Found in Us (Lost 2)

The inside of my knees, huh? Never too late to discover more erogenous areas, I guess. And by God, I want him to discover them all. As his kisses trail up my inner thigh, I push up; I want his lips to meet my wet slit. But they change direction at the last second, going even higher, and then stopping.

At the tattoo on my hip.

Ice cold seeps through my veins. I try to pull him up to me, because I don't want to think about that now. But Parker doesn't budge. As he blows hot breaths over that spot, I start to relax. Very slowly. Concentrating on the way his lips touch me there, brushing against each wing of the butterfly, and then lingering on its spine.

I want to kiss you everywhere, Parker said. I realize now he hadn't meant it as foreplay. There's only one way to be truly free. By healing. And that's what Parker's kisses are meant for. They tug at my heartstrings, making me let go of those last bits of old rage that keep me from being completely free. I'm starting to think his kisses could heal anything.

When I pull him up to me, moments later, Parker lifts my legs, placing them on his shoulder. He bites his lip as he peruses his fingers over my slit, causing a hurricane of pleasure to spread through me.

I push myself against his fingers, but now Parker is the one who can't wait anymore. Instead of meeting his fingers, I find his cock ready for me, a condom already on.

"Fuck," I cry as he slams against me. A loud growl rumbles from his chest as he slams again, pushing himself even deeper inside. With my legs up like this, I take more of him in. He stretches me and fills me entirely, as if he's determined not to leave an inch of me unclaimed. I willingly give him all of me.

"Touch yourself," he says in raspy voice, bringing one of my hands down to my clit. I arch my back, and as I do, his tip slides so deep inside me, that it causes many shimmers of delight to erupt inside me. I increase the speed of stroking my clit. With the other hand, I fist the sheet, needing to hold onto something as I push myself harder and harder against him.

"This is so fucking sexy," he growls, but I'm too far gone to acknowledge it with anything more than a whimper. When I cry his name, I don't give him just my pleasure. I give him everything.

Chapter Sevent

een

Jessica

"Time to get up, Jess."

"What time is it?" I ask, my eyes still closed.

"Eight o'clock."

"Is the house on fire?"

"No."

"Then why the hell are you waking me up at eight o'clock on a Saturday?" I growl, pulling the pillow over my head.

"Haven't you heard the saying the early bird gets the worm?"

"I don't know about you, but I've never been a big fan of worms."

"Well, I promise to look up a more appealing expression."

"You won't shut up, will you?"

"Not a chance."

"Fine, give me half an hour."

I hear the door slam shut but don’t move. Then something stirs me to life. The smell of coffee. I raise my head, and sure enough, a cup of coffee is on the nightstand next to the bed. I am confused for a few moments, wondering how it got here. Then it hits me. Parker brought it. I sit up straight, and as I take a sip, a warmth that has nothing to do with the hot coffee spreads through me. He didn’t even say anything. This silent gesture on his part means almost as much to me as his kisses last night.

I dress quickly in some jeans and a sporty sweater I had the good sense to stuff inside my bag last night, and half an hour later, I make my way through the house, walking deliberately slow, so I can inspect the paintings hanging seemingly everywhere. My heart jolts a few times as I recognize paintings by several world-famous artists.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I tell Parker when we’re in the car. It’s a beautiful August day, and I can’t wait to enjoy it with this handsome man. “So, where are we going?" He's wearing a light blue fitted shirt and jeans, looking just as godly as ever. The short sleeves emphasize his toned arms and chest. Decidedly, Parker can't look anything but drop-your-pants hot no matter what he wears.

"I've scheduled us for golf at my club."

My face must have dropped, because Parker quickly asks, "What's wrong?"

"Golf? That sounds so. . . boring."