Page 64 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
And I can’t help it; I groan in disappointment.
Parker tenses, breathing hard. “You weren’t a foregone conclusion, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was only hoping, not expecting.”
“It’s not that.”
“What then?”
I sink my fingers into the hard muscles of his ass. “I wanted you bare.”
With a moan, he shoves inside me.
He fits his mouth to mine. I taste myself on him. I pull my knees up and rock my hips, feeling him hot and hard deep inside, filling me, stretching me. He fucks me slowly, kissing me and fondling my breasts, bringing me quickly back up to that bright peak again, so quickly I’m dizzy and gasping for breath.
“Come on my cock, baby,” he whispers, gazing down at me. “Give it to me again.”
I’m flying. Flying and burning and suddenly there’s water in my eyes and my throat is closing up and my chest feels like there’s a thousand pound weight on it—oh God, what’s happening?
I turn my head, desperate to escape those eyes of his that always see right through me, but he won’t allow it. He grasps my jaw in his hand and turns my head back so I’m forced to look at him.
“Don’t hide. Let me in. Let me see you. Please.”
It’s that soft, pleading “please” that does it.
I come again, silently this time, though no less savagely. Throughout it I look at him, feeling raw and bloodied as a scraped nerve, until finally I can
’t contain the feelings inside me anymore. Water slips from the corners of my eyes.
He whispers, “Yes. God, yes. That right there. I’d kill to keep you looking at me like that forever.”
I say his name. It’s like fitting a key into a lock.
He starts to thrust faster. Sweat breaks out on his forehead. His arms are tense and corded. His breaths come in harsh pants. He moans, long and low, and I know he’s close.
I pull his head down and say into his ear, “Fuck me hard, lover. Come inside me.”
Grunting in pleasure, he bites me on the long muscle above my clavicle. He slides one hand under my ass and uses it to lift me as he pumps into me, deeper, harder. My breasts are flattened against his chest, my fingernails bite into his flesh, my legs tremble as my thigh muscles tense.
Then he stiffens, throws his head back and, with a shout, comes.
It’s a beautiful thing to watch. His eyes are closed. His lips are parted. Even in the spare light I can see his face is flushed with color. I feel him throb and twitch deep inside me, and I experience an emotion I’m entirely unfamiliar with. It feels like I’m being stabbed over and over, right through the center of my chest.
A little sound escapes my throat. Parker opens his eyes and looks down at me. His eyes are shining. He leans down and kisses me softly on the lips, cheeks, eyelids, his warm breath washing over my face. Balancing himself on his elbows, he cradles my head in his hands. Against my chest, I feel his heart thrumming a crazy, irregular beat.
We’re quiet for several minutes, our arms around each other, letting our breathing return to normal. Finally he says, “OK, that was seriously fucking amazing.”
I manage to keep my voice steady when I reply, “Or seriously amazing fucking.”
He chuckles, nosing my hair away from my ear. “Both. Jesus.”
“You don’t have to call me Jesus. Your Royal Highness will do.”
He chuckles again and kisses a path from my ear all the way down my neck. Without withdrawing from me, he rolls to his back, his arms around my waist, and settles me atop him so I’m straddling him, looking down, my hair falling into my face. He reaches up and brushes it back with both hands. To avoid the softness in his eyes that’s almost killing me, I sigh.
“What?”
Acting coy, I shrug, and then glance at my bare breasts. “You owe me a shirt.”
His gaze drops to my breasts. He smiles. “I’ll take you shopping.”
