Chapter 5

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.

Lord, though.

I want to drag my tongue through that line of black hair that divides the wide hump of his belly in half. I want to bite his love handles. I want to climb onto his shoulders, just to watch him support my weight with ease. This man is unmovable and beautiful and I think—is it possible?—that I’m falling for him.

My blood pumps faster every time I think about what we did. How he found such unabashed pleasure just from looking at my body. It excites me. How turned on Daws is around me at all times. And what he did to me with his tongue…

Discreetly, I fan my heated face. I’ve given myself orgasms with my own fingers, but I’ve never, ever had anyone do that to me. Never thought anyone could succeed in blowing my mind so thoroughly. The experience was erotic and intense and…right. It felt right because of who it was with. This man who is gentle and reassuring and funny and protective. There wasn’t even a passing hint of self-consciousness.

I feel happy when I’m around him.

Right now, even under this deadline, I’m insanely, stupidly happy.

He tells me stories about the regulars at Mulloy’s while I work. About dirty Pauline, an elderly neighborhood lady who sneaks in every day at the same time, claiming to be hiding from the police. Then there’s Gil and his wife, Geraldine, who spend their summers traveling with an a cappella group, the construction workers who leave dust on the stools and the finance guys who come in to loosen their ties.

I confide my worries about falling short with my first line and he reassures me, telling me I’m going to knock it out of the park…and I believe him. I believe the confidence boosts in me.

While I get sewing on the jacket, Daws leaves and brings back chocolate shakes. Burgers and fries. Until that moment, I don’t realize how hungry I am, and eat mine in approximately ninety seconds while he laughs.

“Do you want to catch some sleep on the couch?” I ask, hurrying back to the sewing machine. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time for a fitting.”

He nods and drops down onto the leather, his feet hanging well over the edge. The very picture of a hibernating bear. His eyes close, but I don’t think he ever really sleeps. Several times while the machine whirs in front of me, I swear I feel his gaze on me from across the room and sparks dance up my neck.

What if there’s something real here?

I’m still a little raw over what happened on the reality show. Not because I had feelings for that jerk, but because I read the situation so wrong. I am naïve. Jocelyn tells me that all the time. I might be reading too much into Daws’s interest. This could just be about sex for him, whereas for me…I want to go on dates with this man. I want to go to baseball games, pull him behind a stall in the farmer’s market for a kiss, show him off to my friends.

Which means I am severely jumping the gun.

I’ve known him for all of five hours.

Reel it in, girl.

Still, I can’t help but continue to sneak looks at him while he naps.

And I’m pretty sure he’s sneaking them at me, too.

It’s five o’clock in the morning when I sew the final stitch and slump back in my chair. I start to get up and go wake Daws for the fitting, but he’s already closing the distance between us. There’s genuine interest on his face to see what I’ve done and it elevates my mood from exhausted to giddy.

“I like that,” he says gruffly, tracing the red gun barrel I’ve stitched onto the lapels. “You made it look like shoulder holsters.”

“Yes,” I breathe, standing up and holding the jacket against him. “It won’t take me long to do the matching pants today and put the same stitching on the pockets. And…hmm. I’m going to have you wear a plain white T-shirt underneath this. You’re a modern twist on a badass western sheriff. Deadwood meets Moulin Rouge.”

“I’m either really tired or you’re rubbing off on me, because that actually made sense,” he chuckles. “You want me to try it on?”

“Please!” I drag him to one of the full-length mirrors and help him put on the jacket, exhaling a sigh of relief when it drops down perfectly over his extra-broad shoulders. Smoothing wrinkles and picking lint, I circle him like a nervous hummingbird, finally stopping to examine him in the mirror. And wow. Just wow. He was already hot, but now he looks like an action star on the red carpet. “Oh, Daws. I can’t believe it…this might be my favorite piece in the whole line. It’s the anchor that’s going to pull it all together.”

“Comfortable, too,” he comments, testing the arms. “Good job, Nebraska.”

“Thank you.” I clasp my hands beneath my chin. “Now we just have to practice your runway walk.”

“I’m going to have to learn one before I can practice it.”

“Noted.” I scan the room and wince. “We’re going to need more space for legs as long as yours. Are you up for a walk?”

