No Inhibitions (The Sinful 3)

The hardest, most painful part of his divorce hadn’t been losing Rachel. Or even her having an affair and financially ruining him. No, the most difficult thing he’d had to come to terms with had been the loss of a vision he’d had for his life. Those hopes and dreams he’d harbored deep inside, of taking care of one special woman. Of coming home to a wife after a hard day at work, knowing she loved him unconditionally and, despite how hard things might get, they always had each other’s backs and had the same future goals in mind. To having a family of his own and building the kind of ideal life for his kids that Remy himself had never known.

He’d honestly tried so fucking hard, and he’d failed.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss this kind of intimacy with a woman—not just the sex but the deeper connection that didn’t require words and just felt right. He never thought it possible after Rachel’s betrayal, but Tempest filled something inside of him. Made him feel calm and content and dare he say . . . happy? Like he had something more to look forward to than just the constant mental and physical grind of work he’d buried himself in for the past three years.

He exhaled a slow, deep breath, accepting that, for now, he’d enjoy his time with Tempest. Her own life was incredibly busy, with Wilder Passion and now Wilder Things. She was independent, driven, and competent—things he truly admired about her—but she wasn’t looking for a man to take care of her, or anything permanent, either. Which was probably for the best, because Remy had no idea how to make a woman who already had it all, like Tempest did, satisfied beyond sex.

A while later, Tempest stirred against him, stretching her limbs with a soft moan before she lifted her head to blink up at him, her hair completely disheveled around her head and shoulders. He grinned at the sleepy look in her eyes, the pink flush on her face, and the affectionate smile curving her lips. His heart did a little flip in his chest at how beautiful she looked after a night of pleasure.

“Hey,” she said, her voice husky as her fingers absently drifted across his abdomen while her gaze went to the window and early Saturday morning light streaming in. “What time is it?”

He reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and picked up his phone. “Eight thirty.” A shock for him, considering it was three hours later than he normally slept.

She sighed and propped her chin on the hand she’d rested on his chest, looking as content as he felt. “You wore me out.”

He smirked and gently brushed a strand of hair back that had fallen in front of one of her eyes. “I could say the same for you,” he murmured. “You, Tempest Wilder, are a naughty, dirty girl.”

“Only with you,” she replied, her voice soft but earnest. “You’re definitely my unicorn guy.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d made that reference and it piqued his curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

“It means you pretty much check all my boxes sexually,” she said with a small shrug. “The few men I’d been with before you were . . . mediocre, to say the least. Way too gentle and tentative. I was lucky if I had an orgasm before they came—and if I did, it was usually by my own hand. After a few average encounters, I realized that I like a guy who’s more aggressive, a little rough and in control . . . like you were last night when you took me from behind and pulled my hair.” Her eyes darkened with desire as she remembered. “I liked that. A lot.”

She most definitely had. As he’d wrapped a handful of Tempest’s hair around his fist to keep her still while he’d pounded into her pussy, he’d felt her inner muscles clench tight around his dick. And when she’d climaxed screaming his name, all those deep pulses had milked him fucking dry. He couldn’t deny that sex with Tempest was off-the-charts hot and better than he’d ever had, too.

The loud growl of Tempest’s stomach made Remy laugh. “Are you always hungry?” After they’d appeased their physical need for one another the first time last night, he’d ordered in Chinese at Tempest’s suggestion, and she’d literally devoured every bite of the orange chicken and chow mein she’d asked for.

She sat up beside him, not bothering to use the sheet to cover her perfect breasts, which had a few red marks from where he’d marred her skin with his teeth. She’d loved that, too, and seeing them now made him feel possessive as hell.

>

“I’m a girl who likes to eat, and missing a meal makes me hangry, which you do not want,” she told him playfully. “So, are you going to feed me, or are we going out for breakfast?”

“Ham and cheese omelet work for you?” he offered.

“Sounds fantastic,” she said with a grin.

He slid out of bed naked, and her eyes watched him avidly as he walked around the bed, grabbed a clean pair of sweatpants from his dresser, and headed for the shower—which was tiny and not conducive to fooling around in or else he would have invited her in with him.

“Give me a few minutes in the bathroom, then it’s all yours.”

By the time he was done and came back out feeling much more refreshed, she was lying back against the pillows, scrolling through her phone, still completely naked. When she glanced up at him, she bit her bottom lip as she eyed his bare chest with a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

“Stop looking at me like that or you’ll never get fed,” he warned, his tone light and teasing. “I left a new toothbrush for you to use on the sink. Breakfast is in fifteen minutes.” He left the room before he pounced on her.

He was just finishing up a second omelet when she came strolling into the small kitchen wearing one of his Lowell construction T-shirts that skimmed her thighs and made him wonder what she was wearing beneath, if anything at all. Her face was makeup free, the ends of her tousled hair damp, and still she looked stunningly beautiful.

She headed straight for the coffeemaker. He’d left a cup on the counter for her, and she filled it, then added creamer and a spoonful of sugar while he carried their plates to the secondhand dinette set he’d picked up at Goodwill that only seated two people.

She took the chair across from him, and after a few bites of her omelet, she glanced up at him, the look in her eyes surprisingly tentative.

“So . . . umm . . . do you have any plans today?” she asked.

He took a drink of his coffee, thinking for a moment. It was the weekend, which he hated because activity on most of his projects was shut down per union agreement, which meant Remy had to find other things to occupy his time until Monday rolled around. Usually, he spent Saturday and Sunday down at the office getting caught up on paperwork, and as a break from that, he’d do quick drive-bys of his projects to make sure equipment and building supplies remained secured. Boring, mundane stuff to pass the time.

But did he have any actual plans he’d made, like normal people did for the weekends? No.

Unsure why Tempest was asking, he kept his reply noncommittal. “I have to run by a few of my projects at some point this afternoon, but other than that, no.”