Demanded.
And he made it so. He stripped her quickly, murmuring hot praises in between kissing and stroking everything he exposed, and when she was naked, he set her on the counter.
“Hold on,” he said.
And she did. She held on, feeling his muscles bunch and release as he slid into her and began to move, pushing in and out in a rhythm that took her from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. She held on, her ankles linked at his backside, moving with him, sensation after sensation pummeling her until she was so close to coming she could hardly breathe.
And then Parker gripped her hips hard and yanked her in so that their torsos were plastered together, so that she could feel the weight of him leaning into her, the carved muscles of his chest and arms working. And in the sensual haze of her preorgasmic state, she looked up. His face was an erotic mask of pleasure and that was all it took. She came with his name a mantra on her lips, came so hard she was barely cognizant of him burying his face in the crook of her neck and doing the same.
When he pulled back, Zoe realized she had a two-fisted grip on his shirt and was still letting out helpless little whimpers as she came down. “Sorry.”
He eased her to the floor and held her still when she tried to turn away. “Don’t ever be sorry for your passion. It’s beautiful. I love it.”
“I . . . got a little wild.”
He tightened his grip and kissed her until she forgot what they’d been talking about. “I love it,” he repeated against her mouth, and finally let her go.
Flushed, she resisted the urge to stick her heated face into the freezer. Instead she dressed—again—and poured them both a coffee and tried to act like this, having a man in her kitchen in the morning, one she’d slept with, was an everyday occurrence.
Except that until he’d shown up, it was a never occurrence.
He’d inhaled three of the muffins and praised her baking after each one before her conscience got the best of her. “Parker?”
“Yeah?” He was eyeing yet another muffin and she realized that when he left here, she wanted to leave her mark on him the same way he’d left his mark on her.
She wanted him to remember her as great in bed—or in this case, great on her kitchen counter, the couch, and the floor, and his bed . . . She wanted him to remember her house and her damn amazing blueberry muffins. “Nothing,” she said.
He smiled and popped another muffin into his mouth, and she had to close her eyes because the sight of him eating with such pleasure made her ache. Dammit. “Ididn’tmakethem,” she said.
“What?”
She kept her eyes closed because if she didn’t look at him, he couldn’t turn her upside down.
Then she felt his warm, large hand along her jaw. “Look at me.”
She grimaced because her body had a serious problem with ignoring a command from him, but she opened her eyes.
“I know,” he said, and flashed her the sexiest of all his smiles. Holding her gaze, he went for his fifth muffin, breaking it in half to share with Oreo, who was sitting on Parker’s foot.
Both man and dog ate with pleasure, Oreo nudging Parker’s hand with his nose for more.
“You know?” Zoe repeated.
“Yep.” Parker licked crumbs off his thumb and then sucked his forefinger into his mouth to get that one clean, too.
The sound made her nipples hard.
Damn misbehaving nipples!
“How did you know?” she demanded.
He shrugged his broad shoulders and captured the naughty gray kitten before she could tumble headfirst into Oreo’s empty bowl.
“Parker.”
He glanced up at Zoe. “When you say my name like that, I want to make you say it again. While I’m inside you.”
Her legs quivered, but she put her hands on her hips.