Nights With Parker

by Tribue,Alice

  RILEY

  It’s a wonder Oliver hasn’t started banging on the bathroom door yet since I’ve been in here for at least twenty minutes. Maybe more, I don’t know. It’s not wearing his t-shirt that’s got me standing here staring at my reflection practically hyperventilating. It’s the knowledge of what comes next, what will happen when I walk out of this bathroom and climb into bed with him. He’s going to expect me to have sex with him, and the idea scares me. I think the scariest part, the part that’s hardest for me to accept, is that I want it. I want him to make me feel those sensations that he so easily brought out last time. And wanting him to do those things makes me feel guilty because I know I shouldn’t want it. I’m not some religious freak who believes in saving sex for marriage; it was just a personal choice that I made. I never believed that it would make me a bad person or a sinner to have sex before marriage. I suppose if I had met someone and fell in love then I might have considered giving up my virginity for that person. The circumstances of how things have happened between Oliver and me are what I find troubling. It’s the fact that, despite everything that’s happened, I still want more.

  Stupid.

  One last look in the mirror, a deep breath, and I walk out into the room. An empty room. I look around and sneak a peek out on the balcony, but Oliver is nowhere to be found. His wallet and car keys are still in the same spot, the bed is still made, and his cell phone sits on the charger by the nightstand.

  “Looking for me?”

  I jump at the sound of his voice and turn just in time to see him fully enter the room and the door shut behind him.

  “I wasn’t sure where you’d gone.”

  “I had to take your car keys downstairs to the front desk for the tow truck. I’m sorry; I had to go through your purse for them.”

  “You had my car towed?”

  “How else is it going to get fixed?”

  “I know, but you didn’t have to do that. I would have taken care of it in the morning.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, tossing his room key down and making his way over to the bed. I watch as he throws back the covers, and I’m practically immobile when he pulls his t-shirt off and tosses it onto a nearby chair.

  “Get in.” I hear him call to me, and I become all too aware that I’ve just been staring at his bare chest. Shaking off my embarrassment, I walk to the bed as quickly as I can and get in. I lie down, resting my head on the pillows with my back turned to him. My heart rate spikes when the lights go out, and the bed depresses. He pulls the covers up and over us, and I settle in, waiting for him to make a move, waiting for him to start something, but he doesn’t. Like a crazy person, I begin to feel disappointed that he hasn’t initiated anything. I’m not sure how long we lie there in silence, sharing a bed but not touching, but just as I start to doze off, a strong arm grabs me and literally turns me until I’m facing its owner.

  “What are you doing?” I ask on a loud whisper. I can just barely make out his features thanks to the moonlight the illuminates the otherwise dark room. He doesn’t answer, but his eyes never leave mine. There’s a silent exchange going on, and I’m just not sure what it is. When he finally speaks, I’m caught off guard by what he says.

  “It made me nervous that you were out there on your own tonight.”

  “I was okay,” I tell him, not sure what else to say. Not sure where this concern he’s showing for me has come from, or what, if anything, it means.

  “I didn’t like it,” he reiterates, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind my ear. “From now on, until I can make sure that your car isn’t going to leave you stranded in unknown parts, I’ll take you to and from work.”

  This stirs something in me; the butterflies in my stomach start to take flight, and I know I’m stupid for thinking that maybe, just maybe, he really does care about me. I want to ask him why he didn’t like it, why he is mentioning it at all when there’s nothing real between us. But I let myself believe it’s real anyway, just for tonight. I’ll give myself just one night of pretending that he’s more than what I know him to be. One night of thinking that he’s worthy of me, and that he wants what I can give him. Regardless of the fact that I don’t think there’s one thing that I could possibly give to someone like him. Nothing that would make him want to stay.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s done. Give me your schedule and I’ll make sure I’m there to pick you up and drop you off.”

  “I can’t have my mother seeing you pull up to the house.”

