Page 55 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
“No, you don’t. You love it.”
I roll my eyes. “Ugh. The ego has landed.”
Parker growls, “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
I freeze. “Um. No?”
“Yes, you did.”
He pinches my behind. I gasp, both because I’m surprised and because it feels good. He says, “Do I need to give you another spanking?”
I wriggle beneath him, an involuntary little twitch of my traitorous hips, which brings my crotch into direct contact with the steel rod trying to escape from his trousers. His breath hisses through his teeth as he sharply inhales.
Seeing the look of lust on his face, I warn, “Remember what I said would happen if you tried to kiss me!”
Without missing a beat he says, “I’ll take my chances.”
Then his lips are against mine. The kiss is hot and silky and demanding, and because he tastes so delicious, I moan into his mouth.
That sound sets off a chain reaction.
He moans, too, and presses himself harder against me, sinking his fingers into my bare flesh. I arch against him, opening my thighs to allow his erection to rub against my heat as I flex my hips. He makes a noise deep in his throat and, just above my tailbone, slips his fingers beneath my thong. I sink my fingers into his hair and pull, using my nails, scratching him. He slides his hand over the crest of my hip then puts his open palm between my legs. He rubs me through my damp panties.
I whimper, pushing against his hand.
He growls, slipping his fingers beneath the silk.
I mew like a kitten when his fingers find my wet center, again as he circles my clit with his thumb. When his fingers slip inside me, I break the kiss on a ragged gasp.
“Goddamn beautiful treacherous viper,” he says, breathing heavily, and then takes my mouth again.
His mouth is devouring, but his fingers are gentle. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
This isn’t the sweet, fumbling teenager I knew, the boy who was more eager than experienced. The boy who cried in happiness after the first time we made love.
This is a Man with a capital M. Every cell in my body recognizes it, is screaming it so loud they can probably hear it downstairs.
Parker. Parker. Parker.
I’m dizzy. Breathless. Aching. Low in my belly, a coil of pleasure winds tighter and tighter. His fingers push deeper. My hand finds his hardness. When I wrap my fingers around his erection, he groans.
Parker.
Parker?
At the same moment I realize the voice in my head calling Parker’s name isn’t a voice in my head, Parker breaks our kiss, panting. He cocks an ear toward the door.
“Parker, where are you? Someone find the guest of honor. He’s gone MIA!”
Scattered laughter, a sharp squeal of feedback from a microphone, and we both realize that from somewhere downstairs, the mayor is hailing Parker to come speak to the crowd.
Parker drops his forehead to my chest. “Jesus Christ. He’s killing me.”
Me, too, but I’m thankful for the interruption. Another sixty seconds and the Mistress of All Evil would be getting shagged on a velvet sofa by her arch-enemy.
That’s just unbecoming for a Bitch of my stature.
I push against Parker’s chest. He withdraws. I sit up, straighten my dress, wipe my swollen lips with my fingertips. Parker runs a hand through his disheveled hair and looks at me.
