Page 132 of The Americana Playbook

Fitz bites at my earlobe. “Stop pretending you’re the good girl who cares what anyone else thinks.” He slides a hand up my thigh, my dress making it too easy. “I fell for the bad girl. Give her to me.”

I lose my mind. I grab Fitz’s belt, but he quickly pulls away entirely. My whimper sounds between us, but the whine changes quickly into a squeal when Fitz picks me up and sits me on the metal table that’s been pressing into my back.

“I want to show you,” he breathes out heavily, and his forehead finds mine. “Once again, that I wantnothing. Will you let me, Parker?”

He cups my bare knees, waiting.

God, I don’t want to. I need to let him.

I manage a nod and slowly, Fitz glides his hands up my legs, beneath the opening of my dress. Every inch of my skin his hands cover heats up until he grabs the lacey band of my underwear, tugging it down.

“Fitz…” I can’t focus. Not on his touch, his words, or the way he’s staring at me, like I’m the most important thing.

Like I matter to him just because.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of this?” He extends a leg, bringing over a stool and dropping onto it before he yanks me forward on the table and tugs my underwear down. The cool metal is a heavy contrast to the heat of my skin.

Fitz leaves the softest, most delicate kiss I’ve ever felt against the inside of my knee.

“Since forever,” he whispers before his mouth creeps up.

And up.

And up.

“God,” he whispers. I both hear and feel the way he inhales me. “You were worth the wait.”

I’m propped on one elbow, but I bring my free hand off the table, fisting my fingers in his hair when he runs his tongue up and down my slit.

“Fitz…” I do anything I can to keep myself from shouting, but it feels next to impossible, no matter how hard I bite my lip, or clench my teeth. Not when he begins painting circles around my clit with his tongue. “Fitz, you…”

“Yours,” he lifts his head to whisper his command. “Say,Fitz, I’m yours.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours,” I pant, my head falling back when he returns his face to between my legs, his lips finding my clit again while a finger teases my slit.

Fitz groans against my center. “Louder, Parker.”

“God, I’m yours.”

He bunches my dress, lifting it higher and removing his mouth once more. I fling my head forward, finding Fitz’s eyes darker, masked in desire as they focus on me.

“Say you’remy wife,” he snarls, and before I even process, he stalls the movement of his fingers.

“I’m—” I pause to whimper. “I’m your wife.”

Fitz hums. “Good girl.” His fingers resume their movement. “Keep saying it.”

I’m your wife.

I’m your wife.

I’m your…

I become incoherent as I peak, clenching my thighs against the sides of Fitz’s face, and it’s only his name I call when I come, convulsing into his mouth and around his fingers as I collapse fully on the table. The scruff of Fitz’s face rubs against my thigh as he lays his cheek there.

“Say you’ll be mine—be mywife—forever.” It’s impossible to ignore the longing in his voice.

But it’s too much. I lean to the side. I can’t look at him.

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