We buy coffees and walk up to the High Line, an old elevated rail line turned city park that runs along the West Side of Manhattan. The sun is just beginning to come up, rays of light threading in between the skyscrapers to our left, the Hudson River silent, stretching out endlessly on our right. There are normally crowds and vendors packing every inch of the narrow walk, but it’s early on a weekend and we’re the only people in the world. As wired as I am from a sleepless night followed by a fashion victory, the brisk, sharp morning feels extra surreal.

I set my paper coffee cup down on the railing and square my shoulders. “All right. Runway walk. So I don’t expect you to glide like a model. In fact, I don’t want you to. Just be Daws, okay? We’re only going to work on your pace and the turn.” I center myself in the middle of the High Line, straighten my back, deaden my eyes and strut. “See? There will be music playing. Keep pace with it, but don’t hurry.” I pause, widen my stance, drop my hip. “And then stop, pose, turn to the right, walk back to the left of the next model.”

When we face each other again, there is heat banked in his eyes. “Not sure I understand. I might need to watch you do that another hundred times.”

A giggle almost escapes, but I clamp my lips together and keep it trapped. Is he flirting with me? Shivers race over every inch of my skin at the possibility that he wants to do more of what we did last night in the design room. Although…if he likes me, wouldn’t he have held my hand during our walk? Or kissed me? Or told me bluntly that he’s interested in making me his girlfriend? He’s so blunt in manner, I can’t imagine him keeping anything to himself.

“You give it a try,” I say with a jerky motion. “I bet you’ll be great.”

There is something so magical about the two of us being alone in the early morning, our voices crystal clear against the sunrise. His boots fall heavily when he walks, his gait so loose and masculine, it reminds me of something. “Were you a bodyguard in a past life?”

He’s at the end of his imaginary runway now and he stops, the way a ship coasts to rest at a dock. The pose he chooses is to cross his arms, look mean, drop them to his sides and return to me at a casual pace, as if he didn’t just make me want to throw my panties into the Hudson. “Yeah I was,” he answers with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “How did you know?”

“You look like you should be walking alongside the president or something.”

“Actually, I did. A few times, during UN assemblies mostly.” He stops in front of me. “Back when I worked for the former mayor.”

My chin is in the vicinity of my toes. “No way! Why did you stop?”

Daws hesitates, as if uncomfortable. “Do you remember the attempt on the mayor’s life? During that awards ceremony at City Hall?” I nod slowly and he taps his shoulder. “The bullet ended up here instead. I had every intention of going back to work, but…”

“What?”

“Me getting shot scared my grandmother and her health is fragile, so…” He clears his throat. “I went into the bar business instead.”

“Oh,” I sigh dreamily, swaying toward him a little. “You quit for your grandma.”

He grunts, once again seeming uncomfortable with any kind of recognition. “You never told me how I did with the runway walk.”

“Oh! It was perfect! You’re going to put everyone to shame.”

He scoffs, but there’s a slight change in color to the tips of his ears. “I don’t know about that, Nebraska.”

“Could I kiss you?” I whisper. “Or would that be terrible?”

Daws does a double-take. “You want to kiss me?”

My laugh is halting but incredulous. “Why do you sound surprised?”

He just continues to stare at me, perplexed. “What would a sweet, beautiful, talented young girl like you want with an older, overweight, scarred up motherfucker like me?”

“I’d want to kiss him. I thought I made that clear.” I stomp my foot. “And don’t you dare talk about yourself as if…as if you’re not a big gorgeous beast with a huge heart and a generous spirit. You saved my life by helping me—”

“You’re grateful, is that it?” He steps closer, lifts his hand as if he wants to touch my face, but draws it back instead. “That’s why you’re offering to kiss me?”

“No! I want to kiss you because I think I’ll die if I don’t.”

Daws swoops close and lowers his head, pressing his hard mouth to mine and going still. Breathing hard, but not taking it any further. As if giving me a chance to change my mind. When I only whimper and tip my face up, he sinks our mouths together with a groan, his extra-large hands coming up to frame my hips through my coat. He kisses me like I’m made of porcelain at first, bringing his tongue to mine gently, licking, pulling the taste back into his mouth to savor it. Bury it like a bone. But I’m not easily breakable and I let him know it by going up on my toes, exploring the deepest recesses of his mouth with my tongue, molding my slight stomach against his hardy one, rubbing my breasts against it like a kitten, just picturing all that coarse, dark hair beneath his coat. How I would thread my fingers through it.

