Текст книги "Fighting the Fall"

Автор книги: Jennifer Snow

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

“On three?” Tyson asked her.

“Just pull your pants down and show him your ass.” He probably wouldn’t have had a problem doing it for Amber, she thought wryly, lowering the side of her jean capris to expose her own tattoo regret.

The doctor studied hers first. “Yeah, we actually see a lot of these Japanese symbols. They were quite popular at one time.” Then he turned to Tyson. He squinted. “Obviously a homemade job . . . but what is it? A bird wearing a bike helmet?”

“Exactly,” Parker said with a smirk. She shook her head, seeing the tattoo for the second time. She’d have to have been pretty drunk to let that happen to herself.

“Hey, at least I know for sure what mine is supposed to represent. Yours could be the symbol for beef and broccoli and you’d never know,” Tyson said, pulling his pants and underwear back up.

Her grin faded. She hadn’t thought of that before. Now she really wanted it gone.

“Okay, Parker, you’re first,” Dr. McNally said, reaching for several pairs of protective glasses from the shelf behind him.

Darn. She’d been hoping Tyson would go first. She wanted to see the process before she did it; that way she could back out if it did look painful. “Tyson can go first. His is smaller.”

“His is also older and faded already quite a bit. I have to use a more powerful laser on yours, so climb on up,” he said, patting the table.

“What’s the matter? It’s virtually painless, remember?” Tyson winked.

“Fine.” Removing her jeans, she lay on her side on the table, covering herself with the sheet but giving him access to the tattoo on her hip.

“Okay, great. Put these on, please.” He handed her a pair of dark sunglasses.

“What are these for?”

“Well, we are working with lasers so we want to be as safe as possible.” He handed another pair to Tyson.

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. Maybe there was more to this than she’d thought. She forced a breath as she put the glasses on.

“Now, I’m going to turn on the skin chiller. It will help manage the pain.”

She sat up. “The website said this was painless.”

The doctor gently touched her shoulder, easing her back down onto her side. “It’s about as pain-free as you’re going to find . . . but it’s still a laser,” he said.

Tyson laughed. “Told you.”

She raised her glasses to glare at him. “Being right isn’t going to make yours hurt any less.”

He stopped laughing.

“Ready?” Dr. McNally asked, rolling his stool closer, laser in one hand, skin chiller in the other.

She nodded and a second later a blast of freezing air was directed on her hip. Then . . . Oh my fucking God. She closed her eyes tight and gripped the edge of the table, as her skin felt like it was being shocked over and over again. “This . . . is . . . not . . . pain-free.” She gasped.

“Just a few more minutes. Hang in there. Do you need a break?” the doctor asked.

What she needed was a fucking time machine to go back and tell her stupid self not to suggest this in the first place. “No . . . hurry,” she said as the laser’s heat combined with the freezing was almost too much to take. She knew if she stopped, she’d never let him start again.

“And we’re done,” he said, far too long later. “Take a look.” He turned off the machine and handed her a mirror to see the results.

She sat slowly, removing the glasses and stared at the white frosting on the surface of her skin in the shape of the tattoo. It was still visible beneath, but already parts were faded, and despite the pain seconds before, she was glad she’d gone through with it. “How many more sessions will I need?”

“Two . . . maybe three.”

Two, maybe three more episodes of that excruciating pain. She sighed. She could do it. It would be worth it in the end when she didn’t have to be embarrassed by her rebellious mistake or cover it up all the time. Still she was glad she had to wait six weeks between sessions, long enough to start forgetting how awful it actually was.

Behind her, Tyson was frowning as he sniffed the air. “What is that burning smell?”

“Burning flesh,” the doctor said. “You’re up.”

Unlocking the door to her home an hour later, she was barely inside before Tyson’s arms were around her waist, his lips at the base of her neck. She leaned back against him, enjoying the moment. The pain of the tattoo removal had been worth it if it meant spending the day with him. She’d been surprised when he’d suggested they go back to her place instead of heading to the gym, but his hands sliding up her body left no question what his intentions were.

Reaching behind her back, she felt for his hard-on and smiled. “I thought we weren’t going to do this again.”

His lips moved up her neck and he kissed her ear. “You knew we were going to do this again . . . it was just a matter of when,” he said, before scooping her into his arms and carrying her up the flight of stairs toward her bedroom.

The sound of the front door unlocking again a second later made him stop. His eyes widened as he set her down slowly. “Does someone have a key to your house?”

