“Okay,” I agreed breathlessly. “But next time, we get to do it hard and fast.”

At that, I felt a shudder move through Rhys. “She’s trying to kill me,” he muttered against my lips.

Maybe. But goodness, what a way to go.

Seventeen

Rhys

Slow. I was supposed to go slow. Parker Brown was sprawled out beneath me like a feast. A pocket pixie, delicate and beautiful. I’d never touched skin so fine, smoother than satin, honey-gold and sweet. I was half afraid I’d break her. Hell, I’d thrust my dick into her slick tightness, trying to think straight long enough to slow the fuck down.

God, she felt good, though. So damn tight. So damn hot. She chuckled against my mouth and moved her hips in a small circle as I thrust. Pleasure shot down my spine, over my skin. I paused deep within her, my dick throbbing. My body shook with the effort to keep still as Parker wiggled beneath me.

“Rhys.”

I nipped her succulent lower lip and took a ragged breath.

“You gonna behave now?” I asked, knowing she liked it when I was bossy.

Her shining brown eyes smiled as she met my gaze. “Yes, Rhys.”

Oh, hell. She really was trying to kill me. My nostrils flared as I pulled back and thrust hard. Parker sighed on impact, her sweet little tits jiggling. Fuck. Yes. I did it again. Hard and deep. Slow.

The sounds of our bodies meeting filled the silence. Her breath became a pant, her lids lowering as she watched me fuck into her. Something was taking over; I stopped thinking, stopped worrying. Nothing mattered anymore. Not the gym. Not my brother or bills. Not Fairchild.

There was only this. Only Parker. She lit me up, made me something new—something good. Groaning, I found her mouth and devoured it. My thrusts became frantic. No more finesse, no more control, just this need to push into her, get as close as possible to her skin so that maybe she could absorb me.

My thoughts grew jumbled, my breath harsh and dry. I needed more.

Her skin was slippery with sweat as I grabbed her thigh and hauled it up higher, spreading her wider.

“Yes,” she rasped, arching up, pressing her breasts against my chest.

Yes. The best word in the English language. Yes. And more. And fuck.

Grunting, I worked her hard, my lips finding the fragrant curve of her neck. I sucked her skin, moved my hips, and fucked her with everything I had.

Parker cried out, her body going tight around me. I could feel her on the edge. Her skin was flushed, her eyes wide on me. “Rhys.”

I heard the plea. My voice was a thick rasp. “What do you need, Tink?”

“Grind it,” she said, gasping. “My clit.”

God. I loved the way she thought. My hips slammed into hers, and I paused there, pushing against her swollen clit. She moaned, her eyes closing, her head tilting back.

It was beautiful. And I was the lucky bastard who got to see this.

“Let go.” I thrust again, pausing, working her. “Give it to me, Parker.”

Her hands grasped my shoulders. She came with a spectacular wail, her body milking my dick so hard I saw stars. It set me off. I lost all sense of time, of anything but moving inside Parker, kissing her soft mouth.

I groaned into her mouth as I came. Everything drained out of me, and in that moment, I didn’t know my own name. Only hers.

I was hers.

“And this little beauty is an authentic Japanese samurai sword, owned by a World War II Japanese officer.” Fairchild lifted the sword off its display mount and held it aloft. “Note the blade. Made by Yoshimichi.”

His houseguests attempted to look interested as Fairchild beamed.

“Story goes, when the US occupied Japan at the end of the war, they confiscated the sword and presented it to an officer as a reward for his work in defeating the Japanese. Set me back around thirty thousand, but I was glad to pay the price.”

This fucking guy.

I caught Parker’s eye. I didn’t need to make a face—one glance and it seemed she understood me completely. Just as I knew she was fighting not to wrinkle her nose in disdain. Fairchild was some piece of work. Not only did he have zero social awareness, he actually gloated over it.

All through the miserable dinner with him, I kept myself sane by imagining the various ways I could punch him in the face—a right cross, an uppercut, a one-two combo. Juvenile, maybe. But definitely satisfying. One day, I promised myself for the thousandth time, I’d see that he got what was coming to him.

There was no way I’d let him get away with being such an utter fuckwank to Parker.

Parker.

Hell. I started to sweat, lust rising like a heat wave.

We’d spent all night in bed. Fucking. Laughing. Fucking again. We’d fall asleep, then one of us would wake, reach for the other, and it would start up all over again.

I’d never had a more perfect night. I’d never laughed like that in bed, just for the joy of it. Parker made me happy. Free in a way I’d never been. She was also the tastiest, most luscious little …

“You’re getting that look again,” she murmured at my side.

My fingers threaded through hers, and I stroked her knuckles. “What look?”

Her lids lowered demurely as her lips pursed. I wanted to kiss those lips, lick my way into her hot, sweet mouth. “You know.”

Yeah, I knew. It was the “I want to fuck you so bad, I hurt” look. I was pretty sure I’d be wearing that look all the time now. Biting back a grin, I tried to focus on Fairchild, still yammering on about another piece of weaponry.

Don’t get me wrong—they were beautiful pieces. And if they were owned by anyone else, I might have been more interested. As it was, though, I just wanted out of there. If I couldn’t take Parker to bed, I’d settle for a walk with her and some fresh air.

Anything, as long as we were alone.

“And this,” Fairchild said, moving on to a big, glass case filled with sand, “is my newest edition to the collection.”

Jackson and his fiancée trailed along, obviously dragging their feet. He shot me a quick, pained look, and I empathized. We were all in hell together. I had no idea what sort of weapon Fairchild would keep in sand, but I obligingly led Parker to the case.

When my eyes finally fell on the object in question, I found myself balking.

“Is that …” Parker trailed off, her hushed whisper holding a hint of garbled laughter.

I stared at the stripped snake coiled in the case, and my lips twitched. “It’s a sand snake.”

Fairchild heard me and grinned wide. Now that I had said I’d seriously think about the fight, he’d mellowed. No more hard sells. No more glaring at Parker. Fairchild was king of his castle and loving life. The asshole.

“Technically, it’s an American sidewinder rattlesnake,” he said. “But don’t worry. Shani here is a venomoid—which means his venom has been removed.”

As if that was my worry. I wasn’t getting anywhere near the thing. Fairchild, on the other hand, seemed to think it was a great idea to lift the lid off the case.

Camille made a noise of distress, then laughed as if she hadn’t meant to, but she pressed up against Jackson. Fairchild ate it up, smiling like an ass as he waxed poetic about the majesty of his snake.