Page 108 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
I lean forward and tilt up my chin. He presses the glass against my lips and lifts it. I allow him to pour a sip of cool, crisp wine into my mouth. I swallow, lick my lips, and smile. “Well, it’s been a while since you’ve eaten.”
Hazel eyes flash, and then Parker’s mouth is against mine.
I hear the clink as he sets the wineglass on the tile floor, feel one of his hands slide into my hair, pulling. The other slips beneath the surface of the water and grips my thigh. His hand slides down my flesh, and his fingers stroke over the entrance to my sex. I moan into his mouth.
“You’re right. It’s been way too long,” he rasps against my lips.
He hauls me out of the water until my butt is balanced on a four-inch ledge of porcelain. He pushes my legs open, grips my hips in his big hands, and buries his face between my slick, trembling thighs.
I moan, rocking my hips against his mouth. I sink my fingers into the plush thickness of his hair and keep rocking, helpless to resist the waves of pleasure pulsing through me. He slides two fingers inside me, and I suck in a breath.
“God. Yes. Yes, Parker.”
Suckling me, he makes a noise like a growl in his throat. He slides his fingers in and out, in and out, pressing my inner walls in slow, tortuous circles, until I’m breathing in short gasps, my back arched and my eyes closed, my nipples hard as diamonds.
When he slows for a moment, his tongue gentling, I look down at him.
He’s looking up at me with eyes that are half lidded, burning. “Does kitty need to be fed?” He flicks his tongue over the sensitive head of my clit. When I do nothing but softly groan, he does it again, slower, this time in a swirling circular motion that makes me whimper.
“Kitty likes her French kisses,” I pant. “Please don’t stop.”
Parker’s lips curve to a satisfied, seductive smile. “Ah, she said please.” He closes his eyes, presses his mouth against my core, and sucks so strongly my back bows and the cry that rips from me echoes off the bathroom walls.
I come, screaming his name.
It isn’t part of my plan, my wanton cries of pleasure that form the shape of his name, but it’s so damn good—he’s so damn good—I can’t help myself. His name falls from my lips over and over, a delirious chant as I writhe against his face, my fingers clenching his hair, my legs straining.
Just as I’m about to collapse into the tub, spent, Parker lifts me up under my arms.
In a voice as rough as sandpaper, he demands, “Wrap your legs around my waist.” When I do, he takes several short strides over to the wall, pins me against it, holds me up using only one arm, and tears down his fly. His erection presses against my wetness, and the head of his cock catches in the right spot and slips inside me. I make a noise that’s part impressed laugh and part groan.
He’s fucking me against the wall.
Standing with his legs braced apart, fully clothed, bearing all my weight, Parker is fucking me against the smooth, painted wall of his bathroom.
He thrusts, sinking deep, his fingers now digging into the flesh of my bottom. When I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes, I feel his mouth on my throat. His teeth press against my skin with just enough pressure to make me shiver. He thrusts again, and grunts as my inner muscles contract around him.
“I claim this beautiful pussy,” he says harshly at my ear. “You understand, woman? I know you’ll never give me your heart, but this—”
He thrusts again.
“—is—”
Again, harder, deeper.
“—mine.”
Something inside my chest unravels and breaks free.
He’s the best sex I’ve ever had, the father of my illegitimate child, the object of over a decade of hatred, and the catalyst for my success. He ruined me and I’ve sworn to ruin him—and what will I do when this is over?
When I have my revenge, what will be left? When I break his heart, or his soul, or destroy his career or reputation—who will I be without the bitterness that’s driven me? What will I see when I look in the mirror?
What if hating him has been the only thing that’s kept me going?
I kiss him as if I’ll never kiss another man again, ravenously, my tongue invading his mouth, my teeth clashing with his. I tighten my arms around his shoulders, press my heels against his spine, and buck, my hips relentlessly flexing back and forth, meeting his thrusts, shoving his cock deep, claiming him as he’s claiming me, marking him as he’s marked me.
He shudders. His groan is long and low. His final thrust into me is violent. He puts his hand around my throat, lifts his head and stares into my eyes, and, with an oath, comes inside me.