Her housekeeper, her gardener, her interior decorator, and . . . The door opened. “Hi, Grandma.”

“Grandma?” Tyson looked ready to run over the older woman on his escape out the door, but he stood frozen in place next to her, his eyes questioning.

“Hi, dear. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She was staring at Tyson.

No, nothing. Just an afternoon of toe-curling sex. “No. I just got home.”

Abigail closed the door and Parker descended the stairs. She heard Tyson swear quietly under his breath as he followed. She prayed he could tuck his hard-on away somewhere so he didn’t give the eighty-year-old woman a heart attack.

“Well, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by . . .” She paused. “What happened?” Her eyes widened as they landed on the white gauze bandage sticking up over the edge of Parker’s jean capris.

“Oh . . . nothing. I just finally got that tattoo you hate so much removed.”

Her grandmother smiled. “And who is this?” she asked, once again turning her attention to Tyson.

“Oh, sorry, Grandma. This is Tyson Reed, my MMA trainer. Tyson—Abigail Hamilton.”

He extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton. I’m . . . uh . . . a big fan.”

What? She hid a laugh. Who was he trying to kid?

Her grandmother smiled graciously but glancing at her she said, “Should I ask him which movie of mine was his favorite?”

“No,” Parker said.

His cheeks turning a gorgeous shade of embarrassment, Tyson turned to Parker. “You know, I should get back to the gym. I’ll leave you two . . .”

Her heart fell. He was leaving. Great timing, Grandma. She wasn’t confident if he left now he’d let his guard down another time. “Oh . . . okay, I’ll walk you out. Just give me a second, Grandma.”

“Take your time, darling. I’ll put the coffee on.”

Sure. Coffee. That’s what she wanted.

She sighed when they reached the front door. “I’m sorry. I really need to take that key away from her.” How was she supposed to have coffee and a pleasant chat with her grandmother when she’d been hoping to be naked and halfway to her first orgasm by now?

He touched her cheek, the soft, gentle nature of the gesture surprising her. “It’s okay.”

Damn. Next he would say that her grandmother had saved them from making a mistake. She swallowed hard.

Instead, he leaned toward her and kissed her. “Text me the second she’s gone,” he said as he opened the door.

Oh thank God. She closed the door behind him and rushed back to the kitchen. This would be the fastest visit in history.

*   *   *

Lying on his back on Parker’s bed a long four hours later, Tyson flipped the pages of her movie script. “This coach sounds like a douche.”

Parker, wearing his T-shirt as she paced in front of the bed with another copy of the script, stopped to shoot him a pointed look.

“You’re shitting me—you don’t think I sound like this, do you?”

“Yes!”

He frowned, rereading the last line of dialogue: “Get your head out of your ass, or get the hell out of my gym . . . hmm . . . okay, maybe a little.” He flipped to the second to last scene with the movie’s hero—a doctor who hates that his new girlfriend is an MMA fighter. “Okay, maybe the writers weren’t so far off the mark with the coach’s dialogue, but come on—what man actually says ‘I never saw the sun until it was shining in your eyes?’” He made a barf face.

Parker picked up a cushion and threw it at him. “One who wants to get laid.”

He caught the pillow, then sitting up, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. “Really? To get into a woman’s pants I have to spout some bullshit line?” He nibbled on her collarbone. “I’ve never had to try that hard . . . women just flock to me.”

She wiggled in his arms, turning to glare at him. “They flock to you?”

He grinned. “Like a PMSing chick to chocolate.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Maybe, but at least I’m not lying to every woman I meet, telling her what she wants to hear just to get her in bed, and promising a future when I have no intentions of settling down.”

Her expression changed slightly and he couldn’t decipher it. She pushed against his legs, freeing herself, and grabbed his copy of the script from the bed.

“What did I say wrong?”

“Nothing.”

In other words—everything. He stood and wrapped his arms around her, turning her to face him. He hid a smile at her pout. “Come on, you really don’t need to hear flowery words or meaningless promises, do you?” He hadn’t pegged her for a woman who needed the romance, the fake highlights reel, and the matching his and hers towels. The thing was, he wasn’t sure he was the type to give her all of that. The idea of letting his guard down so completely, opening himself up to a potential heartache made him reluctant to even get as involved as he already had. He refused to be that lovesick, pathetic guy who ended up a broken mess when things ended.

