by Haley Jenner
***
“Codi.” My leg shakes and I groan, attempting to kick off whoever has hold of my leg.
“Codi,” Ryn yells, shaking me harder and I startle awake.
“What the hell, Camryn?” I rub my eyes, dragging my body up into a sitting position.
“You have a guest,” she declares with wide-eyes.
My eyes find Parker immediately, standing a step or two away from the couch, body swaying with the obvious effects of alcohol. I frown at him, unsure.
I’ve seen a whole range of different versions of Parker over the last few months, but not this guy.
His hands are stuffed in his pockets, eyes glassed over and hooded in an effort to keep them open. A small smile plays at his lips when our eyes meet.
“Sugar,” he stumbles, attempting to remove his hand from his pocket to wave hello, leaning against the arm of the couch to stabilize himself.
“You okay?” Camryn steps into my view and I nod, standing and squeezing her arm in reassurance as I move past her.
“Yeah. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Parker leans in to kiss me when I’m close enough, but I pull back, glowering at him. He staggers sideways and I shake my head in irritation.
“Go to my room, jump in the shower, start sobering up, I’ll bring you coffee.”
His head pushes back on his shoulders, eyebrows raised in something akin to shock, it’s a little hard to tell in his inebriated state.
“Prefer you join me in the shower,” he slurs out.
“Pfft, good luck with that.”
Rolling his eyes, he saunters off, a slight stumble in his walk and I pause to watch him, caught between a strong feeling of irritation and concern.
It can’t be coincidental that the day I meet his aunt, he stands me up, just to write himself off. He’s panicking. I don’t know why. But whatever the reason, I’m not down with it. I won’t be treated so poorly. I won’t be fed riddles without an idea as to how to solve them. I made that clear from the beginning.
I place his coffee mug gently on the bedside table, walking back to my bedroom door to close it quietly. Back pressed against the wood, my head turns in the direction of the bathroom, listening to the strong sound of the shower echoing into my room.
I could go in there. Check on him. But he’ll be naked. He’ll be wet. And he’ll most likely attempt to touch me. And he’ll be wet. And he’ll be naked. And I most likely won’t be able to say no.
Pushing from the door, I move around my room, tidying, working to occupy my hands as I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
By the time the shower shuts off, I can see every available space of my carpet, not one item discarded along the ground. I’ve found a total of eight items I was positive were lost. I’ve changed my sheets. Re-fluffed my pillows at least four times and remade Parker’s coffee because the first cup went cold.
He shuffles from the bathroom, a towel wrapped tightly around his defined waist and he’s wet and practically naked and I congratulate myself for not following him into the shower originally, because, my God. His tanned skin taunts me, majority covered in colorful tattoos that ripple and stretch as he moves through my space. Wet droplets run down his wide chest, dropping along the divots of his abdominal muscles before being absorbed into the charcoal towel I consider never washing again.
“Clothes stink like booze and cigarettes,” he coughs to clear his throat uncomfortably and I nod vigorously.
“I’ll, umm… throw them in the wash if you like.”
He nods, stretching an arm up to hand them over. I move to take them from his hand, but he pulls at the same time I do, causing me to stumble into his body.
His wet and naked body.
I breathe heavily through my nose, closing my eyes against my want to lean forward, ever-so-slightly to press my lips to his bare chest.
“You didn’t say hello.”
His words are still slurred, if only somewhat, but his voice sounds deeper, rougher, being tainted by booze.
“Parker,” I warn, pulling at the clothes gripped tightly in his hand.
“Sugar,” he replies, the threat in his tone mirroring my own.
Sighing, I lift my head. “You’ll get your hello when I’ve put these in the wash and you have the decency to apologize for standing me up.”
He doesn’t attempt to keep me in place again, his hand freeing its grip on his clothes as I pull them again. I swallow deeply as I dart from my room, needing space from his mixed signals and the war between my temptation and my mind.
Feeling calmer from the forced distance between us, I load Parker’s clothes in the machine, struggling to comprehend why people fall into relationships. It’s exhausting.
The miscommunication.
The secrets.
The push and pull of power.
God. I just want to love someone and be loved in return. Why does it have to be so hard?
He’s in bed when I walk back into my room, sheet tucked around his waist, inked chest on show, coffee mug held tightly in his hand. He glances up at me over the rim of his cup as I enter.
“Like what you’ve done with the place.” He skates his eyes around my tidy room, a forced smirk playing on his lips. “You redecorate?”
“It was organized mess. I knew where everything was.” I arch an eyebrow defensively. “You should try it.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Like you said, I know where everything is.”
I remain glued against my door, eyes stuck on the beautiful man tucked into my bed. He’s the ultimate contradiction. At least, in this moment he is. His body built, strong, muscular; dwarfing the size of my bed with his solid frame. His strong mouth is set hard, the muscle in his jawline ticking in time with the grind of his teeth. Everything about him screams risk.
Everything, except his eyes.
His eyes are drowning in sadness. They’re ashen with shame. They’re swallowed by regret.
