Page 27 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

I couldn’t help but watch her for a moment longer. Even mad, she looked good. She was perfect in her imperfection. I knew she was still pissed about me being out, and I could tell she was probably stewing over the bullshit text she sent me earlier. I didn’t respond to it, but now… well, I had something else on my mind.

I made my way over to her quietly. She didn’t hear me approaching until I was right next to her. Without a word, I reached down, grabbed the bowl of ice cream from her hand, and set it on the nightstand. Her eyes snapped up, surprise and irritation flaring in her gaze.

“What the hell?” she started, her voice thick with annoyance.

I didn’t let her finish. I moved fast, grabbing her by the throat, just enough to keep her still. She gasped, eyes widening, but she didn’t pull away. Not that I expected her to. I leaned in, close—too close. My lips brushed against hers, then took over, deep and demanding. I kissed her like I’d been starving for her lips. Like everything about her just made me want to claim her in the most primal way. I felt her body tense, but she didn’t push me off, didn’t break the kiss. She let me in, gave herself to me for those few seconds.

Then, just as quickly, I pulled back, leaving her breathless and confused. I didn’t even let her catch her breath. I stood up, looked down at her, the way she blinked up at me, like she was waiting for more. Her lips parted as she frowned, still confused, still caught in whatever spell I’d just cast on her.

“Why did you stop?” Her voice was soft but full of question, her body still leaning toward me, wanting more.

I chuckled, the sound low in my throat. “Get some rest, wifey,” I said, my voice a little too calm, like I hadn’t just completely turned her world upside down.

I turned to leave, but before I could make it to the door, I heard the pillow flying toward me. It hit me in the back, a weak attempt at defiance, but I didn’t even look back. I just walked out, knowing exactly what I had done. Got her all excited, got her confused and pissed off, and then left her wanting more. Parker was exactly where I wanted her.

PARKER

I s t a r e d a tthe ceiling in the dark, the silence of the penthouse settling around me like a heavy blanket. My mind wouldn’t shut off. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was him—Shooter, towering over me, that kiss… the way he made me feel.

My heart was still pounding in my chest, and no matter how hard I tried to block it out, I couldn’t. I should be pissed off, and I was, but damn it, I couldn’t deny that I was also turned on. And that pissed me off even more.

It had been almost a year since I’d last had any kind of intimacy, and now I was here, tangled in my own thoughts, wondering why the hell his kiss was still so vivid in my head. He’d barely given me the chance to process what happened, and yet here I was, lying in this massive bed, trying to convince myself that I didn’t care. That I didn’t want him to come back in here and finish what he’d started.

God, why did he have to be so damn fine? Why did he have to kiss me like that?

I turned over onto my side, gripping the pillow tight, trying to ignore the ache between my legs. My thoughts kept drifting back to him—the way his lips felt on mine, the fire that ignited in me as he took control. I hated myself for letting him do that. I hated myself for wanting more. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him like this. He was my husband, yes, but this wasn’t supposed to be happening. I was supposed to be fighting him, not falling for him.

But every time I tried to remind myself of why I shouldn’t want him, a part of me couldn’t help but remember the way he looked at me. The way his eyes bore into me with that possessive hunger. The way he kissed me. I couldn’t deny that it stirred something in me. Something I’d buried deep down, something I wasn’t supposed to want.

I thought about getting up and going to his room. I knew I’d find him there. He was probably lying in that massive bed of his, maybe watching TV or just relaxing. Would he be asleep? Would he want me to come in? I could almost hear his voice in my head.I'll get you right.

And damn it, I did want it. I wanted him. I hated myself for it. I’d barely even gotten to know him, and yet he already had this hold on me. It was sickening.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I could see was him again—his strong hands, the way he touched me, the way he kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered. My chest tightened as frustration built up. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way about him. I was supposed to be angry, not wanting him.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling once again, fighting the urge to get up and just go to him. I wanted him to come to me. To take control. But then I’d be playing right into his hands. I couldn’t give in to him that easily. I couldn’t let myself get attached. But… God, I wanted him.

I exhaled sharply and rubbed my face, trying to clear my head. This wasn’t me. I didn’t fall for men like this. Especially not men like Shooter. He wasn’t some nice guy I could trust. He was dangerous, unpredictable. And here I was, lying in bed, wanting him like some desperate, needy woman. What was wrong with me?

I pushed the blanket off my legs and sat up, rubbing my temples as my mind raced. Should I go see him? Should I confront him about what happened? No. That was too risky. If I went to him now, it would be like I was begging for him, like I couldn’t control myself.

I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees as I tried to calm my racing thoughts. I was pissed off. Pissed off at him, pissed off at myself for even thinking about him in this way. He had no right to make me feel like this.

But no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, the attraction was there. The desire. The tension between us was palpable, and it only seemed to grow stronger with each passing minute. I sighed heavily, sinking back into the bed, trying to get comfortable. But no matter how many times I shifted, I couldn’t get rid of the tight knot in my stomach. The frustration. The need.

I had to be stronger than this. I had to stop letting him get to me. But as I lay there in the silence, I couldn’t help but think of his face, his body, his kiss. It was like a damn drug, and I was hooked. I closed my eyes, the darkness taking over, and I drifted off to sleep… still pissed off, still unsatisfied, and yet… somehow, deep down, I knew I was going to end up playing his game. And I hated myself for it.

T h e f o l l o w i n g e v e n i n ghad rolled in slowly, and as the sun began to set, I was still trapped in my thoughts. The day had been just like the others—spent alone in the penthouse, on the phone gossiping with my girls and then filling the silence with journaling and the sounds of the TV.

Shooter had been gone all day, leaving me alone to stew in my thoughts about the kiss we shared the night before. It was still eating at me. That kiss. God, the way he kissed me. How could I even think about him like that? He’d barely given me a chance to process it, and yet I couldn’t shake the image of his hands on me, the heat of his mouth against mine.

I had spent the whole day trying not to think about it, but here I was, counting down until it might’ve happened again. And that other bitch—whoever she was—still loomed over my thoughts like a cloud.

But tonight… tonight I was going to take control. I had made up my mind. I was going to show up looking so damn sexy that not even his wandering eye could drift away from me. If he thought he could have another woman, then let him see exactly what he was missing.

I slipped into the green dress Shooter had bought me the day we went shopping, the one that hugged every curve of my body and made my skin look like it was glowing. The gold heels clicked against the floor as I walked toward the mirror, and I paused for a moment, taking in my reflection. I wasn’t going to pile on makeup tonight. No heavy foundation, no dramatic eyes. Just me. My natural beauty, the light freckles that dotted my face, the soft curve of my lips.

I styled my hair differently and left it bone straight with a buss down middle part. I knew I had the kind of beauty that didn’t need all the layers of makeup to hide behind. I was going to let him see the real me—fierce, unapologetic, and absolutely stunning.

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