She sighed. “No. You’re right. It’s usually just a lot of bullshit.”

“Exactly. And no guy—in real life, anyway—actually says those things. Therefore, Hollywood romance movies are really screwing things up for the real guys out there.”

“Real guys like you?”

“Yeah. Real guys like me.”

“So, what you’re trying to say is this thing between us—where we go from hot to cold and back again—is real and the stuff in movies only sets unrealistic expectations for women of men?”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say.” Glad they were finally on the same page. He leaned in to kiss her, but she placed her hand over his lips and pushed his face away.

Okay, maybe not.

“Maybe you should try a little harder to pretend a bit more. After all, the guy in the movies gets laid . . . You won’t be,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom.

He dove after her, but she closed and locked it too fast.

He shook his head with a sigh, glancing down at his semi-hard-on that had nowhere to go. “Guess we better get better at the bullshit.”

*   *   *

Romance was not his thing. Flowers and candlelight dinners were a foreign concept. Rose petal trails leading to a bedroom decorated with scented candles? Never going to happen. But if Parker wanted a real date, he could do that. The day before, he hadn’t been able to shake the look of disappointment on her face that she’d tried to hide. She wanted more from him and he found himself wanting to give her more.

Which terrified the shit out of him.

He wasn’t sure he could ever fully commit the way she deserved, but for the first time in his life, he wanted to make an effort—for her. Even if it did make him vulnerable. No other woman had ever been worth the gamble.

“Where are we going?” she yelled over the noise of the motorcycle and wind as they flew down Las Vegas Boulevard the next day.

“Quit asking,” he yelled back. She really didn’t get the concept of a surprise, he thought, shaking his head with a grin.

“The last time we ventured outside of the gym I ended up in the worst pain of my life watching you get hit on by a receptionist.”

“That one was your idea. Mine’s better. Now, hang on,” he said, picking up speed as he merged onto the freeway. He felt her arms tighten around his waist as she slid even closer, pressing her body into his back. The only thing better than speeding down the highway on a beautiful fall day was having a sexy woman on the back of the bike.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a parking lot. Removing her helmet, she read the sign on the building. RED ROCK CLIMBING CENTER.

“Now, don’t freak out . . .”

“I . . .” she started at the same time.

“No one is great at this their first time. Just try your best and we’ll have fun, okay?” he said, taking her hand as they went inside.

She nodded. “Okay.”

Ten minutes later, harnessed up and standing in front of the easiest thirty-five-foot wall in the building, Parker looked terrified. “Are you sure about this?”

Tyson nodded, fastening her helmet. “It’s fine. I’ll be down here working the ropes. You’re safe. Trust me?” he asked.

“Should I?”

He smirked. “In here, yes.”

“Noted,” she said wryly. “Okay, where do I start?”

They moved closer to the wall, covered in multicolored holds, spaced a relatively easy distance apart. He’d seen children climb this wall. He was confident she could do it. “Just put your foot in this first hold and reach higher as you go.”

She did as he instructed.

“Great, you’re doing good.” She was about halfway up the wall, and he had a hard time focusing on her climbing and not staring at her firm, shapely ass in the tight pink leggings she wore. Damn, the woman was hot . . . and she was actually impressing the shit out of him on this wall.

She glanced down at him. “Really? You think so? How about this?” His mouth fell open as she picked up speed and flew up the wall expertly, then rappelled back down with ease.

He stared at her when she reached the bottom. “You’ve done this before.”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed. “Once or twice.”

“Right.” He pulled her harness, drawing her closer and kissing her. “You could have told me.”

“I was enjoying your macho alpha-man routine,” she said with a smile, kissing him again. Then she held up an arm, flexing a bicep. “These noodle arms are not that weak after all, huh?”

“Okay Rocky, this was the kid’s wall. Let’s see what you can do with a real one.” See how cocky she was then.

*   *   *

Two hours later, they’d each completed all of the walls at the rock climbing center. Her muscles ached, but she was pleased with herself for keeping up with Tyson’s time on every wall. Obviously, he hadn’t seen her movie No Limits, where she’d been a rock climbing instructor. And though it had been several years since she’d climbed, her recent weeks of muscle building had enabled her to show off a little the skills she’d acquired for the role. Sitting on a bench, removing their knee pads, he handed her a bottle of water. “You’re not bad.”

“You’re okay,” she said, taking a gulp, then handing it back.

He drained the bottle. “Just okay?”

