Page 108 of The Publicity Stunt

He bends down to my temple and whispers, “Tell me you hate it.”

An order. My heart bangs against my rib cage and I swallow a knot. “I-I hate it.”

His mouth twists into a smile. His broad hands come up, his fingers sliding into the lace neckline of my dress. “I hate it too.”

The ripping sound follows soon after.

My breath catches and I gasp out loud. “Did you just …” I glance down at my dress, torn right down the middle. “Rip my dress?”

He slides it off me and throws it to one side of the room, leaving me in nothing but my underwear and heels. His eyes map every inch of me, my whole body, drinking me in. Looking at me like I might disappear any second.

“Get on your back,” he orders and backs me against the edge of the bed.

I do as I’m told.

Parker bends over me, little drops of water trickling down his hair and onto my chest.

Bringing my hand up to his forehead, I wipe a few of his damp curls aside and say the first nonsensical thought that comes to mind. “We’re going to have sex tonight.”

A low chuckle rumbles out of him and he hooks his thumbs around the waistband of my peach lace underwear, yanking them down. “Tonight …” He plants a soft kiss in the center of my chest and something collapses in my skull. “Tomorrow …” His cold lips touch my bare stomach. “And, if I have any say in the matter …” He moves lower, his mouth grazing past my hipbone. “Every day, for the rest of my fucking life.” He settles himself between my thighs.

All the heat from my cheeks rushes down, gathering in a hot liquid pool below my stomach. Partly because of the words that just came out of his mouth, and partly because of where that mouth is right now.

Fuck.

He runs his hands up my thighs. I glance down and all I see is the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he inhales, exhales.

He rests his forehead against my thighs and groans. “I want to stay here all night. On my knees, between your legs.”

I can barely think, let alone form a coherent response. Instead, I let out an airy sigh, and the next second I feel his fingers at my entrance. Not teasing, not doing anything, just pressing lightly.

One of his fingertips slides up my folds. “And you thought I was wet.” His voice vibrates into me, and his finger slowly dips inside. I suck in a quick breath, and he pushes in further.

“Oh, God …”

His finger sinks into me entirely, curling inside me. I grip the sheets and fight to hold still. He inserts a second finger and promptly makes me forget my own name.

“Parker …”

He kisses the crevice above my thigh, increasing the pressure, picking up the pace slightly. His thumb brushes over my clit and I twist my fist into the bedspread. My breathing quickens. I whisper his name out loud. Again, and again, and again, till it’s nothing but a prayer coming out my mouth.

He picks up the pace. I try to climb away from him, but he pins my hips down with his other hand. Thank God.

His thumb starts to rub against me faster and I … fuck. I suck in an audible breath of air and bite down on my teeth to muffle my moans.

“Shh, relax,” he whispers against my skin. “I want to learn every sound you’re capable of making, April.”

That does it. The way he says my name, his voice low and thick. Just for me. I glance down and he’s looking up at me too. He pushes a third finger in.

I let out a loud moan and my head rolls back onto the mattress.

“Yeah? You like that?” His fingers thrust in and out of me at a deliciously slow pace, his thumb applying an equal amount of pressure above.

If I could form words, I’d tell him exactly how much I like that. Parker picks up the pace and all I do is breathe his name. He seems to get the message, just the same. I arch my back and he plants soft kisses along my thighs, his mouth inching closer and closer to where his fingers are.

“Not yet …” He pants against my skin, sending shivers up my spine. I look down at him. “You can’t come till I say so.” He pulls his fingers out and pushes them in again, making me gasp out loud. “Not yet, April.”

If he wants me to last longer, he needs to stop saying my name like that. The tip of his nose brushes against my seams and he pulls back—barely. Like he can’t help himself. Like he needs me more than I need him.