"Parker...," I whisper, fumbling with the zipper of his pants. Parker hands me a condom, and I roll it on. I palm his throbbing erection, and place his wide tip at my entrance. Feeling his tip on my swollen flesh almost sends me over the edge. But I don't slide onto him right away. No, I take my time, teasing him like he's done with me in other instances.
"You like this, don't you? Being in control." His voice shakes despite the playful tone.
"For someone so used to being in control, you seem to be enjoying it, too," I whisper, sliding his tip in.
"I do with you." His lips find mine again, and he starts tugging at my lower lip as I ease myself onto him, taking him inside inch by inch, enjoying the feeling of being whole again. Every cell in my body is ignited as I start moving, taking him deeper and deeper inside me. Spasms of pleasure ripple through me, and my pussy clenches around his cock as I increase my rhythm, desperate for more pleasure. Parker grips my ass with his fingers, guiding me in my frantic search for a release. I tug at his hair, pulling his head closer to me. But nothing is close enough. Nothing is fast enough.
I let out an unrecognizable sound as tension slams through me and I rock my hips forward into him. In my frenzy, I see Parker jerk his head back, an animalistic groan resounding from deep inside him. He finds his own release as I surrender to him.
Afterward, I cuddle against him, resting my head at the nape of his neck. He puts his arms around me, hugging me tightly to his chest.
"You okay?" he whispers, playing with my hair.
"Perfect."
I missed this. Him. His scent, his kisses, the way he makes me feel. I missed the ardor of his lips and the warmth of his arms around me. I don't want this to be just for now. I can only hope Parker doesn't, either.
It takes forever for us to cross the city. London, as usual, is buzzing with traffic, even in the late hours of the evening. I look out the window, the energy from my explosive release still pulsing in my veins. I love the vibrancy of this city: the bright lights everywhere, the rush of people. When I came to London for the interview, it was love at first sight. I never wanted to leave. The time I had to spend in California until my graduation seemed like one giant drag. I couldn't wait to come back here and make London my permanent home. I look out the window and realize we have left downtown behind. The lights are less bright, the cars fewer in number. We enter one of London's most expensive residential areas, which doesn't surprise me. I always assumed Parker lives somewhere expensive. What does surprise me, as he pulls the car in front of one of the houses, is the enormous size of his house. Built entirely with the red bricks I've come to associate with Brits, the house is three stories high and so large that four families could comfortably live inside.
Despite my coat, I shiver when I get out of the car.
"Here," Parker says, taking off his jacket and putting it on my shoulders.
I pull it tighter around me, inhaling the smell emanating from it—the scent of him. I scrutinize my surroundings: a neat garden with grass trimmed to perfection and roses lined up on either side of the patio. All in all a nice but rather small garden, so I assume the largest portion of it lies behind the back of the house.
Parker unlocks the door, pushing it open, and as I step inside, he curls an arm around my waist, his lips touching my ear. “I’m glad you came here tonight.”
A vision of us rolling on what looks like freshly polished parquet invades my mind. Followed by another vision—of him flattening me against the wall between two paintings, which I'm one hundred percent sure are painted by Monet, and which I'll make sure to inspect later. Damn, this man can get me dripping wet just by talking, even though we were together not half an hour ago. Parker lets me go, taking his jacket off my shoulders and putting it on the hanger. Disappointed, I undo my coat and throw it on the hanger as well. Carelessly, of course, so it slides away, falling on the parquet.
Parker bends to pick it up. I get a good view of his rear in the process, which does nothing to calm my hunger for him. He's a damn good sight. In a suit and out of it. He hangs my coat properly, smoothing a few cre
ases in it.
"I love these paintings," I say.
"London, paintings, food, toys." He smiles.
I put my hands on my hips, shrugging. "I love lots of things."
His smile widens. "I can see that. I don't think I've ever known anyone more in love with . . . life than you are."
"Okay," I say, slightly taken aback by his line. I start inspecting the paintings. The mix of swirling colors captivates me, and I gaze at them, mesmerized as I always am when I have a painting in front of me.
"Monet," Parker says, confirming my thoughts. "There are two more of his paintings in the library. I'll show them to you later on, let's go to the kitchen for now. Don't know about you, but I'm starving," he says, glancing at the bags of groceries.
I trail alongside him, taking in my surroundings. From the flawlessly arranged art pieces on the tables, to the lush, expensive carpets, there isn't one object that is anything short of perfectly polished or even slightly misplaced. And while I have no doubt that Parker has an army of housekeepers doing the cleaning, this tells me he's a man who likes to have everything in order. There is no place for chaos in Parker's life. How can there be a place for someone whose life has always been governed by chaos, like me?
"You live here on your own?" I ask.
"Yeah, I bought this a few months ago, had it refurbished, and only moved in about one month ago."
"Why didn't you buy a smaller one?"
"I wanted this one. It's the house I grew up in. We lived here until I was eight. Afterward my mother sold the house, but I always wanted to move back here. When I saw it was up for sale I bought it immediately. The previous owner changed all the furniture except the things in my dad's study. It looks exactly the way it did when we used to live here. There's something really special about returning to live in the place where you grew up, don't you think?"
In truth, I don't. If there is one place I wouldn't ever want to set foot in again, it's my parents' house. Ever since I moved out for college, I've done a good job avoiding it most of the time. I only went for Thanksgiving and Christmas, not able to find it in myself to break my mom's heart by not showing up on either of those days.
"And this," Parker says, "is the kitchen."