I realize there’s nothing to stop me.

With our kiss beginning to accelerate into something breathless and insatiable, I unbutton his coat and slide my palm up beneath his button-down, sobbing into his mouth when I feel the dense forest of his chest hair abrading my palm. God, it’s so masculine. So real. So hot.

Experimentally, I scrape my nails lightly over his nipple and he makes a hoarse, choppy sound, the steel of his erection lifting between us, thick and highly noticeable, even through both of our coats. Oh my God. Oh my God. I’ve just discovered this giant, insanely sexy man gets turned on by having his nipples played with. I’m pretty sure I’m going to masturbate thinking about that for the rest of my life. Unless…maybe I’ll get to keep the real thing? Maybe?

Please Baby Jesus?

“Parker,” he rasps, his mouth racing up the side of my neck, his hand tunneling through my hair. “How far do you need to take this game, pretty baby? You want me to tell you when I’m right about to come in my pants, so you can pull back? You want to keep me on the edge for a while?”

Game? “I-I don’t understand.”

“This game. Where you tease me. Make me think I might…” His breathing picks up, starts to rattle in his throat. “You let me think I might get to put my cock inside you, if I play my cards right. Even just the tip.” He groans through clenched teeth as if the very idea causes him acute pain. “I’ll play whatever game you need, just tell me how to make it best for you.”

He thinks I’m teasing him?

Where did that come from?

I’m not sure, but I’m starting to think Daws believes that I’m out of his league. Which is crazy, because I feel the exact opposite. And not only does he think I’m on some higher level, but he thinks I know it, too, and I’m using it against him.

It’s all so ludicrous, so shocking, I wouldn’t even begin to know how to deny it with words. Really, though. Who needs words when I can show him with my body instead?

Knowing what’s about to happen, my pulse slows in my veins like warm honey and the flesh between my thighs melts, grows moist and pliant. I wrap my arms around his neck and jump, tightening my thighs around his waist. I don’t want his coat in the way, so push it to the side and let it fall back into place, hiding my legs from view. Daws’s hands immediately fly to my butt, taking one cheek in each hand beneath my leather skirt, squeezing like he can’t help it.

“Daws?” I pout against his mouth. “I don’t want just the tip. I want it all.”

“Parker.” His fingers shake as he tucks them under the strap of my thong, trailing the tips up and down the valley of my backside. “Don’t be cruel to me.”

“I’m not.” I kiss his mouth slowly, letting the feeling building inside me for him come out. Putting need and affection and maybe even love into every stroke of my tongue, the shifting angles of my lips. “I think…I think I’ve been waiting for a real man to come along and make me a woman. You’re him. I know it. Don’t make me wait.”

“Christ, you mean it, don’t you?” He pulls back slightly to search my expression. “You’re going to let me pop your cherry.”

“Yes.” I grind against his bulge, making myself wetter. “Pop it for me, Daws.”

One of his hands leaves my bottom and starts to wrestle frantically with the fly of his jeans. “Thank you, God. Thank you.”

He’s breathing like a stallion after a race and maybe, just maybe, teasing is a hobby I should consider, because there is something intoxicating about how overwrought he is with hunger. How he’s so horny for me that he’s sweating, even in the February air.

I hear the zing of his zipper coming down and there it is. His fat, greedy meat is between my thighs, guided by his fist. “Goddammit, Parker. You shouldn’t be fucked like this your first time, but I’m not going to wait and risk you changing your mind.” My thong is yanked to the side and then he’s shoving himself inside my drenched sex, grunting and groaning, squeezing his wide, rigid manhood between my clenching virgin walls, pausing only when there’s a tear inside me and I gasp at the sharp jab of momentary discomfort.

“Hurts,” I sob, testing our connection with little circles of my hips, searching for a comfortable position. “You feel so huge. Like you’re ready to burst.”

“I am. I’m ready to blow you sky high. Fuck. Don’t move,” he pants, his grip bruising on my ass to keep me still. “Don’t move that tight little pussy one inch or I’m done.”