His manly ego was really suffering that afternoon. Maybe she should ease up a little.

Nah. “Just okay . . .” She glanced at the wall behind her. “I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to enter this Ultimate Challenge Bouldering Competition or anything.” According to the poster, the Red Point Bouldering Competition was starting at the center in less than twenty minutes. Entry fees could be paid at the door and preregistration wasn’t required, but there was no way Tyson would accept that challenge, she thought smugly.

However, he stood and read the poster quickly. “I’m up for the challenge if you are,” he said, surprising her.

Shit. “You just saw my fantastic climbing ability and you want to take me on?” Maybe the thought of possibly losing to her might make him reconsider.

“You bet.”

Damn. No backing down now when she’d issued the challenge. “Okay. You’re on.”

*   *   *

In hindsight, the impulsive challenge probably wasn’t the best idea.

Especially when she was some sort of climbing expert. Who the fuck knew? “This is your fault,” he told her now, sitting in a ProCare Medical Clinic’s examination room.

“That’s a sore loser comment if I ever heard one,” she said, admiring her tiny third-place trophy, a little gold-plated rock climber scaling a rock wall.

“You didn’t beat me. I had to stop competing when my shoulder popped out of place,” he mumbled, clutching his arm. He closed his eyes, rocked by another wave of pain and nausea.

“Rematch anytime,” she said as the doctor entered.

“Hello, hello . . . I’m Doctor Hanly.” He scanned the file. “So—possible shoulder dislocation?” he asked Tyson.

“Yes. It feels that way.” He’d dislocated his shoulder only once before, in the middle of a fight, but at the time, he’d managed to pop the shoulder back in and continue fighting. He didn’t remember the pain being so intense. Adrenaline was an amazing analgesic.

Dr. Hanly examined the shoulder. “How did this happen?”

“Rock climbing competition,” he muttered.

“I won,” Parker said, holding up the stupid trophy as though it were an Academy Award.

“You came in third,” Tyson grumbled.

The doctor laughed. “Ah . . . now I get it. Yes, I’m afraid it is out of joint, so I’m going to have to set it back in place.”

Parker paled, standing and rushing for the door.

“Where are you going?” Tyson asked.

“I’m not watching that.”

“So, you’re just going to leave me in pain alone?”

“Don’t be a pussy. I’ll wait outside,” she said, disappearing out into the hall as the doctor held Tyson’s arm.

Don’t be a pussy. He smiled, then a second later, his shoulder was snapped into place and he swore.

“Done,” Dr. Hanly said.

“A heads up would have been nice,” he said, rubbing the shoulder. It felt a million times better, after the initial crucifying impact of the readjustment.

“It’s worse when you know it’s about to happen.” He picked up the patient file and made several notes.

“I can’t see how that’s possible, but okay,” Tyson said as he climbed off the table and reached for his leather jacket. “Thanks.”

“You still might want to ice the shoulder tonight and consider a sling if movement is stiff and painful for a few days. It’s going to take a few weeks to heal properly. Try not to work it too hard. No more rock climbing for a bit.”

A few weeks? No. “I have a fight in less than two weeks.”

“MMA fighter?”

He nodded.

“I wouldn’t recommend fighting with this injury . . . not for at least a couple of months. Once the shoulder dislocates the first time, it’s easy to reinjure it. You need to give it time to heal, otherwise if it keeps dislocating, you may need surgery.”

He shook his head. Surgery? No way. Rest? Impossible. He was defending his title in twelve days. Damn it! Why had he let his ego take over that afternoon? His competitive side had overshadowed his common sense and he’d pushed himself too hard, too fast in his attempt to beat Parker on that wall. And now he could be screwed for the challenge that really mattered.

“Do you want me to give you something for the fight officials? Let them know you can’t fight for a while?” He sat at the computer, but Tyson shook his head.

“No, that’s fine.” He had no intentions of following these doctor’s orders. By fight day, his shoulder would be fine. It had to be. “Thanks, Doc,” he said, going out into the hall.

“What did he say?” Parker said, looking worried as he approached.

“He said I’m good to go.”

*   *   *

Parker turned her car onto Carey Avenue later that evening. “I promise it’s nothing strenuous,” she said.

“I thought being in the cage was dangerous, turns out hanging out with you causes me more pain,” Tyson said in the passenger seat next to her, his arm wrapped in a sling he’d fabricated himself at the gym.

She smiled. “Relax . . . this will be fun.”