  “We’ll figure it out, Riley. Don’t argue with me.”

  “I’m not trying to argue with you,” I mutter.

  “Good. Get some sleep,” he commands, and again, that feeling of disappointment starts to set in. I’m pretty sure that I’m crazy; there must be something wrong with me. I should be happy that he’s just letting me go to sleep and not expecting anything more.

  “Oliver,” I call his name because I can’t leave well enough alone.

  “Hmm?” he replies, rolling slightly closer to me.

  “I thought we … I mean, I just thought,” I sputter, thanking God that the lights are out, and he can’t see my cheeks flush with embarrassment.”

  “What did you think, Riley?” he probes, inching closer, so close that his forehead nearly rests against mine.

  “I thought that you brought me here to have sex.”

  He gives my waist a squeeze at the exact moment he kisses the tip of my nose.

  “That’s not why I brought you here, but is that what you want?”

  “I … I just.”

  “Is that what you want, Riley?” he asks again—this time, more determined. In the moonlight, I can see his eyes heat with desire, but I can’t say yes. I can’t verbalize what I want, and it takes all the nerve I have to do it, but I nod my head in affirmation instead.

  Surprised, I let out a yelp when he moves us so that I’m on my back, and he’s on top of me. His face hovers dangerously close to mine, close enough for me to kiss him. And when he asks me if I’m sure, that’s exactly what I do. When our lips meet, the kiss starts sweet and slow. A discovery mission between two people eager to figure each other out.

  My hands begin to explore the expanse of his back as one of his hands finds its way under my shirt. He groans at the feel of my skin against his hand, and he breaks the kiss. I’m rewarded with a devilish grin right before he grabs the hem of my shirt and wastes no time in expertly removing it. He nuzzles my nose then kisses the tip, and I love it. It feels intimate; something a man would do to a woman who he cared for deeply. I squirm a bit as his lips trail down my body, kissing his way down to my exposed breasts. It’s the best kind of torture, the way that he slowly begins to lick and suck on my nipples. I let out a moan of pleasure and buck my hips. I’m asking him for more, and he knows it, gets off on it.

  “Not yet,” he murmurs, letting me know that he’s in charge, and this is going to happen exactly the way that he wants it to. I know that, in the end, he’ll reward me for my patience. He’s proven it every time he’s touched me.

  I run my hands through Oliver’s hair, gasping he playfully bites my nipple then starts to lick all over again. He resumes trailing kisses on my chest, then down to my belly, and eventually, working his way down further. One more kiss and his hands are grasping my inner thighs, using the position to spread my legs open further.

  “Beautiful,” he says, taking me in before his mouth claims me, his tongue running up and down my already drenched folds.

  “Oliver,” I whimper, unable to control my hips from bucking. In response, his hands move to my hips, pushing me down and effectively securing me to the bed. God, I love how strong he is. It makes me feel strangely safe, even though for all intents and purposes, in this situation, he’s nothing more than a predator.

  “Please,” I cry as the sensations begin to build, coming in waves and becoming more intense with every passing second. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me
; every movement is strategic and intentional. My begging only ignites something in him, and he picks up the pace, focusing now solely on my swollen clit. My quiet whimpers transform into louder moans, the pleasure almost too intense. I inhale sharply when I feel him slide his finger inside me.

  I cry out again and grab his hair, holding on as that feeling that I’ve been so desperately craving starts to grow. I know I’m close, and he knows it too; his movements are relentless now, and he slips a second finger inside me, sending me over the edge as I come around his mouth. It’s intense, bigger, and more profound than the previous times. My head falls back on the pillow, and my eyes close as I cry out and breathe through my orgasm.

  When my eyes finally flutter open, Oliver is hovering over me again, and his eyes lock on mine.

  “Are you okay?”

  I nod my response, still not fully recovered from what he just did to me. He kisses me again at the same time positioning his cock at my entrance. I breathe through the hint of panic that I feel, the fear that it might hurt again.

