unshakable devotion that lay beneath it. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as his hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, his fingers resting lightly against your pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath your skin.
“Remy…” Your voice was barely more than a whisper, but the way he looked at you, the way his thumb stroked over your pulse, made it hard to speak, hard to think. There was a hunger in his gaze now, a need that matched the intensity of his earlier fury, but this time it wasn’t directed outward—it was all for you.
“I’d burn this whole world down for y’,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your jaw, trailing down your neck, each word a promise that sent heat pooling low in your belly. “Ain’t nobody worth more t’me than y’.”
His hand slid down your back, pulling you flush against him, the warmth of his body sinking into yours. Your hands instinctively found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the tension between you ignited into something else—something deeper, something that had been building all night.
His mouth found yours, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, every movement filled with purpose. It wasn’t just about passion—it was about reassuring you, about showing you just how much you meant to him, how far he was willing to go to keep you by his side. His tongue brushed against your lips, coaxing them open as he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up into your hair, gripping it just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.
“Let me show y’,” he whispered against your lips, his voice rough, filled with need. “Let me show you how much y’ mean t’me.”
Your breath hitched as his hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you even closer until you could feel every inch of him pressed against you. His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your knees weak, heat flooding through your body with each touch.
“Remy…” His name fell from your lips as a breathless plea, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed along the curve of your collarbone, his hands already working at the zipper of your dress. The fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you standing before him in nothing but the barest of undergarments. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his hands sliding over your hips, his touch reverent and possessive all at once.
“You’re so beautiful, chère,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. His hands moved up your sides, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before slipping around to your back, unclasping your bra in one fluid motion. The garment fell away, leaving you exposed to him, your skin tingling under his gaze.
He kissed you again, harder this time, his hands roaming over your bare skin, pulling you against him as if he couldn’t stand to be apart for even a second. The heat between you was electric, your bodies moving together with a desperate urgency, as if the world outside no longer mattered. There was only this—only the two of you, wrapped in the intensity of your connection.
He backed you up toward the bed, his lips never leaving yours as he guided you down onto the soft sheets. His body hovered over yours, his hands bracing on either side of your head as he looked down at you, his gaze filled with a hunger that sent a thrill of anticipation through your veins.
“Le’ me take care of y’, ma belle,” he whispered, his voice rough and low. His hand slid down your body, fingers teasing the edge of your panties before slipping beneath the fabric, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You arched into him, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he explored you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, his lips tracing a path along your jaw, down your neck, over your collarbone.
His fingers slipped deeper, finding that sweet spot that made you shudder with pleasure. You moaned into his mouth, your hips bucking against his hand as he continued his relentless exploration. His thumb brushed against your clit, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through you. Your nails dug into his back, urging him on, your body begging for more.
"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "Don't stop."
He growled in response, a sound of pure animalistic desire, and pulled your panties down your legs, leaving them pooled at your ankles. He paused for a moment, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you, completely exposed and at his mercy. The intensity in his gaze made your heart race, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
Without warning, he thrust two fingers inside you, filling you completely. You cried out, your body arching off the bed as he began to move them in a steady, rhythmic pace. His thumb returned to your clit, circling it with deliberate pressure, heightening your pleasure. Your mind was spiralling, every touch, every movement sending you closer to the edge.
"Faster," you begged, your voice barely audible. "Please, faster."
He obliged, increasing the speed of his fingers, his movements becoming more frantic. The sensation was overwhelming, your body tightening around his fingers as you felt the familiar rush of an impending climax. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as you came apart beneath him.
Your body trembled, waves of pleasure coursing through you as you clung to him, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. He didn’t let up, his fingers continuing their relentless pace, drawing out your orgasm until you were utterly spent. Only then did he pull away, his fingers glistening with your arousal.
He looked down at you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Y’ taste s’ good, chère," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of him tasting you sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs.
"Now it's my turn," he said, his tone commanding. He rose from the bed, stripping off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing his muscular chest and arms. His pants followed, discarded carelessly on the floor, leaving him gloriously naked before you.
You couldn’t help but stare, your eyes tracing every inch of his powerful form. He was a vision of raw masculinity, every muscle defined, every line of his body honed by years of discipline and power. And now, he was all yours, ready to claim you in the most primal way possible.
He climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes locked onto yours, a silent promise of what was to come. With one swift movement, he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock hard and throbbing against your slick folds.
"Are y’ ready, ma belle?" he asked, his voice low and husky.
You nodded, unable to form words, your body trembling with anticipation. He didn’t wait for a verbal response, instead, he slowly pushed himself inside you, filling you inch by inch. The sensation was exquisite, your body stretching to accommodate him, the fullness overwhelming and perfect.
He paused when he was fully inside you, allowing you to adjust to his size. His hands gripped your hips, holding you still as he looked down at you, his eyes burning with intensity. "Y’ feel so good," he rasped, his voice rough with need.
With a growl, he began to move, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in, his rhythm slow and deliberate. Each thrust was measured, controlled, yet filled with undeniable passion. You could feel every ridge of his hardness, every pulse of his desire, as he claimed you with a possessive fervor.
"Yes," you gasped, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. "More, please."
