Parker

I can hardly believe this is happening.

We’ve made it out the juice bar, across town on the subway, and now we’re stumbling down the hall to my apartment, kissing and stroking and melding our bodies together as much as all this damn fabric between us will allow. Knox has to take over unlocking my door, because I’m physically incapable of operating my thumbs.

We crash through the door, I slam it shut, he locks it and drops my guitar on the floor, and then we’re pawing each other’s clothes off on our way into the bedroom, tripping over my dirty laundry as we go. I tug his new shirt with my band’s picture on it over his head, peeling off his other shirt with it. He pushes my tank top up, buries his head between my breasts, and pushes them together, and licks the valley between them.

I gasp and grip his hair. “Ohmygod, more.”

His thumbs brush the satin of my bra over my nipples while he takes his tongue to my cleavage again, and I almost come on the spot.

“Delicious.” He blows on the damp skin between my breasts, and I clutch his hair tighter.

I need him to touch me. I need him to touch me between my legs and stroke me and fill me and I need him to do it now, because I just played a fucking amazing show and spent an eternity of a subway ride worried one of us would get bored with waiting and I’m so ready and so empty.

I’ve never been this turned on by a man before, and if we don’t get to the good stuff soon, I’m afraid I’m going to lose the rhythm and I’ll ruin this for both of us and—

He unhooks my bra one-handed, pushes it out of the way, sucks my nipple into his mouth, and I come unhinged.

“Ohmygod more ohmygod more ohmygod more.”

“That’s it, kitten,” he purrs against my breast. “You tell me what you want.”

“More,” I repeat.

In one swift move, he has me on the bed, thank god, because the only thing my legs are capable of doing is spreading so he can settle that hard, thick ridge between my thighs while I dry-hump him like an addict who hasn’t had her Knox fix. He rolls my right nipple between his finger and thumb while he worships my left with his tongue and his teeth and his whole mouth and— “Yes,” I cry, thrusting harder against him as he sucks on my breast and sends a shot of pure lust from the tip of my nipple to that throbbing, aching, tight, wet spiral inside me that’s getting tighter and heavier and my whole pussy is pulsing and there are too many layers of clothes between me and the most impressive erection I’ve ever had the pleasure of touching and holy mother of organic pancakes, he’s blowing on my wet nipple and I have goosebumps on my goosebumps. There are even goosebumps sprouting on my g-spot.

“Inside me,” I gasp. “Now.”

“Patience, kitten.”

“I don’t want patience, I want you to fuck me before I lose patience with you.”

He lifts his head, and I realize I’ve said the exact wrong thing. He’s got some challenge accepted in that smirk, which is also making me more hot and bothered.

“Lose patience?” He pinches both my nipples, and I almost arch off the bed. “Are you bored, Parker Parker Elliott?” He follows the question with another lick down the hollow between my breasts.

“Not yet,” I gasp. I’m writhing and thrusting and whimpering in his hands, desperately reaching for the snap on his jeans, which I can’t get to while he’s settled between my legs like this, but his skin is hot and smooth, and the hills and valleys of his ribs and muscles are textile aphrodisiacs. My fingers are leaking hormones and pheromones and probably one or two other scientifically improbable arousal vapors.

And he’s tracing a slow path down my belly with his tongue, making my skin quiver in the cool air and my pussy ache harder.

He swirls his tongue around my navel and my hips buck off the bed. “Bored now?” he asks.

“No,” I whimper while I offer him my stomach for his enjoyment. He dips the tip of his tongue into my belly button, and a desperate, moany gasp escapes my mouth.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, and he does it again.

“Need you to touch me,” I gasp.

“I am touching you,” he counters.

“Not there.”

“Where, kitten? Tell me where you want me to touch you.”

“There.”

“Your breasts? Your nipples? This delicious little spot of skin right here?” He presses an open-mouth kiss to the patch of skin between my belly button and the snap of my shorts, sucks gently, nips at me, and soothes the sting away with his tongue, and ohmygod, I’m so wet and my pussy feel so thick and heavy, if he’d just blow on my clit, I think I’d shatter.

“Under my panties,” I whisper.

“Oh, you want me to touch your pussy. I thought we talked about this.”

My inner walls clench. “Please.”

He shifts over me to unsnap the button my shorts. “Lot of work to get to your pussy,” he murmurs.

And then he pulls my zipper down.

With his teeth.

His chin brushes my clit through my pants. “Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod,” I chant.

“What have we here?” he murmurs, his face inches from the promised land, my body so very eager to demonstrate that we’re very good students. He traces the waist of my panties. “Cheetah print? I should leave you and run home for my loincloth.”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

He chuckles softly and presses a kiss to my panties. “Mmm, delicious.”

I don’t know if he’s flattering me or if he means it, but he’s peeling the denim off, and then his finger slips under my panties between my legs, he touches my clit, and I buck my hips off the bed.

“So hot and wet and sweet,” Knox whispers. He traces the seam of my pussy, eyes lowered to his task. I grip his hair, watching his neck and shoulder muscles bunch and glide, because if I don’t hold on to something, if I don’t concentrate on something, I’m afraid I’ll never be able to find all the pieces to put myself back together, and there’s absolutely no question I’m about to come apart.

“More,” I pant.

He strokes me again, still watching the patch of fabric. “These might have to go,” he says thoughtfully.

“Might?”

“Might definitely.”

He traces the line of elastic around my leg, from my inner thigh around to my hips and down the swell of my butt cheek, leaving a trail of stimulated nerve endings on the path along my skin. I’m so fucking desperate for him to touch me, I squirm and yank my panties down myself.

“Am I driving you crazy, kitten?”

“Yes.”

“The scent of this pussy has been driving me crazy too,” he says as he dips his head between my legs and—

Ohyesyesyes. He strokes my pussy with his tongue, slides a finger into my desperate, aching channel, so close, closer, closer, deeper, higher, THERE, and when he sucks my clit into his mouth and pushes a second finger into my wet core, white hot lightning streaks through my body.

“Ohmygod there yes more more MORE YES!”

My ovaries explode. My pussy explodes. My inner walls spasm and clench and squeeze and explode. The point of impact is somewhere deeper inside me than I’ve ever found before, and I keep coming, riding wave after wave of pleasure so intense my vision narrows to a single black dot, and I can’t breathe and I don’t want to and the only thing I can hear is the vague sound of my own voice moaning and gasping as my hips jerk and writhe out their own rhythm, and Knox is still there, still between my legs, his tongue coaxing me higher, longer, deeper, my toes curling, my back arching, until my body is spent and I collapse, arms drooping, legs limp, my belly and lungs burning.

“Ohmygod,” I gasp when I can talk again.

Knox kisses the side of my hip. It spasms and jerks, and he chuckles and kisses it again. “You,” he says reverently, with a husky catch in his voice, “are so beautiful.”

The tears catch me off guard.

So does the thick knot in my throat.

I don’t believe he’s just feeding me a line.

I believe he honestly thinks I’m beautiful. And for the first time in my life, I start to believe that I might be. In my own special way.

“Parker?”

I try to lift a dismissive hand, to wave off the worried note in his voice, but I can’t even get a finger to lift. I’m that much of a rag doll.

Physically.

Emotionally, the rag doll is way more put together.

“Allergies,” I force out. “I—I must be allergic to orgasms.”

He scoots up the bed and sweeps me into his arms. “Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs into my hair again.

He kisses my crown, I squeeze my eyes shut to try to block out the flow of tears, and I give in to the overwhelming urge to let him hold me.

Only for a minute. Just until I get my shit together.

Then I’m going to take advantage of having this amazing, sexy, generous man in my bed all night long.