Page 56 of Mother Parker
And no, I hadn’t dreamed it.
Right?
Just to be on the safe side, I slapped my face.
“Ouch!”
Yeah, definitely not dreaming.
He’d almost kissed me.
That was such an unexpected turn. Sure, the guy turned me on to no end, and I loved his company, grouchy and monosyllabic as it was, but I never thought he’d actuallybeinterested in me.
Me? Hwanchan Kim?
Maybe I’d misunderstood his intentions. Maybe he wasn’t trying to kiss me. Maybe he was going for an angry growl in my ear, or he was trying tomake methink he wanted to kiss me to see if he could rattle me. Not that I was ever rattled by him. He might be giant and scary on the surface, but he was harmless under that tough SEAL facade.
His eyes appeared right in front of me, his lips hovering over my own, and his au naturel body scent reverberating, shooting waves of pleasure through me and straight to my nether regions.
I pressed my hand to my cock that was already revved from the Parker fantasy—a fantasy based on reality, what?—and my breath caught in my throat.
I knew I shouldn’t be doing that, I knew I should stop touching myself, think about anything else, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it anymore.
I’d spent days—weeks—denying myself the pleasure of picturing him doing things to me, fighting tooth and nail against my urges because it wasn’t right. It was inappropriate.
The poor man was only helping with my café, a silent, broody bodyguard that had taken up barista duties to keep me safe from a nonexistent threat.
“You got new flowers?”
The insecurity behind that hardened face and the thoughtfulness of his actions from yesterday before hit me like a brick, and it only made my desire more desperate.
“I don’t know how to use the machine.”
The sheepish look of defeat and embarrassment was a wildly different expression from the one usually plastered on his face.
“You couldn’t get a different color?”
How he’d reacted when the new sizes for the employee T-shirts had arrived. His words might have been brutish, but he’d practically glowed when he put the pink Henley on and realized it was the right size for those endless muscles.
Fuck.
I unbuttoned my jeans and freed my aching cock. It throbbed in my palm, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I rubbed.
I spread my legs on the floor, leaned the back of my head against the door, and stroked myself, wishing for his touch, his smile. His laugh.
God. How could I forget his laugh?
It was so beautiful that it could give a dying man his life back.
I knew it was wrong, but I no longer cared. I wanted that man to take me and claim me as his. I wanted him to put his lips on mine, to rub his body on me, mark me as his.
Suddenly, my hand wasn’t good enough. I needed his. I needed him there to rub me, lick me, bite me, do whatever he needed to, press his weight on top of me, make me feel his hard cock, make me suck it, swallow it, choke on it.
I wanted him there to spread me open, push his thick manhood inside me, and make my eyes roll to the back of my head until I saw the stars, the moon, the whole damn galaxy.
I wanted him to pin me to the door with his cock and make me drink him up.
I wanted him to sit me on his lap, put his arms around me, kiss my neck and fuck me like he cared about me.
