Blame It on the Tequila

“They’d be so hard from watching you they’d have to get their dick out and stroke it, imagining what it feels like to be inside you—imagining what it would feel like to tongue fuck your sweet cunt.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Would you let them, sweet Nova?” he asked, his hand skimming down to between my folds. “Would you let them eat your pussy while I fucked you?”

I should have been embarrassed—ashamed, but with Parker, I could always be me—honest and free. So, when he tapped my clit, I didn’t hold back. “Yes,” I whimpered.

He groaned, pushing in harder—deeper. “I have a confession.”

“Tell me,” I pleaded.

“I’d like it too,” he whispered. “I like the idea of you in my arms as someone else touches you. Because they can touch, because I allow them to. Because even if they can touch and taste, I know you’re mine.”

Pressing my forehead to his cheek, I gave over to him. “I’m all yours.”

He gave another slap to my pussy, and I came again, this time harder and more intense. Everything faded, and I almost fell forward, but Parker held me tight, fucking up into my spasming pussy, chasing his own orgasm. I started floating back to earth just as he started coming. He slowed to powerful, hard thrusts, spilling his cum inside me, holding onto me with a bruising grip, groaning his pleasure into my skin.

We both collapsed forward into a heap. He slipped free and looked for a shirt to clean up with while I relished in the feel of his orgasm slipping from between my legs. Needing to see it, I got up to my elbows and had a whole other tremor rack my body at seeing the sticky fluid coating my thighs. I reached down, dragging my fingers through the mess—our mess.

“Jesus fucking Christ. There’s never been anything sexier,” Parker muttered.

He watched me, a white shirt in his fist. Falling back, I arched my back and dragged my wet fingers up my body and around my nipple.

“Fuuuuck.” He rolled to face me, leaning down to suck the wetness from my nipple while he cleaned between my legs.

He kissed his way up my neck to my mouth, where I got the slightest taste of the both of us—tangy and salty and so much Parker. It was perfect. A few more soft kisses, and he brushed his nose against mine before just looking at me.

“You, Nova Hearst, are everything.”

That look. His words spoken with awe. His arms holding me safe. His body over mine. All of it seeped like warm chocolate through my veins.

“Parker.” I barely breathed his name, scared of what I would say next if I put too much force behind his name.

I love you.

He smiled and delivered one last peck. “I’m going to go make breakfast. We need to fuel up because I’m going to need to fuck you again. A few times.”

I watched him get up and pull on sweatpants that hung precariously on his hips. Rolling to my side, I smiled, wanting to watch him all day.

“Why don’t you go paint?” he suggested.

I looked over my shoulder, finally taking in the beauty of the morning. It matched the beautiful feeling shaping inside me. It’d been there all along but in disarray until I could finally gather the pieces enough to put it together. Maybe painting would help me sort out the last bit and clarify what to do next.

I grabbed the first thing I could find, which ended up being a pair of baggy denim overalls, and tossed them on, grabbing my items and heading out.

With the first stroke of my brush to the canvas, something already began to ease inside me.

I didn’t poke or prod at it, instead losing myself to the colors and blend and sounds around me.

Music reached through the open doors of the van, and Parker’s voice followed, slipping in place.

This my mind whispered. This is what we’ve searched for.

I’d run for so long from one thing to the next, always pulling back and holding a part of myself by the door in case I needed to run, but I didn’t want to anymore.

I didn’t want to live scared.

Fear hadn’t been the driving force behind my decision to remain private, but I always knew it played a role. I never wanted it to rule me, so I ignored it. But ignoring it didn’t make it any less real, and I needed to face it if I wanted to step forward with my business—with Parker.

I loved him.

I loved him enough to at least give everything I had to try. And to do that, I needed to bring both feet through the door.

“Scrambled eggs and bacon, my lady.” Parker set the plate down with a bow before checking out my painting. “It’s just missing one thing,” he declared. And just like he had all those years ago in my room, he grabbed a brush, dipped it in a color, and placed an inconspicuous dot somewhere in the painting. Making it our art. “Perfect.”