“But it’s starting to feel better,” I moan, trying to roll my lower body. “It feels good.”

“I’m not even halfway in yet, pretty baby.” He’s caught in a permanent wince. “Jesus Christ, my fucking balls. I’m not going to be able to hold them off.”

“But…” I kiss his perspiring neck. “You’re not wearing a condom.”

A shudder wracks his massive frame. “Ah, Parker. Baby. Please don’t make me pull out,” he begs through clenched teeth. “Please.”

Wickedness wells up inside me. I have no idea where it comes from, but it makes me feel achy, wild, sexy. Like a temptation. “If you make me come, you don’t have to pull out.”

He stumbles a few steps, chest heaving. “Cruel girl,” he rasps against my mouth, the admonishment making moisture run down my thighs. “Cruel, beautiful…”—he rams the remaining inches into me—“…tight little girl.”

More discomfort starts to grip me, but I’m distracted by a jogger coming toward us. They’re about a hundred yards away, but at the pace they’re running, they’ll reach us in no time. “D-Daws…” I tap on his shoulder. “There’s s-someone.”

He goes dangerously still. “Is it a man?”

I try to focus, squinting into the distance. “No. Woman.”

Some of the tension leaves him. “I’d have killed a man for getting this close while your pussy is out.” He grips my backside and starts to ride me up and down the painfully thick length of his erection. “Flip up my collar and tuck your head into my neck.” I do as I’m told, burrowing my face into his perfect warmth and tightening my thighs around his pumping hips. “My coat hides the rest of you. Keep bouncing on that dick for me.”

It’s all so dirty and desperate, my teeth come out and sink into his neck. He grunts, but continues lifting me and slapping me back down on his lap, impaling me brutally. Perfectly.

“Daws, Daws, Daws,” I chant, gasping when a tweak of his hips brings my clit up against the wide, pulsing pedestal of his arousal. I cling to him like a life preserver in a storm and grind my hips up and back, moving faster than I ever knew I was capable of moving. “Oh yes, oh God!” I scream into his neck. “Daddy. Please.”

How can I call him anything else when he’s holding me like this, shielding me, introducing me to a whole new world? When he’s the master of my entire universe? The beginning and the end of my everything? He is making me, breaking me, bringing me to a place I didn’t know existed and I’m mindless with the need to get there, my clit tingling, my pelvis quickening, my muscles gathering together.

“You can’t call me that and expect me to last. Come on, you little prick tease,” he pants raggedly, his pinky sneaking just inside my back entrance and jiggling. “I can’t take it anymore. Can’t believe I get to put my load in this hot little pussy.” He pulls out his pinky and spanks me hard, his body starting to shake, telling me he’s reached his peak. “Put your cream on my dick, Parker. Please. Please.”

That hard slap of my buttocks loosens the knot inside me and I unravel. My brain knows I’m in the safest arms imaginable, but my body is in a never-ending spiral. There’s no bottom. I just continue to roll and roll and roll, end over end, through a field of pleasure, my femininity seizing up, my vocal cords aching from holding in a shriek.

“Not pulling out,” he groans. “Can’t.”

Daws has my butt in his hands and is shoving me down roughly onto his still rock-hard erection, tilting his hips up at the same time, looking me right in the eye and growling. As though he wants to take permanent residence inside me and he’s angry it’s not possible. I can feel his shaft jerking rhythmically within my channel, the swell of his belly pressing against mine, an abundance of wetness spreading where our bodies meet.

“Jesus. I must be the luckiest man alive,” Daws grates through clenched teeth, pulling out a little and ramming deep again, the force causing us to stagger two steps. “Balls deep in the hottest little girl in the city. Got her cherry juice dripping off my cock, that greedy pussy pulsing for more. I’ll give you more any time I’m allowed. I’ll beg for it.”

His mouth captures mine before I can respond and I get lost in the passionate kiss, the final shudder of his big, rugged body. I get lost in the way he wraps his arms around me, cradling me close, our labored breaths mingling with the sounds of New York City waking up. And I’m positive there has never been a more perfect moment in time.

I want more of them.

With Daws.

And I think there’s a good chance he wants them with me, too.

But I’m about to find out that nothing this amazing ever came easy.