Page 88 of The Wrong Heart

“Goddamn,” he rasps against the shell of my ear, biting at the lobe.

I hear his zipper unfasten as I thrust against his pumping finger, needing him deeper, needingmore. Parker lifts his head from the crook of my shoulder, finding my eyes for one blinding, potent second, before he pulls his finger out of me and flips me around until my front is pressed up against the shed wall.

A gasp escapes me as the splinters dig into my skin, but I hardly notice because Parker snakes his arm around my midsection, palming my breast with one hand, while the other spreads my thighs apart. Instinctively, I arc my back, searching for him—beggingfor him.

His mouth is devouring my neck again, his tongue hot and demanding as he tastes me, sweat and rainwater, his hand leaving my breast to fist my hair and tug it back. Parker situates himself between my legs from behind, the tip of his cock seeking entry. The feel of him there, teasing me, has my body tremoring and aching as I grind against him. “Please.”

“Fuck, Melody…”

As the thunder rolls overhead, Parker spreads me wider as his opposite hand curves around my throat, and he pushes inside.

Hard. Abrupt. Unforgiving.

Holy shit.

My cry is muffled when his hand clamps my jaw, two fingers slipping into my mouth, and I bite down. Parker’s forehead drops to my shoulder, his prolonged groan making my skin hum as I slink one arm behind his neck to hold him to me.

He starts to move, his hips rocking against me, slowly at first, stretching me and making me squirm. His tongue drags along the crest of my shoulder, up to my neck, and he pulls the flesh between his teeth, grunting, while his cock hits deeper, his thrusts quickening.

I plant both hands against the shed for leverage while his fingers tug my jaw open, and I yelp again, unsure of what hurts, what stings, what’s right or wrong, and what feels so good, the line between pain and pleasure becomes a glorious, permanent blur.

Parker’s fingers leave my mouth and sweep down my body until he finds the juncture between my legs, and I press into his palm, a silent plea. With one hand gripping my hipbone, keeping me steady while he slams into me, the other rubs my clit into a delicious frenzy, pulling mewls and whimpers and unabashed moans from my throat.

His lips dip to my ear, his breathing ragged. “You’re driving me fucking wild… you feel so goddamn good.”

“Uhh…” It’s all I can manage, his words and hands twisting me inside out, stealing my coherency and common sense.

Reinventing me.

I feel myself peaking, climbing, singing and buzzing, while Parker fucks me against the shed in my backyard beneath black clouds and moonlight.

Like animals.

As his fingers work me to orgasm, and his thrusts become more feral, my body tenses and thrums, and I break apart into a thousand tiny particles, atoms, and stars.

My climax nearly cripples me.

Knees buckling, I crumple forward, while Parker squeezes my breast, tweaking my nipple as a cry of pleasure tears through my throat. He rams into me with violent, frenzied strokes, grunting his release, burying his face into the slick curve of my neck.

“Fuck,” he grits out, shuddering against me, his palm still cupping my breast while his opposite hand clings to my hip, fingertips biting into the delicate skin.

And then it’s over.

His movements temper, and he just kind of holds me for a moment as we both come down from the heady high. It’s nothing but raindrops and heartbeats and heavy breaths as Parker’s grip on me loosens, his head lifting from my shoulder. I feel his heart vibrating into my back, his erection still firm and pulsing inside me, his fingers trailing lightly down my torso, almost a tickle, as he lets out a deep, equivocal sigh near my ear.

Then he slides out of me, letting me go, and I remain still, partially collapsed against the shed with my shorts dropped to my ankles and a sodden tank top bunched around my middle.

Rainwater mixes with Parker’s release and spills down my thighs, reminding me that Charlie is no longer the last man to have been inside me. I gave that title to a man who claims to not even like women—who was cruel to me—who didn’t deserve it.

I gave a precious gift to an unworthy man.

The realization rips a sob from my chest before I have time to even recover. I slump further against the wet wood planks of Charlie’s beloved shed; the shed that has now been defiled by a painful act of betrayal.

A betrayal to him. A betrayal to me.

With limbs quivering with regret, I simply stand there, hardly able to hold my weight and the weight of so much more.

My eyes squeeze shut, my face hidden behind my hands, when I feel a gentle touch graze the small of my back. Light as a feather at first, barely there at all, until he applies more pressure and rubs his palm up and down my spine, as if he’s trying to comfort me somehow.

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