  “Relax,” he whispers, and I don’t know why, but it works. I let my body relax as Oliver slides inside me slowly. There’s a hint of pain, but nothing like the first time we were together. For the most part, the feel of him inside me is pleasurable. Again, he asks me if I’m okay, and he rests his forehead against mine when I tell him I’m fine. Slowly, he begins to move. It’s different this time, better—maybe because we’re both on the same page now, or maybe because he’s handling me with care. Whatever the reason, I don’t want him to stop. My hands are on his back as his mouth finds mine, giving me gentle kisses as he thrusts in and out of me. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I entwine my legs around him, needing to feel him closer, because the closer he gets the better it feels. His familiar scent drives me wild, and I clutch him harder as he begins to speed up his pace.

  I can feel it start to build up again. I know it’s coming, and I want it, I need it. Nothing else exists right now for me but him. I could drown in him and not care, not even a little bit, but I know that’s not what he wants. This is still just an arrangement for him even though it’s starting to become much more than that for me.

  “That’s it, baby,” Oliver calls in response to my whimpers.

  My hips start to move, rocking back and forth to meet his thrusts. I’m practically frantic now, reaching for another orgasm, loving the way his body feels on top of mine. Thinking I would give anything for him to want me as badly as I’ve begun to want him. The moment his lips hit mine again, I’m there. The sense of euphoria takes over as he drowns out my cries with his kiss. He breaks the kiss when he reaches his climax, burying his face in the crook of my neck and giving me more of his weight. I’m not sure how long he stays there, but when he finally pulls away from me, I feel the loss. He asks me if I’m okay, and when I assure him that I’m fine, he exits the bed and heads into the bathroom to wash up. He returns with a warm washcloth and, surprisingly, takes the time to help me clean up as well. When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth on the floor and gets back into bed. He pulls the covers up and over us, and with a tug, he positions me so that I’m snuggled into his side with our legs intertwined. Not the most comfortable sleeping position, I think to myself, but then again, I’ve never really shared a bed with anyone before. The fact that I’m tangled up in bed with Oliver makes it more than bearable. It makes it perfect.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  RILEY

  “Where is she?”

  The sound of Oliver yelling wakes me with a jerk. I sit up quickly wrapping a blanket around my naked torso.

  “Keep Dad away from her.”

  I follow the sound of his voice, and when I find him, Oliver is on the move, boxers on and rifling through drawers with his cell phone to his ear. I can’t see his face, but his body language alone screams anger, and he’s wound so tight that it’s actually frightening.

  “Keep him away from her, Jacob. I mean it. I’m on my way,” he says, turning in my direction. He gives me a quick glance before turning his attention back to his conversation.

  “I don’t care what you think. I’ll explain what you don’t get later. I’m coming, and that’s all there is to it,” he bites out before disconnecting the phone. He taps out a text message, and within moments, his phone chimes with a response. Seemingly satisfied with whatever it says, he tosses the phone on the bed then goes back to the open drawer he was rifling through earlier.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask hesitantly.

  “I have to go out of town for a few days, Riley. You can stay here as long as you’d like, and I’ll take care of your car when I get to New York.”

  “New York? You’re … You’re going home?”

  “I have to take care of something,” he says, never looking at me.

  He’s like a bull right now, ready to strike, ready to take out anything that gets in his way, and I know that I should leave him alone. I know that I should let him go, but beneath the anger, I can see something else. He looks scared or worried. I’m not sure which, and maybe it’s both, but I pull on my t-shirt from last night and gather the courage to get up and walk over to him.

  “Oliver, what’s wrong?” I ask, and he turns to face me.

  “Riley, I don’t have time for this right now.”

  “I just … You seem worried. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine,” he says with a degree of finality to his voice that I dare not mess with. I nod my head in acceptance and disappointment and take a step back.

