If Ever - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Painted Eyes
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 8

Jean's first conscious awareness was of clinging around him like a vine, shuddering and gasping. Her head was laid into the heated curve of his neck and shoulder, her lips open and tasting the faintly salty skin, breathing in the evasive scent of cedar and cinnamon and pepper. He held her across his folded thighs, sitting on his heels and leaning back, arms criss-crossed behind her and a rounded impossibly soft buttock in each wide-spread hand. His breath was a quick panting hotness across her tender and blood-flushed skin. A slight rocking motion tugged little tongues of flame from her over-sensitized body and joy spread in langorous waves.

She had brought him back, given him a reason in giving herself and he thanked her in a soft breathless slurry of Cajun patois warm and moist as a kiss in her ear. His voice, knowing what he said, intelligible, sounding like prayers, and the gentling glide of his hands worshiping skin he had bruised in the crazed battle to survive. She had given him back his life simply by feeling it worthy of her, he was humbled and astonished and quivering in the heart of him to be holding this woman, this particular woman ... she had come for him, held on to him, given herself to save him. Let him into the wide deep heart of her. Jean.

When she would have lifted herself away from him and broken the spell, Remy disarmed her with an unspeakably tender kiss that gradually became more. Hardening inside her again, he slanted his mouth across hers with a renewed intent she could not remove herself from ... and not only for his hands holding her head to him. Alive, alive, alive, his heartbeat against her spoke, desperate need met and sated but the hunger still there to be close, a shaken perilous joy. There was no point in stopping him now ...

"In fer a penny, in fer a pound, Jeannie ... " He breathed against her ear with a hint of his old spicy wickedness, as sensitive to her mind right now as she was to his, as their bodies were to the celebratory twitches and pulses of the other's. "Remy never breat' a word, 'dis night nev' happen but f'you n' me ... y' saved me, Jeannie, c'est morte, c'est mort ..." I was dead. And he was alive now and in full possession of his considerable erotic arsenal.

"Always love y' for it, Jean, f'ever love you for it." As much apology for his senseless violent rutting as renewed desire, he wanted to love her again, feel her love and know it was for him only. That she had seen every pathetic corner of him and still could be in his arms right now ... He felt her momentary hesitation and his tongue sparked in her mouth, a delicate charge that popped her eyes open. His, half-closed, watched her with feral delight through a thick fan of heavy russet lashes. A slight grin she could feel against her lips if not see, and then his cock sparked inside her so unexpectedly that she gasped and her body shuddered, succumbed.

"Y'like 'dat?"

"Remy!"

"Shocked?" Eyes sparkling lazily at the pun and a slow warmth from base to tip inside her so her eyes fluttered closed and her beautiful mouth rounded in the silent *Ooooooooo....* he heard in her mind.

"Never did 'dis b'fore wit' a telepat' ... " A sigh she heard inside her mind, a masculine delight that was him there as well as in her body. "Like it alot, me, Je l'aime beaucoup"...

Her curiosity was also arousing now, yet she felt suddenly shy in the full male regard of his eyes, no longer a desperate man clinging to anyone to keep from disappearing, but a man with a woman's naked body in his arms, a woman's hot slickness firmly around his hardening erection. A man who gave her that slow crooked devilish smile that had always made her so furious, but never would again. Intentions that sent a little zing of pleasure skating up her spine ...

"Remy LeBeau allus pays 'is debts, cherie, n' I owe you big-time. Las' time was f'me - 'dis time, Jean ... but oh, 'dis time is f'you." His mouth at her ear made her shiver, his tongue-tip circled delicately, probed, licked, teeth nipped delicately while his hands stroked and cupped and laid her gently down on her back so he could properly attend the altar of this body where he had found his faith again.

Over a long languid hour Remy substantiated the libidinous confidence that had once annoyed her so much, patiently revealing the secrets that had garnered the lasting admiration of every lover he'd ever had. Here, as nowhere else, he'd always been able to focus the empath powers to know where to touch and how, from feathered fingertips to a firm drag of palm or open mouth, knowing places on her body she herself had never guessed were so charged with eroticism. He was utterly uninhibited and as vocal as she'd always suspected he would be, murmuring passionate words against her skin, telling her with provocatively elegant crudity what she felt like to him even as he shared how she made him feel in her mind. Freeing her to be as free.

Lovingly he teased out and indulged her every unspoken fantasy, hands sensitive to every quiver and twitch, mouth a slip of murmuring lips, sliding tongue, elegantly delicate teeth. With torturous skill he savored her, his voice vibrating against her skin, his hair slithering like cool heavy silk down her body after the tasting heat of his lips and every move, every sound testament to the depth of his appreciation. Heated runnels followed his fingertips in warm stripes, his tongue skimmed across her instep and the tender backs of her knees while she lay writhing feverishly under his erotic onslaught like a feast eager to be consumed. Wet lingering kisses inside her elbows and slow drifts of his flattened tongue across the curving arch of her hips where she'd never realized nerves lay so close to the skin, everywhere that would bring her pleasure he played with a breathtaking finesse, using his entire body to caress hers, skin and bone and crisp soft hair. Finally he opened her like a flower with his long fingers, inhaled hungrily, and then tasted with his tongue-tip until she was crazed and moaning. Feasting then, mad for the slick sweetness of her, sucking and stroking and circling and finally invading, holding her open with gentle but compelling hands.

