Page 109 of The Americana Playbook

His forehead meets mine. “Parker. You can’t say that to me.”

My words and heavy breaths dust his lips, and I swear Fitz trembles as he slides his hand beneath the fabric of my shorts and underwear. Beneath my hand on his shoulder, his muscles twitch, and mine follow the same pattern when one of his long, thick fingers slips inside me.

I’ve never heard a grown man whimper. “Fuck, you can’t be this wet. You can’t…”

But I am, easily letting Fitz slip another finger inside as he brings the heel of his hand flush against my clit. My head falls back, my clutch on his shoulder and around his fingers tightening.

I feel it, how hard he’s holding back as my grinding into his hand turns into frantic bucking. My breathing blooms into a panicked rhythm, my toes curling, the tips of his fingers massaging on every journey they make out of me before they crash deeper again.

His kisses are frantic and rushed, like he’s right there with me, like the way I am in the moment—a beat away from falling apart—is his ultimate fantasy.

“That’s it,” Fitz coaxes, his words punctuated by rolls of his tongue until he parks his mouth at the corner of mine. Inside, his finger curls, beckoning my release. “God, you’re so beautiful when you’re about to fall apart.”

My hips move faster and Fitz lays a delicate kiss at the corner of my mouth.

“Come on my hand. All over it.”

Sinking my nails into his shoulder isn’t enough. I fling my hand down, gripping his length over his underwear. Because I want for him what he does for me. “Only if you do too.”

He’s thick and scorching even though I’m stroking him through fabric, doing what I can to match the pace of his fingers as they fuck me.

“Fuck,” he grunts out. “Fuck, I’m with you, Parker.”

I’m with you.

His words push me over the edge, but I’m still holding onto him. I take him with me.

Panting, sweating, and still clinging to him as his cum seeps through his underwear and warms my hand, I land in a puddle, splashing in a pool of vulnerability, which makes me feel so unbelievably exposed.

It’s not the way my clothes hang off my body or that Fitz feels my nervous heartbeat from the inside before he slips his fingers out of me. It’s that Ineededsomeone. I needed him in this very moment in this room on a different level than I need him outside of it.

I’m terrified I’ll nevernotneed Fitz in this way again. He senses it, and his hold on me shifts, morphing into something soft but protective, even though it’s what’s in my head that terrifies me. And like how I feel about locking the door, Fitz can’t change that. But he tries. God, he’s been trying, and I’m flooded with emotion as I drown in that realization.

“Shh,” he whispers. “I’m with you.”

Dear Fitzy,

Today I’ve been gone 113 days, but two days ago, something happened.

I told you already, we’re watched while we shower. Depending on the day, it’s either Gloria or Karen. All they do is say hurry up. If I’m being honest, I got used to it.

But two days ago, there was a change.

When I got to the bathroom after my name was called, I walked to the section where the showers were, and since I was the first one there, I was happy. That’s weird, right? Do you know why I was happy? I could choose which stall I would use. The first stall is the one that has warm—not even hot—water.

I was so happy I didn’t even see that there was a man standing across from it. I looked around for Gloria or Karen because I thought maybe this guy was from maintenance. Maybe he was going to fix the other showers so they would be warm too. Then we all could be a little happy.

But there wasn’t anyone else there. Just him.

He tipped his head toward the stall. “Go on,” he said.

I didn’t.

He told me again. I still didn’t.

And then he took two steps forward and slapped me.

I’ve been slapped here. But I’ve never been hit like that, never by a grown man. And that wasn’t the worst part. The worst was he pulled my towel and hung it on the hook of the first stall, just out of reach.

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