My Mate Was Buried at Christmas, So His Three Brothers Claimed Me novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Remy

On the cabin table and the rug by the stove, the eldest brother's control breaks and she tells him what she wants him to give her.

"Up here," I said, and pulled him to his feet by the collar of his coat.

Remy came up off the floor with my taste on his beard and a look on his face that was past asking.

I pushed the coat off his shoulders and it hit the boards.

I pulled his shirt over his head, and he stood there in the stove light with his chest heaving.

He was bigger than I had ever let myself notice.

There was gray in the dark hair across his chest, and a long white scar over his ribs from some poacher's knife.

His stomach was hard and flat.

I put both palms on him and felt his heart slamming under my hand.

"Look at me," I said.

He looked.

"I'm not Etienne's widow tonight. I'm the woman who wants you inside her. Say you understand."

"I understand," Remy said. His voice cracked. "God help me, I do."

I undid his belt myself.

I opened his jeans and pushed them down.

His cock came free, thick and flushed dark, and it jerked against his belly when I wrapped my hand around it.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Mireille."

"Shh."

I stroked him slowly, base to head, and thumbed the slick bead off the tip.

He was heavier in my hand than I had expected, hot and smooth, and he shook all over.

I wanted to taste him, so I went down on my knees on the boards.

"You don't have to," Remy said, hoarse.

"I know I don't."

I licked a slow stripe from the base to the head.

He said something in French that I had not heard since the logging camps.

I took him into my mouth, as much as I could, and hollowed my cheeks and sucked.

He was salt and heat, and he filled my mouth until my jaw ached.

I loved the weight of him on my tongue.

His hand came down into my hair and stopped, hovering, trembling.

"Take it," I said around him. "Hold my head."

He closed his fingers in my hair and gave one slow thrust into my throat.

I moaned, and the vibration made him curse and fold over me.

"Stop," he gasped. "Stop, or I'll finish, and I want to be in you."

I let him slip free with a wet sound and looked up at him.

My lips were swollen, and his need glistened on my chin.

"Table," I said. "Now."

He didn't make me say it twice.

He lifted me by the backs of my thighs.

He set me on the edge of the table where he had eaten me a minute before.

He stepped between my knees, and I wrapped my legs around his hips.

He braced one hand beside me and reached down with the other to guide himself.

His knuckles brushed my clit, and I jolted.

"Slow," he said, to himself more than to me.

"No," I said.

"Mireille."

I dug my heels into his back. "I said I choose. Fuck me, Remy."

He put the head of his cock against me and pushed.

I was so wet that he slid in an inch before I felt the stretch, and then another.

It burned and filled me, and I dug my nails into his shoulders and moaned.

"Breathe," he whispered.

"I am. More."

He gave me more.

He gave me all of it, one long slow slide, until his hips met mine and I was full to the edge.

He stopped there with his forehead against mine, trembling.

For a moment neither of us moved.

I could feel him pulse inside me.

I could feel the white season roaring in my blood, hot and sweet.

I clenched around him on purpose and watched his eyes roll.

"Christ," Remy said. "Don't."

"Why not?" I said.

"Because I'm going to embarrass myself."

"Then move," I said. "I want to feel it."

He pulled back, almost all the way out, and drove in again.

The table jolted under us.

He did it again, harder, and found a rhythm that slapped our skin together and rattled the lantern.

Every time he bottomed out, the pleasure spiked up my spine.

"That's it. Yes. Like that."

"You feel so good," he said, and stopped to groan. "You feel so good, Mireille. God."

I hooked my heels behind his back and met every thrust.

My breasts moved against his chest.

He dropped his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucked hard, and scraped it with his teeth.

I cried out and clenched around him again.

"Do that again," he said against my skin.

I did.

He swore and thrust harder.

"I want you on the floor," I said, breathless. "By the stove. I want to be on top."

He lifted me off the table without pulling out.

I wrapped my arms around his neck.

He carried me toward the stove with his cock still buried in me, and every step jolted me deeper.

I bit my lip to keep from coming right there.

He knelt and laid me back on the rug.

Then he rolled, and I was on top of him with the stove heat on my bare back and his hands on my hips.

I sat up.

I was straddling the eldest Lavallee brother, full of him, and he lay under me with his hair wild and his lips parted.

He looked up at me with nothing hidden on his face.

"Look at you," he said.

I began to ride him.

I started slow, rolling my hips, taking him deep and grinding down so that my clit pressed against the root of him.

He gripped my hips so hard I knew I would have marks.

"Harder," I told him. "Hold me. I want the marks."

He held me harder.

I rode him faster, my thighs burning and my hair falling around my face.

The pleasure gathered in my belly and spread.

"Tell me what you want," Remy panted. "Tell me. Anything."

I leaned down until my mouth was at his ear.

"I want you to come inside me," I said. "I want every drop."

He made a raw broken sound.

"I want to feel it run out of me tonight."

I rocked down on him, slow and deep.

"I want you to do it again tomorrow, and the next day, until the whole season is in me."

His hands shook on my hips.

"I want to be so full of you that I walk across the ice tomorrow and everyone can smell it."

His hips snapped up into mine.

"Say it again," he said.

"I want you to breed me, Remy."

"Mireille," he groaned.

"I want your pup in my belly," I said. "I want it so much I can't stand it."

He rolled us over so fast that I yelped.

Now I was on my back on the rug with him braced over me, his weight pressing me into the wool.

He drove into me without any care at all.

I loved it.

I locked my ankles above his hips and cried out with every thrust.

I raked my nails down his back, and he snarled and sank deeper.

"Mine," he said, and then, shocked, "No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean."

"Don't you dare take it back," I said. "Not that one. Not tonight."

He groaned.

He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand and slid the other between us.

He found my clit and rubbed it in fast, tight circles in time with his hips.

"Come for me," he said. "Come on my cock. I want to feel it."

I came apart.

It rolled over me from the base of my spine, so hot and violent that I screamed.

My body clamped down on him again and again, and he swore and thrust through it.

"There. That's it," he said. "God, you're squeezing me."

"Remy. Remy. Now."

"I can't hold," he said.

"Don't hold," I said.

He buried his face against my neck.

His whole body locked, and I felt him pulse deep inside me, thick and hot and endless.

He groaned my name into my skin and bit down on my shoulder.

It was a hard, shocking bite, the teeth sinking into the muscle above my collarbone.

I came again around him, on the edge of pain, and clutched his head.

When it was over he lay on top of me, shaking, breathing hard, still inside me.

I stroked the damp hair at the back of his neck.

"You bit me," I said.

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't say stop."

He lifted his head and looked at my shoulder, where the red crescent had already begun to bloom.

He kissed it, very gently, and I felt him still half hard inside me.

"Again?" I said, and rocked my hips.

He groaned and swelled.

For a long minute he moved in me slowly, kissing my throat and my mouth and the mark he had made.

I came once more, small and deep, with my fingers in his beard.

"A love mark," he said afterward, rough. "It'll fade in a week. It doesn't mean anything."

"I know," I said. "I'd like another one tomorrow."

He laughed, a cracked, astonished sound, and put his forehead down against mine.

The door banged open, and a gust of cold air swept across us.

Alexis stood in the doorway with an armful of split birch and snow in his hair.

His eyes went over the two of us on the rug, and his grin came slowly.

"My turn," he said, "or do I have to wait for Hugo to finish his notebook?"

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