Page 107 of The Publicity Stunt
“You’re very wet.” I slide my hands back down his chest.
He looks down at me, his gaze penetrating through my body. Arching an eyebrow, he tilts his head to the left. “Is that a setup for a bad joke?”
I almost laugh but Parker cuts me off. Oh, God, he cuts me off in the best way possible. He takes my lips with his, kissing me like I’m the answer to all his problems. I close my eyes and grab onto the hem of his T-shirt, trying not to float away.
He slowly works his way down to my chin. To the side of my jaw. It’s just a whisper of a kiss. A feather-light brush of his mouth against my skin. And my mind is speaking a hundred different languages I don’t quite understand.
His hand makes its way to the back of my head, knotting in my damp hair, pulling me close like I’m about to slip away. “Put your arms around my neck.” He smiles against my mouth and goes back to devouring my lips.
Warmth spreads across my chest and I do as I’m told, sliding my hands up his neck toward the base of his hair, lightly tugging at his bottom lip with my teeth. He groans against my mouth, and I think I might just die tonight.
The taste of his mouth, the feeling of his rough palm cupping my ass, his other hand tugging on my hair. I’ve had my fair share of kisses but this—this is the only one that matters. Parker doesn’t kiss me with an open mouth; he does so with an open heart. He kisses with an intensity so hot, it’s burning itself into my memory.
And I know this kiss won’t end the moment our lips part. This is the one that will stay with me forever.
At that second, he pulls back. I hear myself panting and his lip twitches up in a smirk. “Look at you.” Parker runs his thumb over my lower lip. “Acting like you’ve never been kissed before.”
His hand travels down my arm, lightly brushing past my breast, and settles on my waist. I close my eyes and lean into his chest.
My cheeks warm and I look up at him. “You kiss me with a smile on your mouth.”
He brings his hand up to my cheek, caressing it with his thumb, and bends down to rest his forehead against mine. “You smile back, you know?”
I nuzzle into him further. His shirt is still soaking wet from the rain, and I feel his hand move behind my neck, sweeping my hair to one side. My breathing gets heavier.
“Chere?” Parker’s hot breath falls against the nape of my neck, sending a trail of goosebumps down my arms.
I tip my chin up. His liquid gaze trickles down my face. “Mm?” My voice comes out a hushed whisper.
His hands tighten around my hips and he kisses the corner of my mouth. “I look forward to fucking you tonight.”
Oh, God.
I close my eyes and a low laugh grates out of him. He lifts me up, wrapping my thighs around his waist, and I suck in a quick breath, tightening my arms around his neck. “So fucking hard,” he repeats, his eyes dark.
He brings his mouth back to mine, pressing his lips against mine, his hand curling around the back of my neck. I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him further into me. He parts his lips a little, and I mimic his actions. His fingers dig into my skin and his tongue barely grazes past mine. Then a little more, a little deeper, more intent.
One of his hands twists into the sequins of my dress and he catches my bottom lip between his teeth. My chest arches against his and his fingers move to the back of my dress, tugging on the zipper. He draws back, hovering his mouth over mine. “Want this off.”
“Me too.”
He lowers his mouth back to mine, walking us to edge of the bed, and pulls on the zipper of my dress. “Shit, I think it’s stuck.”
“Let me try,” I say and he sets me down on my feet. I bring my hands back, trying to take this stupid fucking glitter dress off. But it really is stuck. I try yanking it harder, but that only seems to make it worse.
“Hey, Chere?” Parker skates his palm up my waist, his eyes following its movement.
I shake my head. “I’m trying, I swear. This is not me freaking out. I really want to do this. You have no idea.”
“You really hate this dress, don’t you?”
I look at him with a light frown between my brows. “What?”
His eyes travel down my neck, to my chest, then lower, all the while moving his hands up and down my waist, unable to keep still. It’s almost as if he’s analyzing something. “This dress. You hate it.”
A statement.
“Uh, I, um …”
