Page 137 of The Americana Playbook

I tighten my hand in her hair, noting how she moans when my fingers grab the locks harder before I soften my hold and smooth back the strands because I refuse to miss out on one second of the view before me.

But with Parker’s face unobstructed, doe eyes wide and glassy, her mouth full of me, I throw my head back. The sight alone threatens to bring me closer to the edge.

We’ve hardly started, and I already never want it to end.

“That’s it,” I hiss my encouragement softly so I hear each and every sound.

The mumbled moans.

The sharp breaths coming in and out of her nose.

The smacking of her lips when she releases me from her mouth.

My head falls forward, finding a smirk on Parker’s face as her hand takes her mouth’s place.

I run a finger back and forth across her bottom lip. “Didn’t take all that much to ruin your lipstick.”

Parker gives me that wicked little grin before capturing my finger between her teeth, circling the tip of it with her tongue as she continues to stroke.

A grunt breaks free from my chest when Parker releases my finger and moves back to my throbbing length, taking me deep in her mouth again. She moans around me as I whimper her name, my hips jutting forward on their own.

A pop sounds from Parker’s mouth when she pulls her head back. I cup her cheek headily, loving the way my swollen tip rests against her lips.

“Relax,” she whispers, kissing my palm and up to the inside of my wrist.

It’s not possible. I’m a grown-ass man living out my teenage dream.

But this, I know, is so much better than I ever could’ve imagined. Because looking at Parker as she switches to softly stroking me while dragging her mouth and leaving a trail of kisses along my thighs, crouched before me like she’s in worship, iseverything.

Teenage Fitz wouldn’t have lasted for a second.

But Fitz now? I close my eyes again and lean into the softness of her strokes, of her kisses, her breathing. I take ineverything.

Until Parker stops.

Her mouth abandons my skin, and her hand releases me. But none of her warmth has slipped away. I open my eyes, finding she’s somehow scooched closer, her head now tilted to the side.

I’ve never trembled harder in my life than the moment she traces her handwriting tattooed into my skin just above my hip.

There’s a change to the room. I hold my breath, my tense body beginning to tremble.

But when Parker leans forward and presses her lips to my tattoo, I go into full-on shaking.

“When did you do this?” she asks, resting her cheek against my thigh.

“The day after I graduated from Thacher,” I admit as my chest heaves with deep breaths.

A small, sharp gasp flees from Parker’s mouth as her eyes widen, pooling with tears. My hands fling down to her shoulders to grab her because I can’t take space between us anymore, but I’m not fast enough. She climbs onto my lap, leaning her forehead to mine as her center hovers above my swollen tip.

“Why?” she whispers against my lips.

I press my nose against hers, watching Parker’s beautiful eyes fight to keep from fluttering closed. Because we’re close—soclose. The heat between her legs is magnetic as it covers me, and she feels it. But she’s strong willed, and I love that about her. I’m grateful that her eyes are wide open as I bare the depth of my love.

“You matter so much, I needed to take a piece of you with me.”

I’ll never forget the sound of a sob blended with a mewl that Parker pours into my mouth when she crashes her lips to mine. Or the way she clutches at me when she sinks down, coating me in her warmth, letting me feel the race of her heart from deep within.

Like her words—ourwords—I’ll carry this with me forever.

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