When she had abandoned the last shreds of inhibition and clutched his head, fanned her silken thighs against the rough angles of his cheeks, he stopped ... she heard her own disappointed cry, protesting, hands and body encouraging as he slid up her, dragging himself across her so he brought a trail of moist sensation all the way up their torsos. He braced his forearms on either side of her head and slipped his fingers into the hair around her face, looking at her ... looking into her and letting her look into him as he had never willingly let anyone.

"We won' nev' f'get 'dis night, Jeannie... Je ne regrets rien." (I regret nothing) Not third-person but one to one, utterly hers in this moment as both knew they could never be again, and that tender certainty softened both their faces, minds touched in understanding. He was so beautiful above her, his eyes so strange and wicked and impossibly tender. Wanton and loyal, lusting and loving ...The velvety hard length of him slipped across her, wetting him, and for a moment that was enough, just sliding slowly back and forth on her while her eyes went smoky and glazed and mesmerized his heart, her beautiful lush mouth tender as a summer gardenia so he had to lower his head to taste it in gentle bites and licks and kisses ...

"We got 'dis one time, I know it, don' want no problems f'you - God, not'in further from." Voice warm and clinging as suede, intimately soft and made more profound by the honesty she knew he rarely gave, "I know what you done f'me, what you sacrifice f'me, nobody, ever ... " A movement that brought a gasp from her, "Never ..." This time her soft fluttering moan answered, "Done so much f' 'dis sorry homme ... " Kisses gentle as butterflies on her face, sweet across her brow, cheekbones, on her closed eyes, her jaw, coming back to her lips. Promises, gratitude, a depth of love that would never fade or doubt. Even Storm, whose casual closeness with him so many women envied, would not share these things of mind and body with him, Jean had visited his most private mind and found her way to the heart no one had ever truly seen. She could never mistrust him again.

"Let me ... " He finally gasped against her pale velvet skin, hot as a coal and quivering with need, "Let me have you, all of you, Jean, let me, I need t'be inside you and know I am 'dis time ... Dieu, ma chere bellamie, please ...". Eyes deep and hot piercing into hers from an inch away, exotic and gorgeous and never again demonic to her. *Scott don' hav't' 'know 'dis, chere, n' not Rogue, nobody ...*

Would she always be able to hear that smoky tone in her mind now? Did he know he was doing it? The mental touch a rich seductive slither purring within. *Dis belong t'you n me alone ... dis be ... ours ... beyond explainin' ... f''ever* And inch by exquisite inch as she heard these soft heart-felt words and was held captive in the tender grip of his eyes, he pushed himself into her, so beautifully slow and on such a golden glide of emotion it was as if he was sealing a vow with his flesh and bone and heart. He shuddered delicately, rapt in the trembling and nearly inaudible but eloquent sound she made the whole way in. Once there, once buried in the firm slick heat inside her and upon her, skin to skin, bone to bone, breath to breath, he paused and let her feel him pulsing, let her feel his weight and grow languorously impatient. With a hiss between clenched teeth he forced himself to remain motionless even longer, resting his weight on hips and elbows and his bruised forehead lightly on hers.

For that moment, all his passion poured into a vow never to allow harm to come to her from any quarter, his life be forfeit before hers and she was only the second person ever to gain such devotion from him. He had been dead and now might be alive again if he could just hold on to what she'd given him tonight. So much given with the simple gift of her body, and yet he knew well how unsimple it was. There was Scott, and Rogue of course, and Jean's body had always been a divine temptation to him; he would never be able to look at Jean again without remembering ... this. His own laughter surprised him as she breathed a sultry warning into his ear.

"You'll find a way, Remy, because I'm not explaining why you get a hard-on every time we're in the same room together..." So friendly and comfortable with him inside her that he laughed again and couldn't believe a sound so free came from him.

"Ah, Jeannie, he a'ready t'inks Remy be randy as a goat alla time, won't t'ink no'tin of it ..."

And he flexed himself inside her with a burst of almost painful heat so she gasped and tightened around him, her eyes falling closed. This moan was short, constricted and breathless. In a dizzy wheel of male/female sensations she felt the masculine pleasure at being inside a tight hot wet woman as he cycled back the feminine clutch and shiver around a stretching reach of invading shaft, a symbiosis of opposing sensations she instinctively knew was unique to Remy. No wonder he loved sex so much, doubling pleasures in sharing them.

"Tell ya what ... Remy'll produce a hard-on f'every femme on d'team, neh?" This time she laughed, too, a soft sound filled with gladness at the lightening of his spirit.

"Yess ... fine ... but right now ... oh, Remy, do that again ... I want the hard-on you've got for me."

He moved then, she sighed *at last*, her hands on his chest pushing him up so their hips were the fulcrum, smiling at the soft suck of breath he took in enjoying the slide of their skin, wickedly twisting on the downstroke so he struck across the upper wall of her channel where that spot was that never failed to make women shudder, and did not fail now. Hope and relief trickled into the parched barrens of his soul - he was not alone. He and Rogue would find a way to be together, to do ... this ... a thrust, a grasp, a nuzzle against bare velvety breast softly substantial and perfect against his face ... if Rogue loved him enough there would be a way ...

He stopped breathing as Jean's tongue stroked across on the copper disk of his nipple, sucking so he shivered from head to toe and began the long sweet gasping rhythm that would finish the finest night he'd ever known. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Remy LeBeau was happy.