My favorite four words in the English language.
I already decided that back in Mulloy’s.
Every time she says it, I can’t believe I heard her right.
Maybe…no.
No way she’d let me eat her pussy.
“What do you need?”
“I’m turned on. I-I think that’s what this is. It’s never been this…intense.”
Her breathless confession rouses my cock, puts it on the road to stiffening again. Parker’s newly discovered kink is doing a number on her. I damn well know it. But maybe I want to pretend she could actually want me. Just for a night. So I don’t tell her it’s the teasing working her up. Not me. “Say the word, Parker,” I growl, “and I’ll lick you straight off.”
Those hazel eyes light up. “Really?”
Her surprise is confusing, but I’m too focused on not letting the window of opportunity close. So I take one step and throw her over my shoulder, marching into the design room.
I’ll tongue fuck her right. I’ll do it so well, she’ll come knocking on my door for it. Any hour of the day, any time of night, I’ll be her permanent pussy eater. Now this has to be the best I can hope for with Parker. When we walked into this place, the best I was hoping for was to spend time around her. This is like winning the lottery three times in a row.
No. It’s way better.
I park her ass on the edge of a long table. “Lift your hips,” I rasp—and she does, allowing me to peel the thong down her legs, letting it drop.
Completely naked now, she’s golden, eager. A virgin angel. And she’s shy, hesitant to let me spread her thighs. So shy it makes me hotter. I almost have to take my cock back out, just to give it space to grow. “Can’t lick your pussy if you don’t let me see, pretty baby.” I kneel, kiss each of her knees in turn, before trying again to pry them open. This time, she lets me and there it is.
The Holy fucking Grail of pussies.
It’s dripping wet, lips parted slightly, virgin blush peeking out.
Looks like it wouldn’t fit my pinky.
If I was ever lucky enough to get my cock in that, I’d never want to take it out.
I’d spend my life finding new angles to fuck it from.
And yet, Parker is looking down at me like she’s nervous about what I think. Just virgin nerves, I’m sure. But I have to be mindful of that.
I reach out and slide my thumb down through her parted slit, gathering moisture from her entrance and bringing it back to her clit. Circling gently. “You are beautiful here, Parker. Men commit murder over pussy this sweet.”
I would.
Without question.
Parker gasps and settles the curve of her right foot against my shoulder, knee bent. “Th-thank you.” Her eyelids flutter and droop. “Oh, I like when you touch me there.”
“Good girl. Tell me what feels best. I’ll keep my thumb right here on your little clit. And you let me know when you’re ready for me to lick—”
“I’m ready,” she blurts, cheeks suffusing with pink. “I’m…very ready.”
It takes all of my willpower not to push her flat on the table and eat her hungrily. Like a beast might snap and slaver over a bone. Instead, I use my free arm to gather her closer to the edge, stopping when her hot, wet sex is a centimeter from my face, her clit pulsing against my strumming thumb. Jesus. She smells like wildflowers here, too. “My mouth is your playground, pretty baby. You want to yank me closer, moan for Daddy or grind on that fucking tongue, you do it. Use me to get there.” I swipe my tongue up the middle of her folds and flick it against her clit. “I’ll work like a goddamn dog for this pussy.”
Christ, she’s responsive.
That first flicker of my tongue against her clit and her thighs start shaking around my head. She lets out a surprised sob and thrusts her fingers into my hair. Tugs me closer.
And then this little cock tease rides my face.
She draws me flush to her juicy pussy and works her hips frantically, moaning, like she’s never had an orgasm in her life. Can’t go on living unless I give her one. I stiffen up my tongue and let her buck against it until my desperation to be the source of her pleasure takes over. I know what she needs and I have to give it to her. Have to. I drag my tongue side to side over her clit. Up and down. I suction my upper lip right above the little bud and paddle it relentlessly until I hear the scream erupt from her throat.
I scoop her ass cheeks into my hands and let my middle fingers meet at her asshole, rubbing on the sweet puckered thing roughly, imagining what it would be like to lick a digit and slide it in. Would she let me? Would she like it?
Jesus Christ, she’s grinding on me now, her swollen bud sliding against my upper lip, down to my tongue, back up. She’s using my whole face and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. She is. She’s fucking magnificent, this sweet, dirty girl.
Her legs tremble with increased force.
“Don’t stop,” she pants, her thighs wrapping around my head like twin boa constrictors. “Don’t stop. Please. Daws!”
Parker calling my name while creaming on my tongue causes my dick to erupt once again in my jeans, turning me into a groaning fiend, my hips pumping against the air futilely while I stuff my tongue into her constricting pussy, coating my tongue in her moisture. Trying to memorize the flavor so I can recall the perfection for the rest of my life.
Before I can get my fill—not that I ever could—Parker topples backwards and lies panting on her back. Our harsh breaths echo in the still room, no other sound except the buzzing of the lights. I stand and look down at her, this incredible beauty with the gentle heart and greedy body, her blonde hair fanned out around her flushed face. And I have to tamp down on the words trying to travel up my throat. I’m not going to ruin my chance to be in her life—in any capacity—by asking if she’ll let me be her man.
It’s like my head knows I’m just a perfect fit for her kink…
But my heart is saying different.
My heart has no practice with feeling this much, though, so I don’t think I can trust it.
Still, when she smiles up at me like I’m her hero, I crack.
“Parker, I—”
“Oh my God, Daws! It’s so late!” Something just beyond my shoulder catches her eye and she gasps, jackknifing on the table. “We have to get to work.”
As she hurries to get dressed, I tell myself it’s for the best that I don’t get the chance to say what’s on my mind. I’ve always been a realistic man and I need to stay that way.
There’s no sweet angel named Parker in the cards for me.
5
Parker
Daws is the perfect work companion.
He seems to understand I’ve been struck by inspirational lightning and lets me buzz around him, draping fabrics over his shoulders, around his waist, pinning here, cutting there. I’m lucky we had a bolt of charcoal-colored jersey in the supply closet, because no fabric stores are open this time of night. I sketch, I dive back into action, I pace.
I stare at his insanely sexy body.
I stare a lot.
It’s a wonder I get anything done.
In order to make the fits precise, he has to strip down to his boxers and I wish—I wish—we had time to address the meaty erection that never stops tenting his underwear, but if I don’t get the jacket done tonight, I won’t have time to make the matching pants tomorrow.