Page 461 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
“One second, baby,” he purred as he crouched down and rummaged through the pockets of his pants still gathered around his ankles. I watched with tingling lips and a racing heart. He straightened when he retrieved a condom. I barely managed to be patient while my pussy pulsed with need and he tore open the condom and rolled it on. His cock was so swollen, and my body felt so greedy.
He moved in close once more, caging me between him and the door. I lifted a leg and he slid an arm under my knee to hold it up. He bent a little at the knees before pushing upward, and his cock slid inside me. It was like we’d been made for each other. Our bodies worked in favor of each other, and I gasped as he filled me up and held himself there to kiss me while my insides made room for him. I hooked an arm behind his head and plunged my fingers into his tousled hair. I seized a fistful of brown locks and held fast while he cupped my cheek and traced my lips with his thumb.
I couldn’t recall a time in my life where I’d ever felt so sexy or wanted, and I’d been wearing a terrible elf costume for crying out loud.
I smiled against his thumb, and he pressed it over my lower lip and against my teeth. I opened my mouth for him, sensing what he wanted, and he pressed down on my tongue as I sealed my lips around his knuckle.
He fucked me harder.
I moaned his name, and it came out mumbled with his thumb in my mouth.
He groaned. The sound set me on fire.
Chadwick slid his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck, and he cradled my head as he fucked me harder, preventing me from hitting it against the door. His tenderness complemented his strength and how hard he fucked. His hips punished me while his hand cared for me, and I melted at his mercy, knowing in my soul that this was right.
This was destined.
I whimpered and reached for him. He moved in closer, the heat of his body pouring off him, and I wrapped my leg around his waist. He rolled his hips, driving deep inside me in sweeping thrusts. I pulled his head down to me for more kisses, and we savored each other’s lips as we both worked up to our climax. We came together, and when we were done neither of us seemed willing to part. We stayed like that for a long time—kissing with his cock still inside me and the door at my back.
He’d been right.
It was the perfect way to pass the time and distract me.
CHAPTER 22
CHADWICK
A soft, low rumbling sound faded in and out, and I knew I was in that fuzzy place between sleep and consciousness. My back hurt, but not terribly, and my right arm was full of pins and needles. I shifted gently, and the rumble stopped. Pausing, I waited, and the sound returned within seconds.
I opened my eyes.
It took several blinks for me to remember that Tinsely and I were locked in one of the storage closets in Bamford’s. The concrete floor beneath me radiated nothing but cold, and it had seeped into my bones, leaving me chilled. But my front was warm because Tinsely was cradled in front of me, using my numb right arm as a pillow. My suit jacket was draped over her like a blanket, and her knees were drawn practically to her chest to get as much of herself under the jacket as possible.
The soft rumbling was her snoring.
I smiled to myself and dared not move despite the aches and pains, asleep right arm, and cold concrete beneath me. I’d slept in my shirt and pants and used a package of toilet-paper rolls as a pillow. With no windows in this place, I had no sense of what time it was, so I reached gingerly over Tinsely’s hip and fished my phone out of my jacket pocket. We still had no service, and it was nearly eight in the morning.
Somehow, we still hadn’t been found.
I wondered dimly how much longer we’d have to hang out in here. I could only distract Tinsely so much from her fear of confined spaces, and the longer we were in here, the worse things would get. One of us would have to use the restroom soon, and we’d have to eat, too.
Not to mention the interview.
Shit, I thought, remembering that Tinsely and I were supposed to be heading down to Wanda Wayans’s production studio for New York, New Morning, and do a live interview on the air. With no way to warn them ahead of time that we probably weren’t going to make it, I knew I’d be getting an earful from my father. In his near decade of running this month-long event, he’d never missed an appointment, and Wanda’s show was a huge marketing avenue for us—and for her.
I had to start being more careful.
Tinsely stopped snoring. I froze, worried my restlessness had woke her, and watched as she rolled onto her back and stretched before promptly curling back up under my jacket when she felt the biting cold in the air. She rolled over the rest of the way until she was cozied into my side and wrapped an arm around my waist. She used my chest as a pillow and mumbled, “Good morning.”
I wrapped my still-numb arm around her and held her close. “Morning.”
Her teeth started to chatter. “It’s so cold.”
I looked around, desperate for a way to warm her up, but all we had was more toilet paper. If only we’d gotten locked in the storage room with boxes of clothes, we wouldn’t be having this problem.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She kept her eyes closed and snuggled in closer. “It’s okay. I’ve heard freezing to death isn’t the worst way to go. It’s when you don’t feel cold anymore that you have to worry, but apparently you just fall asleep.”