Finishing his coffee, his body stretches to place the mug on the bedside table, pulling his skin tightly along the rigid line of his side, showcasing the easy divots of his ribs. Righting himself, his eyes fall to his hands, massaging heavily at his knuckles, the unconscious movement an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty.
“You were gonna tell me you loved me tonight.”
His eyes don’t lift from his hands, and while there is a confidence in his simply stated sentence, there’s a grief paired with his words that moves my feet closer to the bed. I stop when my knees hit the end, and only then does his head lift, the glassy effects of booze having left his eyes, only to be replaced with anguish, with misery.
“I wanted to tell you it back, Codi. Fuck did I want to.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat in embarrassment, his neck tipping back, eyes trained on the ceiling.
I wait, quietly, patiently. Not even attempting to decipher his mood. Not attempting to predict where this conversation is going.
Finally, after a full loaded minute of silence, he drops his head, eyes clashing with mine and I can’t stop myself from speaking, from working to reassure him. Crawling onto the bed, over his body, I straddle his waist, my hands coming to rest on his cheeks, my eyes searching his. “Parker, it’s okay not to feel it back. I’m okay with you taking more time to sort through your feelings.”
He nuzzles into my palm, eyes shutting in his need to feel me more. “Sometimes I feel time ain’t our friend, baby. I… shit, it’s not that I don’t feel it back. I just… fuck.” His hands find my waist, pulling me into him more solidly, his nose dragging across my collarbone, inhaling my scent. “Baby,” he groans desperately, his hands flexing on my hips almost painfully.
“You’re not ready,” I state.
His breath stutters at my words, his head shaking against the cotton of my shirt, body wracking with silent cries.
“Parker.” I push him back, bending in an attempt to catch his eyes, but he shuns me, dropping his face to avoid me. I lift his c
hin, my brow knotted with concern. “Parker,” I repeat and the torturous shadow of his eyes meet mine as tears leak down his cheeks.
“I’m not ready. Nowhere near fuckin’ close, baby.”
He’s talking about something entirely different. He communicates that well enough through the storm in his eyes, through the cryptic words he uses, but before I can question him further, before I can push him to elaborate, he kisses me.
It’s fierce.
It’s desperate.
It’s every emotion he can’t let himself vocalize tied up in the fraught need of his lips. I taste his tears on my lips; their sweet saltiness quickly lost, swallowed by the wet caress of our tongues.
His hands grab at my work blouse, ripping it open, the buttons flying in every direction as he tears it from my body. His hand flicks expertly at the clasp on my bra, his lips never leaving mine as he divests me of the white laced material.
He flips me onto my back in a quick, effortless move, our kiss breaking as he yanks at the material of my skirt. I arch uncomfortably, pulling at the back zipper, and within seconds, I’m naked, my panties ripped from my body, in similar fashion to my shirt.
Only then does he pause. When I’m completely naked, sprawled openly on my bed, my chest heaving with labored breathing.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful, Codi. So. Fucking. Beautiful. I made you happy, right? Even for this short time. I’ve made you happy?”
My hands reach for him and he comes without hesitation, bracing his body above mine, his eyes moving frantically to read mine.
“Baby,” I soothe, but he shakes his head.
“Tell me, Codi. Please. Tell me I made you happy. That I’ve made you feel loved.”
I nod my head, as frantically as his eyes search mine. “Yes,” I agree. “You make me happy.”
“Will you tell me, even though you know I won’t, can’t, say it back.”
I close my eyes softly, my hands moving up the hard plane of his chest, resting over his heart. My eyelids open and his moonlit gaze bores into mine, and as much as I have zero clue of what is actually happening in this desperate moment, I want nothing more than to see some of the insecurity fade from his eyes.
“I love you, Parker.”
His eyes close over in a relived mixture of pain and fulfillment and my heart eases from the constricting knot in my chest. Because in that single broken moment, his happiness outweighs the demons in his mind and for that split-second, I let myself believe I could be enough to take away the monster in his heart.
Leaning down, his mouth opens over mine and this time his kiss is soft, loving, feeling. He explores my lips, my tongue in a whispered caress of his own and I moan intimately at how good it feels.
Stretching my thighs open, he lines himself at my entrance, sliding in without preamble.
I gasp.
He groans.
And our kiss breaks.
“Open your eyes,” he demands in a whisper and I comply, letting our eyes anchor as he moves slowly in and out of my body.
Parker’s fucked me slow and he’s fucked me hard. He’s played my body expertly each and every time we’ve touched. But he’s never made love to me. Not in the way he’s doing now. Something’s changed. Everything about the way he’s touching me feels different. It feels more intimate. More meaningful. Just more.
Our lips sit a breath apart the entire time, our quick inhales and exhales of air tickling my lips with the dare to connect them. That would mean losing his eyes and there’s not a single chance of that happening. His tongue darts out every so often, just to tease my bottom lip and my breath catches.
I clench around him, my body preparing itself to explode around him and my legs wrap firmly around his waist, pulling him onto me, more forcefully.
“Tell me. When you come. Tell me,” he growls and I do exactly as he asks. I tell him I love him on a heady moan, working to keep his eyes through the whole thing, letting him see the sincerity of the moment, the truth in my words.
