Page 13 of Parker

“That’s him here,” I say, and Sophie smiles at me encouragingly. She places her hand on my lower back and gently pushes me toward the door. “He’s threatening to come carry me down to the car.”

“Well, go on,” she says. “Go have amazing sex with a beautiful man. Is he well hung?”

I blush.

“That’ll be a yes, then,” she smirks. “Text me if he turns out to be a serial killer, okay?”

I nod, laughing, but then hesitate at the door. My hand rests on the frame, nerves catching in my chest. What if he doesn’t look at me the same way in the daylight? What if last night was all in my head?

Sophie sees it. She gives my hand a squeeze. “You’ve got this. He’s already obsessed.”

I step out into the evening.

His bright-red flying machine sits at the curb, and the driver’s door opens as I totter down the broken pathway from the apartment. My heel catches between the slabs, and I wobble onto my toes, steadying myself by grabbing the washing line pole.

“Seriously?” I mutter, glaring at the offending slab before giving it a swift stomp. When I glance up, Joel’s already out of the car, his gaze locked on me like I’m the only thing that exists.

“Are you okay?” he asks, taking my arm. “Don’t want you breaking your neck before I even get you in the car.”

I snicker, embarrassed. “A bit out of practice walking in these things.” I gesture to the high-heeled contraptions on my feet. They’re already killing me, but my legs look damn fine. “Not much call for stilettos in the prison yard.”

Joel doesn’t laugh. His mouth lifts slightly, but there’s something in his eyes—something that says he understands . Not prison, maybe. But darkness. Confinement. A different cage.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep an eye on you,” he murmurs, brushing a curl from my cheek like it’s an instinct.

He helps me into the car, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. Once inside, he slides in next to me, silent for a beat, then takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles like he’s sealing a promise.

My phone buzzes.

Oh my God! He’s gorgeous. Suck him for me.

I glance up to see Sophie grinning at us from her window, mouthing something that definitely includes the word “ride.”

Joel tilts his head. “Friend of yours?”

“Unfortunately,” I say, trying not to laugh.

“You ready?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be. Where are we going?”

He turns to face me fully, and something in his voice drops an octave. “Home.”

Our gazes meet, the air tightening between us. “Because if last night was even a taste of what this could be… Nicky, I don’t think I’ll ever want you to leave.”

***

We pull up outside his house gates. Nerves dance in my belly, and goosebumps prickle over my skin. Both of us were silent in the car, lost in our own thoughts. This, whatever this is, feels real in a way I can’t explain. We hardly know each other, but I don’t want to leave his side.

He leans over and brushes a kiss to my lips. Soft. Certain. Then he reaches into the glove box, pulls out a silk mask, and hands it to me.

“Put this on,” he says.

I arch a brow. “Seriously?”

“Trust me.”

I slip the soft material over my eyes, plunging myself into darkness. My other senses flare—every breath, every shift in the car, every brush of air along my skin. His hand finds my thigh, skimming over my dress with slow, possessive pressure.

“You look beautiful, Nicky. Prepare to be worshiped.”

The car moves forward, but the short drive feels eternal. When we finally stop, he gets out without a word. Gravel crunches, and then my door opens. He leans in to unbuckle my seatbelt, his body pressed close enough for me to feel the heat rolling off him. His breath caresses my neck.

He takes my hand as he navigates us. I’ve never been more turned on in my life. This dominant side of him is thrilling.

Inside, classical music drifts through the air. Rich scents—garlic, something buttery and maybe wine—wrap around me. His hand at the small of my back keeps me steady as he leads me to a chair and lowers me into it.

My fingers find the table. A cloth drapes across my thighs, and I feel plates, glasses, cutlery. “You cooked?” I ask, and he chuckles. A low, delicious sound.

“I can cook, Nicky. I’m not a Neanderthal.”

The sounds of clinking metal and soft footsteps underscore the music. Then he returns, fingertips brushing my lips.

“Open,” he murmurs.

I hesitate. “What is it?”

“Trust me.”

My mouth parts for him. Something sweet touches my tongue—a strawberry dipped in chocolate. I bite down, and rich flavor floods my mouth. He groans softly, his hand still cradling my face.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growls.

I chew slowly, enjoying each mouthful. The rise in his breathing is even more thrilling.

This turns him on, watching me eat strawberries dipped in chocolate blindfolded.

As I reach out with one hand toward the sound of his voice, my fingers run across his crotch.

His cock is hard beneath the denim. I flutter my fingers before bringing them back to my lap.

His hands move to my face, stroking my cheek.

Then he slowly releases the blindfold. I blink at the sudden light.

He smiles sexily, and my heart freefalls.

“Dinner can wait.” He lifts me from my seat. “Bed now.”

***

We made love for hours; it wasn’t just fucking.

I know the difference. My experience tonight is nothing like anyone before.

Joel Parker worshiped every inch of my body.

Now, we are sitting on the living room floor, eating the remnants of the dinner that was burned.

I’m wrapped in his soft cotton shirt, and his scent fills my nostrils—purely masculine.

He sits across from me in only his silk boxers, every damn part of him on show.

I lick my lips at the vision of him. This would never get old. He raises an eyebrow in question at my glance, and my cheeks pink in response.

“Another round, baby?” he asks, and I nod enthusiastically. He crawls toward me across the soft wool rug beneath us. “First, I have a question, a proposition, actually. Are you feeling fearless?”

His emerald eyes hold mine. I swallow and give him a shy smile.

“Move in with me. Don’t leave.”