The entrance for the West Wind Drive-In came into view and he said, “A drive-in movie?”

“Yes. Have you ever been here?”

“No.”

“My parents and I would come here to see Grandma’s movies. It was the only place my mom could go where people wouldn’t recognize her as Abigail Hamilton’s daughter. My grandmother loved the spotlight and wasn’t concerned about keeping my mom out of it, so she was in the media quite a bit growing up.” She paused. “I guess after being scrutinized so much, it made sense for my parents to want to keep me out of the spotlight. I often wonder if they’d be disappointed by the path I’ve chosen to take, when it was something they worked hard to shield me from.”

“I don’t think so. I think they would be proud of you for following your own path.”

But had she? Or had she just walked along her grandmother’s well-beaten, familiar trail?

“What happened, anyway? With the fire?” he asked.

“It was an electrical fire. We went to bed one night, and the next thing I remember the smoke detector outside my room was going off and I heard my mom yelling to me from down the hall to get outside.” She paused, the night so vivid in her mind. “So, I grabbed my Cabbage Patch Doll and a little box of special items I kept under my bed, and I ran until I was outside. My parents weren’t coming out and I was terrified. The neighbors were there with me . . . I don’t remember them well, but they were very kind and they took care of me until the next morning, when my grandmother arrived from LA.” She shrugged. “The firemen said a beam collapsed in front of their bedroom door, blocking their escape. They’d been unable to get to them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago, but I remember that night better than any other memory.” She paused as it washed over her now. That night had changed the course of her entire life. And while she’d been young and couldn’t remember them as well as she’d like to, she missed her parents every day. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she glanced at him. “You talk about your dad all the time, but what about your mom? Where is she?” she asked, feeling as though now was the only chance she might have to ask him anything as personal. After all, she’d just shared her tragic story.

“She died of a brain aneurysm,” he said simply.

“I’m sorry . . . How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

He was staring off into the distance and she sensed that was as much as he wanted to say about it, so she didn’t press further. She’d learned to take the little bits of himself he offered and try to piece the rest together like a puzzle as they went along. Toward what exactly, she wasn’t sure, but at that moment, it didn’t matter.

As they pulled up to the booth, Tyson scanned the field. “There’s like five screens in there.”

“I know. We just decide which two movies we want to see and then they will direct us to the right screen and which radio channel to tune in to,” she said, excitedly. She hadn’t been to the drive-in in years.

He stared at her. “You really love movies, huh?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Even though you’ve worked on sets and know how they’re made, you can still find the magic in them?”

She nodded. “When you’re filming individual scenes out of order most of the time, it’s fascinating to later watch how it all fits together onscreen. I’ll never get tired of it.”

They selected their movie and parked in front of the screen, and her mind wandered. Was it really up to her, though? Or would Hollywood decide when her career was over? She was taking a huge gamble on this MMA movie, hoping it was the right move to save her failing career.

“Hey—you okay?” Tyson asked when she was quiet.

“Yeah . . . I’m fine . . .” She hesitated before being honest. “I’m worried I only got this role because the director was hoping for additional funding by having a big name attached to the film.”

He turned in the seat to face her. “Why would you think that?”

She sighed. “Just overheard something to that effect on the plane coming back from the audition.” She bit her lip, staring out into the dark.

He reached for her hand. “I’m sure that’s not the reason.”

She shot him a look. “How can you say that? You’ve admitted you’ve never even seen any of my movies, so how would you know if I can act or not?”

He brought her palm to his lips. “Okay, so maybe I’m not the most qualified to make that statement, but I’ve read lines with you and that was good.”

“It’s just my entire career, I’ve always had a crutch—first my grandmother’s success helped pave the way for me and then being with a director helped to secure roles . . .” Maybe that had been part of the appeal of her and Brantley together. She’d never felt confident enough in her own abilities, so having his influence had made her feel safe. She didn’t want to feel safe anymore;, she wanted to take a risk and prove to herself that she could make it on her own. “I just need to succeed on my own.”

“You will. Parker, you’re amazing,” Tyson said, touching her cheek.

He was trying to make her feel better and whether he actually believed what he was saying or not was irrelevant. She felt better just because he’d tried. His lips moved up her arm as the first movie started.

“Hey, stop that . . . the movie’s on.” She giggled as his lips tickled her shoulder.

“I thought this was the point of a drive-in movie,” he said, sliding the hand on his good arm up her thigh.

