He leans in so his front presses against me and I gasp when I feel the length of him, hard and huge against my stomach. I’m shocked how ready he is for me without ever lifting a finger, without doing a damn thing except standing there laughing at him.
“You should know, that husky little laugh of yours is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” he mutters, eyes on mine. “You keep it up, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder, take you back to my boat, and fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”
The laugh dies on my lips as a bolt of lightning shoots through my panties.
“I’ve been thinking about that mouth since you walked away from me last week.” His lips are practically on mine. “The sounds it makes. The way it looks when it shapes my name. What it’s going to look like when I make you come for the first time.”
I suck in a sharp breath.
“And I am going to make you come, Zoe.” I feel his stubble against my skin as his lips skim over my jawline. “Very soon. I promise you that.”
I think I moan a little.
“Still laughing?” he murmurs.
I shake my head.
“Good.” His mouth brushes mine in a featherlight kiss that leaves me craving more. “Let’s go.”
“Back you your boat?” I breathe.
His eyes crinkle. “No. Not yet. We have some shit to say to each other, and if we go to my boat, your powers of speech will be limited to a few choice words. Namely: harder, faster, please, oh my god, don’t stop, Parker, you’re a sex god.”
Rolling my eyes at his ridiculously inflated ego, I try to muffle the sound of disappointment in the back of my throat. I’m pretty sure he hears it anyway, judging by the way his hand tightens on mine as he pulls me down the stairs onto the street.
12
The Impact
“Where are we going?” I ask, staring ominously at the black Porsche.
Parker’s busy sending a text to someone on his phone while he waits for me to climb into the deathtrap. When the iPhone buzzes and he reads the response on his screen, he smiles wide.
“What?” He looks up at me with warm eyes. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I asked where we’re going.”
“Somewhere to talk. I have things to say, and it can’t be anywhere with a bed. I can’t be trusted not to…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to say more — the heat in his stare says more than any words could convey.
I gulp.
“Um.” Deep breath. “But… where are we going to talk?”
“New rule.” He tucks his phone into his pocket. “Humans named Zoe are not allowed to ask any questions for the rest of the night.”
“I don’t accept that rule.”
“Sorry, too late to change it now.”
“What the hell do you mean, it’s too late to change it? You just made the damn rule!”
Parker chuckles. “Shut up and get in the car, snookums.”
I shoot him a death glare. “Call me that one more time, and I’m going to start calling you boo-bear in front of everyone we pass on the street.”
“Difference between you and me, darling?” His eyes darken. “I don’t care what you call me, so long as we’re not in my bed. When I’m inside you, I want you to know exactly who’s fucking you. I want my name on your lips.” His voice has gone deep. “Other that that, you can call me whatever you damn please.”
I suck in a breath and decide now is a very good time to stop arguing.
He leans in. “Any more questions?”
I shake my head.
“Great. Get in the damn car.”
I heave a heavy sigh… and then I get in the damn car.
* * *
Ten minutes later, I feel my eyes widen as he turns onto a familiar street.
“Why are we on Yawkey Way?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “That sounded like a question.”
“Fine. I’ll rephrase.” I sigh deeply. “It appears, Oh Mighty Annoying One, that we are at Fenway Park.”
“Very astute. You’re much smarter than the girls I usually date.”
I elbow him. Hard. “This isn’t a date. And it’s not tough to be smarter than girls who never read anything except nutritional facts on the back of their diet products.”
His grin widens. “Have I told you I like it when you’re sassy?”
“Several times. Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“What will get me somewhere? Specifically, to third base?”
I scoff at him. “You’re not getting anywhere near my bases.”
“Zoe! I’m shocked and appalled.” He shakes his head as if deeply disappointed, shifting into park just outside one of the stadium gates. “I was talking about bases on the actual baseball field. You know, where the Red Sox play. Clearly.”
“Clearly,” I echo dryly.
He chuckles as the engine falls silent with a low purr, throws open his door, and rounds the hood to open mine like I’m some eighteenth-century maiden climbing from a stagecoach. Before he can even reach for my handle, I’m out waiting on the curb with my arms crossed over my chest.
“Chivalry is dead?” he asks, brows raised.
“And buried,” I concur.
“Great. Just checking.” He grabs my hand before I can stop him and starts leading me toward the doors.
“I wish you’d stop tugging me around like a dog on a leash.”
“You’re so tiny. I’m worried I’ll lose you in the crowd.”
I glance around at the deserted street. Two days before Christmas in thirty-degree weather, there’s not a soul to be seen.