35

Knox

Parker has almost quit shaking when we get back to her apartment. She didn’t meet my eyes the entire Lyft back here, but she was gripping my hand like it was a lifeline and muttering curses about high school bullies the whole time. I unlock the door and hesitate at the threshold.

Leaving her alone isn’t an option, but I don’t know if she wants me.

“Can you stay?” she whispers, and the tentative hesitation leaking into her voice nearly shreds my heart.

I’m inside, wrapping her in a hug in an instant.

She was fucking amazing tonight.

Not for defending herself and Randy in the bathroom—I don’t know if she’s figured out yet that his issues in their relationship were not her fault, or his either, for that matter—but for going somewhere she knew she’d be uncomfortable, finding the good in it anyway, and having fun despite the trip back to high school.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Nowhere else I would’ve rather been.”

Her breath is hot on my shirt, and my cock lifts an interested brow. Now? it wants to know.

It’s shameless.

“I was a fucking rock star tonight.” The statement comes out strong and powerful, and okay, yes, now, you single-minded joystick.

I cup her cheeks and lift her face to mine, and before I can kiss her, she pushes up onto her tiptoes and claims my mouth with hers.

I’m so fucking glad she’s gripping my shirt and sliding that hot, determined tongue into my mouth, hooking a leg around mine, and soon we’re both panting and I’m thumbing her nipples and she’s clawing at my shirt. “Bathroom,” she gasps.

I cock a brow at her.

“Surprise.” She grabs my hand and hauls me through her apartment, pausing in her bedroom only long enough to grab a handful of condoms from the box on her dresser before shoving me into the bathroom. “Strip. I’m going to Knox your socks off.”

She yanks her sexy red dress over her head—god bless whoever invented that stretchy satin-looking material—and now she’s standing there in just a pink satin bra, matching thong, and those holy fuck heels. She leans over to turn on the water in the shower, and my crotch rocket fires up every last engine and then finds six more. I toss the shirt and shuck myself out of my shoes, jeans, and socks, and I’m reaching for that gorgeous round ass when she turns back around.

“Ah-ah,” she chides. “First, you watch.”

“Parker—”

“I’m a fucking rock star,” she repeats. “And you are my prize.”

My mouth goes dry, my cock strains toward her, and when she slips one strap off her shoulder, my knees threaten to give out.

I’ve seen her naked from head to toe more hours this week than I’ve spent reading, and the sight of her playing the seductress barely an hour after the Wonder Woman show is not only putting an unholy strain on my hard-on, it’s doing wonky things to that little muscle in my chest.

The one that’s getting more and more attached to her by the minute.

Who am I kidding?

That organ’s been attached almost since the moment I saw her at the bachelor auction.

She draws the other strap down, then lifts her chest as she reaches behind herself and unhooks her bra. The cups fall away, exposing the freckles dotting her breasts, the beautiful rosy nipples, hard and pointed straight at me, the perfect patch of skin between her lovely globes.

She slides her hands up to cup herself, and the first hint of shyness creeps into her smile. “This is how I used to get off.”

Fuck me, is she—she is.

She’s touching herself for me.

She fondles her nipples between her fingers, arches her back, then splays her hands and lets them travel down to the waistband on her thong. Her hips roll as she pushes it off, one side at a time, until it drops to the ground.

I’m about to drop to the ground too, to bury my nose in that sweet pussy, to lick her and taste her and suckle her until she comes, but she holds a hand up when I close the distance between us in the small room.

“First, you watch,” she orders again.

“I’m going to fucking come all over your shower walls,” I pant.

She smiles, turns her back on me, and steps into the shower. “Join me?”

As if there’s a doubt.

I grab a condom and follow her in. She’s already under the stream of water, and she lifts an arm to keep me at the edge of the tub. Mist circles my body while the hot water sluices down her breasts and belly. The moisture coupled with the tease of the cool air makes my skin pebble and my balls tighten

“After I saw you as Tarzan, I couldn’t get you out of my mind.” She’s rubbing soap all over her breasts, I imagine her rubbing soap all over me, and my cock gets impossibly harder. “I didn’t want to think about you, so I pretended you were one of hundreds of jungle men who couldn’t resist me. Who all wanted to eat me and touch me and fuck me.”

Her fingers are sliding down her belly now, to that light patch of hair between her legs. She lifts her hands back to her breasts and pinches her nipples again. “But I always hoped it would be you,” she whispers.

Fuck, I hope it’s always her.

I reach for her, but she holds her hand out once more. I have to clench my fists at my sides.

“You should touch yourself too,” she says.

“I want to touch you.”

She smiles, and is that the shower, or are her eyes going misty? “I pretended you’d say that.”

“I want to lick you and eat you and touch you and make love to you until I can’t move.”

Her head rolls back, her hair getting soaked, and her fingers slip between her legs. “You make me feel so strong. So powerful.”

“You’re a fucking goddess, Parker. Let me touch you. I want to taste you and take you now.”

“Okay,” she whispers, and I’m suddenly on my knees, kneeling between her legs, licking and suckling on that sweet clit. Hot water rains down on my head, my fingers bury in her slick, tight heat while she gasps and moans and asks for more and there and deeper. I could drown and die a happy man right here, because her thighs stiffen around my face, and she’s coming, her center clenching down on my hand. That sweet taste of her come mingles with the shower water, her hands gripping my hair, and Christ, I never want to let this woman go.

“Ohmygod, Knox,” she gasps. “That’s—you’re—yes.”

I feel her whole body loosen, and I rise on wobbly legs, retrieve the condom, rip it open, and roll it on. “I’m going to do you against the wall,” I tell her. “And then we’re going to bed, and I’m going to make you come all fucking night.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.” She pulls me in for a hot, hard kiss, strokes my dick, and then her legs are around my hips. I slide into her perfect, tight pussy, pounding and rocking and humping without any smooth moves, without any finesse, just with straight, desperate desire to go deeper, get closer, lose myself so deep inside her. She can never, ever want another man, because she’s mine.

This pussy?

Mine.

These breasts?

Mine.

This woman?

Mine.

Because I’m hers.

Heart, body, and soul. She’s it. I’m done.

She’s moaning and making those beautiful throaty noises that mean she’s close. That she’s about to come again. For me. All over my cock. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her thighs tighten around my hips, she thrusts into me, and she cries out her release.

My climax tears through me, and I roar as I pump into her, her inner walls milking me, coaxing me to spend everything I have to give until I’m dry, wrung-out, and boneless.

The shower’s pouring down on us, she’s gripping me like I’m her lifeline, and my legs are threatening to give out. “God, Parker, I—”

I love you.

I squeeze my eyes shut—not hard, considering they were already crossed—and breathe in the sweet scent of her soap, bury my nose in her soft, wet neck.

She strokes a lazy hand down my neck. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”

No, Parker Parker Elliott.

Thank you.