Parker left alone before the event ended—not even giving this reporter a chance to soothe his broken heart.
Maybe next time.
* * *
Until then...
* * *
—Muah.
I looked over the photos beneath the article. Sonia looked like a modern Jessica Rabbit with a sparkly red bustier and black leather leggings. She also looked pissed.
Parker looked…exhausted.
I looked from the Parker in the photo to the one standing in front of me. I almost couldn’t handle the intensity of his blue eyes.
Hope, arrogance, nerves, fear, confidence, heat. So much heat.
He did this for me. He went against his management…for me. He put me first.
“What about Aspen? The contract?”
“I’ll take my chances, and I’d do it again for you, too—a thousand times over. I’d only seen her once when we were in Seattle, and I told her then I was done. Aspen planned the whole New York thing. I almost blew a fucking gasket when I had to give up looking for you. She means nothing to me. Nothing. It’s always been you, Nova.”
“Parker.” My heart thundered too fast like a pack of wild horses, and my lungs worked overtime to keep up. I closed my eyes, trying to read his face while also trying to decipher the whirlwind taking place inside me.
“I want you, Nova.”
“It wasn’t just her, Parker. There’s more between us—”
“Then I’ll tear it down with my bare hands,” he gritted out like a wild animal. “I’m done, dammit. I’m done with just missing you. I’m not letting you slip through my fucking fingers again. I won’t do it.” As if to prove his point, he closed the gap and gripped my biceps, leaning his forehead to mine. “I want you, Nova.”
The desperation and pleading bleeding from his words almost took my legs out from under me, and I held on for support. My resistance crumbled, and everything that seemed so important before faded away, leaving just me and him pressed together—no one or nothing else holding us back for the first time since we first laid eyes on each other.
“I know it’s not perfect. I know we have things to work on, just please don’t ask me to leave.”
“I can’t—”
“Please,” he whispered before I could finish.
Sliding my hand up his chest and around his neck, I held him to me as I tipped my head just enough to bring my lips a breath apart from his. “I can’t let you slip away either.”
A puff of air hit my lips like he’d been holding his breath, and my words punched his gut, setting it free.
It was the last gentle thing from him.
With a growl, he attacked my lips, and I met him with equal ferocity.
His hands abandoned my biceps and gripped my ass, hoisting me up, where I wrapped my legs around his waist. We spun, and things crashed to the floor when he swiped the dresser clear. We slammed against the hard top and the wall. I’d have bruises tomorrow, but I didn’t care, I was too focused on picking up where he left off with his buttons. In the end, I clawed at his shirt until I gripped both sides, pulling with years of pent-up passion, sending buttons pinging everywhere.
His tongue plunged into my mouth, and I twirled mine with his, sucking like I wanted to do everywhere. I wanted to taste every inch of his skin, know every secret spot that turned him on. I wanted it all.
I fumbled with his belt, and he pulled back enough to pull my shirt over my head.
“I will never get over these fucking piercings. These tits I’ve dreamed about since I was a teenager.” He palmed one and pinched the other, pulling a cry from my parted lips. “I’m going to worship them,” he promised, starting to work on getting into my pants. “I’m going to worship all of you. But first, I just need to be inside you.”
“Yes,” I hissed.
We slammed back into action.
The room became a symphony of groans, whimpers, heavy breathing, and the rustle of clothes. Something tore, and I didn’t care what it was. I just needed him.
His pants dropped to his ankles, and his thick, hard length fell into my hands. I’d watched him last night—watched his rough grip around the soft skin and silver piercing, and I’d thought of nothing but feeling him since.
He released a savage moan, his hand fisting in my hair too tight when I slid my hand around him. I hadn’t been with many men and none of them like Parker, but he filled my hand like he was made for me.
“Fuck,” he groaned, kicking his pants free.
I stroked him softly a few more times, stopping to cradle his balls, while my other hand explored every inch of skin I could reach. I fingered the piercing in fascination, wanting to look at it but also wanting to get his mouth back on mine. I was in a sensory wonderland and didn’t know where to go next.