Chapter 181 He remembers
June
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What the fuck are you doing, June?
I kept asking myself that—right up until his question drops between us, dark and heavy.
“Did I ever tell you… what I did to Chris?”
My hands freeze against his bare back. My eyes narrow before I can stop them.
Another recovered memory. Chris. He remembers Chris.
This is good. Really good.
I’m doing this right.
“No… but I figured it out anyway,” I breathe, biting my lip. “I always knew you were the one behind it. Did you—” I swallow, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “Did you love me back then? Like… actually love me? Or were you just body-possessive?”
I needed to keep him talking. Keep him remembering. Keep him here, with me, like this.
But instead of answering, he grips me harder—lifting me higher, his hands sliding under my ass as if he’s done it a thousand times.
“This has happened before, right?” he murmurs, eyes unfocused, almost searching.
He ignores my question completely, and the confusion hits me like a wave.
But I don’t dwell in it, because he is remembering.
"Yes. It has..." I answer, chuckling lightly as I remember the roach incident. I was so horny for him then. I am still horny. I'm hungry, I'm thirsty... I'm craving—
I look down at him, feeling his fingers roaming tentatively around my ass as if he’s stopping himself from fingering me.
He might be shy but I'm not. Not right now.
"You know I haven't thanked you for helping me with Chris's situation." I add, tapping his hands so he let me down.
He does.
With one finger, I lightly pushed him and as if weak, he staggered backwards, back against the shower glass.
"I think I should thank you now..." I breathe, my eyes never feeling his. His gaze is breathtakingly as he bit on his lips.
I carry my hair up and pull in a messy bun.
But I don’t dwell on the confusion—because he’s remembering.
Piece by piece, he’s coming back to me.
“Yes. It has…” I say, a small laugh slipping out as the memory of the roach incident flashes through my mind. God, I was so horny for him then.
I still am.
Hungry. Thirsty. Craving—
I look down at him. His fingers are roaming tentatively along the curve of my ass, like he’s holding himself back from sliding one inside me.
He might be shy right now, but I’m not. Not with him. Not in this moment.
“You know,” I murmur, tapping his hands so he’ll lower me, “I never actually thanked you… for what you did about Chris.”
He sets me down, obedient in that distracted, overwhelmed way he gets when his mind is split between memory and desire.
With one finger, I press lightly against his chest.
And just like that—like he’s weak for me—he staggers back until his spine meets the shower glass.
“I think I should thank you now…” I breathe, my eyes never leaving his.
His gaze is devastating—hungry, conflicted, dark—his teeth sinking into his bottom lip like he’s fighting the urge to take me again.
I lift my hair, gathering it into a messy bun, exposing the line of my neck to him deliberately, knowing exactly what that does to him.
“What are you doing?” he grunts, the sound low and feral enough to vibrate through me.
“What do you think?” I breathe back, swaying my hips as I walk toward him.
My fingers trail down his chest—slow, teasing—skimming over every line of muscle I’ve memorized too many times. They glide to his waist, tracing the deep V of his hips, then the band of his pajama shorts… and lower.
“Ugh—fuck—”
The sound punches out of him, raw, as his palm slams against the shower glass behind him. His back arches, chest rising sharply.
I find him easily.
Hard.
Thick.
Already leaking for me.
His body never disappoints.
I wrap my hand around his cock and give a slow, deliberate stroke—wet, steady, rhythmic.
His knees nearly buckle. One of his hands cups my face, trembling, like he’s trying to anchor himself.
“You—You’re supposed—” he tries, voice breaking apart.
“Shhh…” I whisper, increasing my pace, my other hand sliding behind him to squeeze his ass, pulling him closer into my touch.
His breath stutters.
His body gives.
And he leans into me like I’m the only thing holding him upright.
I keep my movements steady — slow, torturously controlled — feeling him respond beneath my touch even through the thin fabric of his pajamas.
“You’re so hard… and leaking for me,” I murmur, my voice slipping into a purr I barely recognize as my own. “Did you miss me that much?”
Hermes’s breath shudders out of him. “Don’t— don’t regret this afterwards,” he manages, his voice thick and breaking at the edges.
His hands find my breast, fingers closing tightly around my hardened nipples through my shirt. The sudden pinch sends a jolt through my whole body. My knees nearly give out. It only makes me wilder.
I don’t hesitate. I hook my fingers into the waistband of his pants and tug them down with one smooth, impatient pull. He lets out a sharp sound—half warning, half surrender—before I sink to my knees in front of him.
“June—” he starts.
I silence him with a single finger to my lips. Not a word.
His breath stutters. His hand slips into my hair, gripping gently but with that barely-leashed strength he never truly hides.
I lean in, letting my lips brush lightly—teasingly on his red head, before my tongue traces a slow, deliberate stroke across the center.
“Fuck— June—” His head falls back, voice raw, hands tightening in my hair as if he’s anchoring himself to reality.
I shift, giving his balls more attention—slow, alternating, intentional—drawing out every trembling exhale.
“Don’t make a noise,” I murmur against him, my breath warm. “The bodyguards might hear you. Ted might—”
Before I can finish, a low groan rips out of him. He looks down at me with a stare so intense it pins me in place.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he says, voice dark, commanding, breathless.
And I obey.
I let a soft hmph slip, sucking on his dangling balls, “I'm looking at you, baby." I breathe, my hand moving deliberately, slow and teasing, tracing along his cock veins.
He exhales sharply, a quiet fhh escaping him, his body trembling under my touch. I feel the subtle shift of his weight, the tightening of his hips, and I smirk. “You’re… trying not to make a sound, aren’t you?” I whisper.
Hermes’s jaw clenches, a deep ugh slipping past his teeth. His eyes are dark, locked on mine. “Don’t… don’t stop,” he mutters, barely audible, his voice low and rough.
I choke on his swollen cock, begging for another release. His hips jerk in time against my mouth. He makes primal and feral sounds as he struggles to restrain himself.
"Mmm… so hard... Come for me baby," I murmur, leaning in closer, my lips brushing against him again.
Hermes leans back slightly, hands resting lightly on my shoulders, gripping just enough as his hips shift subtly, controlled. A quiet, strained hnng escapes him.
"Just… a little longer… focus… don’t let them hear you.” I whisper against his raging cock.
His breath hitches. “Huhhh… don’t… don’t stop,” he pleads quietly, voice strained with need.
“I won’t,” I murmur, mouth watering, keeping the pace steady. I watch his body respond—muscles tensing, hips twitching against the shower glass.
"You proposed the secret sex relationship, didn't you? I didn't." He groaned, hands grabbing my hair backwards.
I nod, tears slipping from my eyes as I slurps and suckles on his dick.
Tears of joy and pleasure.
He remembers...