He obliged, increasing the speed of his thrusts, his hips slamming into yours with a force that made the bed creak beneath you. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by your moans and his growls of pleasure. The world outside ceased to exist, there was only this—only the two of you, lost in the heat of your shared desire.
His hands moved from your hips to your breasts, squeezing and kneading them roughly, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, sending shocks of pleasure radiating through you. You arched into his touch, your back bowing off the bed as you rode the waves of ecstasy he was creating within you.
"S’ tight," he muttered, his voice strained with effort. "S’ fucking perfect."
His thrusts grew more erratic, each one hitting deeper, harder, driving you both closer to the edge. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you, waiting for release. He must have sensed it too, because he suddenly changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you that made you see stars.
"Fuck,” you cried out, your body convulsing around him as you came, your walls clenching tightly around his cock. He followed you over the edge, his thrusts becoming wild and uncontrolled as he spilled inside you, his seed filling you completely.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your combined panting, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the feeling of his heartbeat thudding against your chest. Then, slowly, he began to withdraw, his softening cock slipping out of you with a wet sound.
He rolled off you, pulling you into his arms as he lay back against the pillows. You nestled against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, your breaths gradually slowing to a normal pace. The room was filled with the scent of sex, mingled with the faint aroma of the hotel room’s expensive linens.
"That was... incredible," you murmured, your voice soft and content.
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest. "Only the beginning, chère," he said, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. "We have all night."
You smiled, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift in the warmth of his embrace. For now, that was enough. But you knew, deep down, that the night was far from over.
Remy watched you with a quiet intensity, his fingers gently combing through your hair, the softness of each strand slipping between his fingers like silk. The tenderness in his touch was a stark contrast to the ruthless persona he wore in his world. Here, in the privacy of this dimly lit room, with the city buzzing faintly beyond the windows, Remy allowed himself the luxury of vulnerability—a rare thing for a man who often had to keep his guard up.
He shifted slightly, adjusting the pillows behind him without disturbing you, his eyes lingering on your peaceful expression. You looked so serene, your lashes resting against your cheeks, your breaths slow and steady as sleep began to pull you under. It wasn’t often that he got to see you like this—utterly relaxed, completely unguarded—and the sight tugged at something deep inside him.
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, one that was reserved solely for moments like these. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, breathing you in. “Mon cœur,” he whispered against your skin, his voice barely a murmur. “Y’ don’ even know what y’ do t’me.”
He held you closer, one arm wrapped securely around your waist as the other continued its soothing path through your hair. It amazed him how easily you fit against him, like the missing piece of a puzzle he hadn’t known he was solving. Remy’s life was a constant whirlwind of chaos and danger, a never-ending game of chess where every move could be his last. But with you in his arms, all of that faded into the background, leaving only the quiet, undeniable certainty that he would do anything to keep you safe.
As you drifted further into sleep, Remy’s thoughts began to wander. He knew the path he walked was a dangerous one, and bringing you into his world was a risk—a risk he took willingly, even if it meant putting everything on the line. The men he commanded, the deals he brokered, the rivals he crushed—it all seemed insignificant in comparison to the way you made him feel. He would burn it all down in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you beside him.
For a long moment, he simply watched you, memorizing the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the gentle curve of your lips, the way your fingers curled slightly against his skin. He wanted to remember everything, to hold onto this moment for as long as he could. Because with you, time seemed to slow, the relentless pace of his life easing into something softer, more manageable.
Remy’s thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He glanced over, his expression hardening momentarily as the screen lit up with a message. His world never slept; the business never paused, not even for moments like this. But tonight, he could afford to let it wait. Whatever it was, whoever it was—it could wait until morning.
He silenced the phone, returning his focus to you, the tension easing from his features as he resumed his gentle ministrations. The warmth of your body against his was like a balm, soothing the rough edges of his soul in a way that nothing else ever had. He continued to run his fingers through your hair, tracing the shape of your shoulder, your arm, every curve and line etched into his memory.
As he watched you sleep, Remy couldn’t help but wonder how he had ever gotten so lucky. In a world filled with betrayal and deceit, you were his one constant, the one person who saw him not as a ruthless leader but as the man beneath the mask. And for that, he was grateful beyond words.
The night stretched on, the city’s distant hum lulling him into a state of quiet contentment. Remy closed his eyes, resting his cheek against the top of your head, inhaling the faint scent of your shampoo mixed with the lingering traces of their earlier passion. He was tired, but it was a good kind of tired—the kind that came from being exactly where he wanted to be, with exactly who he wanted to be with.
Remy’s fingers stilled, resting gently on your back as he let his own eyes drift shut. “All night, mon amour,” he whispered, his voice soft and laced with a promise. “And every night after that.”
For the first time in a long time, Remy LeBeau allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—there was a place for him beyond the shadows of his empire. And that place was here, with you, in the quiet moments that stretched between dusk and dawn. Moments where nothing else mattered but the steady beat of your heart against his, and the certainty that whatever battles lay ahead, you would face them together.
As sleep finally claimed him, Remy held you a little tighter, his grip firm and unyielding. He wasn’t letting go—not now, not ever. The world outside could wait. For tonight, and every night after, you were his to protect, his to cherish, and he was yours in every way that mattered.
And that, for Remy, was more than enough.