  “Okay, I’ll get my things and get out of your way,” I tell him as I turn away and take quick strides toward the bathroom.

  “It’s my mother,” he calls from behind me, stopping me dead in my tracks. I look over my shoulder and see the look of defeat on his face; his shoulders slump, and his stance is uneasy. I turn and head back to him as he begins to speak again.

  “My brother called this morning to tell me that she was in the hospital last night. That she had been beaten.”

  “Oh, my God, is she all right? Who would do that?”

  “Apparently, she told the police she had been mugged,” he says, looking away from me. He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. He resembles a lost boy, looking for someone to make sense out of things.

  “Did they catch the person?”

  “No, and they never will because she wasn’t mugged, Riley.” He looks back at me, his eyes glassy and his nostrils flaring in anger. “My father hit her.”

  Instinctively, my hands land on his shoulders, as if I had the power to hold him up, to give him strength when it’s clear that he needs it.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s done this before?”

  “A few times that I know of but never this bad. And not for a long time. I just need to get there.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to kill the son of a bitch,” he says, a little too seriously.

  “No,” I say as he backs away from me, just far enough out of reach to walk around me and head for his wallet and keys. I practically trip over my feet as I scurry over to him, cutting him off before he can get to the nightstand.

  “Oliver, please stop.”

  “Get out of my way, Riley.” He tries to skirt around me, but I move with him. When he stops, he stares down at me as if I’ve lost my mind. I think he might be right. I have no idea what I’m doing by trying to influence him at all, but regardless, I stand my ground.

  “No. You can’t show up there and go crazy.”

  He takes a step closer to me and leans into me. It takes a lot for me not to retreat or cower. “I can and I will.”

  “No,” I declare, with a shake of my head.

  “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” He enunciates every single word, and it sends a chill down my spine. Still, I stay rooted to my spot because I know that if he goes back to New York in this state, he might just end up in jail. Or worse, I may n
ever see him again.

  “Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest in defiance. “If you’re going to New York, then I’m going with you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I assume you want to get your mother out of there, so you might need my help,” I declare, stating my case and hoping he buys it.

  “Riley.” He softens his tone toward me, but I know he’s going to try to let me down easy. Tell me that my presence isn’t necessary, and maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want to be there. He may not need me to go with him, but I have to go anyway.

  “I can help, Oliver,” I say, taking a step closer to him, tilting my head up to look in his eyes. “Let me help, even if it’s just to keep you company. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  “I thought you never wanted to step foot in New York.”

  “I changed my mind. I’ve heard great things about the hot dogs you get from those little carts,” I lie. I’d never consume one of those things, but I’ll say just about anything to get him to let me go.

  He rolls his eyes and lets out a slow sigh. When his eyes meet mine again, he asks, “What about work?”

  “I’ll take care of it. Just please, let me come with you.”

  “I have to make a call, and if you’re not ready by the time I’m off the phone, I’m leaving without you,” he says. I rush into the bathroom to get dressed and cleaned up, grateful that he’s actually allowing me to go with him. I realize I only have the same outfit as last night available, so I put my bra on but opt to wear Oliver’s t-shirt instead of my work shirt. I put on the same shorts and hope I have time to stop at a store in New York and buy a few things before we go to his mother’s place. I pull my hair back into a ponytail because I can’t do much else to make it look presentable at this point.

  By the time I come back out to the main room, Oliver is zipping up his backpack and grabbing his keys. He barely glances at me as he strides to the door, but I know he means for me to follow him. I grab my purse and practically jog to catch up to him. We ride down the elevator in complete silence, and I begin to wonder if I’ve made the right decision. Should I really be getting on a plane with him and going to New York to insert myself in God only knows what. Who knows what kind of situation I’ll find myself in, or what level of dysfunction this family really is. How a man can hit his wife and not feel remorse. I can’t even imagine how Oliver must be feeling right now, but I know that the murderous look on his face has barely changed since the moment I first laid eyes on him this morning.