He made a good point. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed hers. “Are you sure your arm can handle this?”

Removing the sling, he’d found at the gym, he tossed it into the back, and effortlessly picked her up and placed her on his lap on the passenger seat. “My arm won’t be doing the work,” he said with a grin before claiming her mouth.

*   *   *

“What are you doing in there?” Tyson fought to keep his eyes open, lying on her bed an hour later. Sex in a car turned out to be tougher than he’d anticipated with his busted shoulder, so they’d skipped out halfway through the first movie. Parker hadn’t seemed to mind ending their date early, driving at a ticket-inviting speed back to her place.

“I’ll be out in just a sec,” she called from inside her bathroom, where she’d been for more than fifteen minutes.

He was starting to lose his hard-on and fighting sleep was becoming a challenge. “If you take too much longer, these pain meds are going to have me out co . . .” He stopped as the bathroom door opened and she stepped out wearing a man’s dress shirt and a pair of heels. “Maybe I’m already dreaming,” he mumbled, as she hit the button on a remote, controlling the central sound system and a slow, hip hop tempo’d song started to play. She started toward him, crossing one foot slowly over the other, as her hips swayed to the opening beats of the music. “In fear that you’ll stop, I just have to ask . . . what’s going on here?”

“You were wondering where I got such strong lat muscles . . . well, I played a dancer in my most recent failed movie and I learned a lot for that part too.” She placed her foot on the bed in front of him, and starting at her ankle, she traced her fingers upward, slowly, over her smooth, tanned leg. At the top of her thigh, she stopped, and stepping her foot down, she turned slowly, her hips moving in a tantalizing slow figure eight.

He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as she placed her hands on her knees and rotated her hips, as she dropped lower toward the floor. The edge of the shirt rose to reveal the bottom of her butt cheeks and he wanted to reach out and grab her and pull her down onto his lap, bad shoulder and all. But he resisted. The show in front of him was too fantastic to interrupt.

When she glanced back over one shoulder and softly spanked her ass, he smiled.

This woman was unlike any he’d ever dated . . . she was fun, flirty, so confident in her sexuality, but she made it a challenge for him. A challenge to keep his hands off of her, a challenge to be satisfied with just one kiss, one touch.

When she turned back to face him, and started to slowly unbutton the shirt, his dick hardened. Letting it fall off of her shoulders, revealing a white lace bra and panty set that did little to cover her beautiful breasts, she bent at his feet and slid her hands along his thighs, letting her breasts graze his lap, up his bare stomach and chest, to his face.

He reached out to grip her ribcage as he breathed in the soft smell of vanilla coming from her skin, but she shoved his hands away. She turned once more to rest her head in the crook of his good shoulder while she lowered and raised her hips over him to the steady beat of the music, her hands slowly, tantalizingly caressing her stomach, her breasts, and tangling in her hair.

“You’re killing the patient,” he murmured against her neck. All awareness of pain had left him as all of the blood in his body was needed in a different area.

She laughed as she reached behind her, unclasped the bra, and tossed it onto the floor. Pressing her ass into his lap, she continued the rotation of her hips while sliding her hands up and down his thighs.

When her right hand reached behind to touch his cock, straining against the confines of his boxer briefs, he groaned and closed his eyes. “Parker . . .”

She stood and turned, providing a breathtaking view of her new body. He let out a low whistle as she returned instantly to straddle him, stroking her body up and down against him. She reached for the waistband of his underwear and he lifted his hips as she removed them. But when her head lowered to his thigh, leaving a trail of kisses, he stopped her.

It had be to the first time he’d ever stopped a blow job from happening, but he didn’t want her mouth around him . . . he wanted her. He wanted her body pressed close to him, he wanted to feel every inch of her as he came, he wanted to see her and let that mesmerizing look in her eyes take him to a whole new level of seduction. Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her back to him, securing her in place, as he ripped the thong away from her body.

She gasped. “Hey, those were thirty-dollar panties.”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he whispered, devouring her neck. “In every color . . .” His mouth crushed hers as his hands came across her stomach and cupped her breasts.

She moaned and he could feel the wetness between her thighs.

Reaching for the drawer, she opened a condom and quickly slid it over him before following it with her body. She gripped his shoulders and he winced in pain. Her eyes flew open and she pulled her hands away quickly, stopping the rocking of her hips. “I’m sorry. I forgot,” she said, breathless.