He comes a moment after, his vocal cords giving me nothing but a rough groan as he empties inside of me. I see it though. In his eyes. I see the love staring down at me and I let that fire my hope that whatever’s plaguing his mind, I’ll be able to destroy it.
Twenty
Codi
We lie as close as any two people could in a single moment. Our naked limbs intertwine, the hard line of his stomach and the soft of mine pressed together in a kiss of skin. My breasts are pushed heavily against his chest, his heart beating fast and capably in his body, so loud I can feel it thumping against my skin, causing mine to do the same. His right arm pillows my head, his head twisted into my hair, tipping my neck back securely, giving him full access to my face. My left arm offers him the same cushioning for his head, my nails dragging up and down the naked skin of his back; over and over again. Up and down. Continuously. Our free hands lay entwined between us, his thumb running ceaseless circles along my wrist.
We’re quiet, save our breathing, content in watching one another in the muted light of my bedroom.
The monsters in his mind are plaguing him, dancing in the forefront of his mind so eagerly I can see their torture. It shines from the gray pools, hurting my heart.
I wish he’d talk to me. Confide in me to what’s drowning him so heavily in hate.
He warned me he was a monster. That he was dark. From the very beginning. Still, even now, I don’t see it. Not the way he does anyway. I see dark and twisted thoughts circling his mind. I see the need he feels to be consumed by them. But what I cling to, what’s most important is that I see his want to drown them, to suffocate them from the oxygen they use to breathe until they’re no more. He wants, more than anything, to divest himself of their presence within him.
He’s punishing himself for something. Suffering through demons I don’t think he even understands. He’s conflicted and I don’t know how to help him. I feel powerless.
“Random fact,” he croaks out, pausing to clear his throat. “I didn’t cry at my mom’s funeral. I wasn’t allowed. He warned us, my father, not to embarrass him with theatrics.”
My heart cracks at the fourteen-year-old boy I see in his eyes as he makes his confession. Stripped away is his power, his secrets, his dominance. Pushed aside is the thirty-two-year-old presence of a formidable man, in his place is the lost, scared little boy, wrapped around me, his big gray eyes dropping tears that run onto my arm.
“How fucked up is that?”
Lifting our joined hands, he runs them along his socket, angrily removing his tears as he drags a rough breath in through his nose. The question is rhetorical. He’s not searching for reassurance. Not in this moment. It’s said as a statement, a cold, hard declaration of fact.
Falling into silence again, his eyes stay pinned to mine, content in seeing me cry, in letting me see him broken.
“Tell me yours.” His delivery is harsh, brusque and demanding, but I hear, I feel the desperation in the request.
I swallow down the sadness, the helplessness I feel. “My mom is a horrible human being. It’s like she was born without the ability to love. She’s a drunk. A mean one too. Honestly, I can’t recall the last time I saw her sober.”
I sigh in defeat as I talk about my mom, about the nastiness she showers upon everyone. How one single person can be so vile.
“She hates us all,” I continue, shifting closer, pushing our bodies more forcefully together, finding reassurance in his solid frame. “She makes certain we’re all aware of it. Especially Camryn. She treats her the worst. God, I don’t understand how a parent can treat their children so poorly, so hatefully.”
“She’s the stupidest fuckin’ bitch to ever exist. She doesn’t see you for the beauty your heart holds, she doesn’t cherish that, she doesn’t deserve the breath in her body.”
I laugh lightly on a soft sigh, bringing our hands up to kiss his knuckles. “I was always afraid that the evil that seemed so deeply rooted within her soul was hereditary. Wa
s I destined to be so nasty, so empty, so unfeeling?”
“Not possible,” his jaw tightens, his expression hardening once again. “You’re so good inside, Baby. So good,” he repeats softly, lowering his gaze.
“My dad,” I start and any anger that had softened only moments ago, spikes, his hand, still wrapped around mine, clenching involuntarily, painfully. My brows pull together, uncertain at his unprovoked show of aggression. “My dad,” I repeat cautiously, my eyes narrowed on his reaction. He schools his expression, his face now uncomfortably blank. “He’s why I’m good. The hate in her doesn’t exist in him. He showed me love. He’s kind and generous. My dad has good in his heart. He gave that to me,” I declare vehemently, forcing him to believe my words.
But his blank stare continues, his entire face void of even a single emotion. His heart betrays him though, thudding wildly in his chest.
“Wh-”
“Lets fuck,” he cuts me off, the words laced with… rage?
“Parker,” I test, but he ignores me, his face burying into my neck, his teeth sinking heavily into my skin.
I gasp in surprise. Unprepared but completely turned on.
“I’d really like you to meet him,” I attempt to bring our conversation back, more than a little confused by his severe mood swing and wanting to decipher the intense change in him.
He laughs at my request, the sound sarcastic and hateful. “No.”
He moves quickly, flipping my body easily. My stomach to the mattress, he bites my shoulder. Hard. I cry out in pain as my body arches into his assault. Wanting more.
“No?” I question, letting his calloused hands drag roughly over my sensitive skin.
“No,” he cuts out, grabbing my hips and pulling them up toward his groin.
My hands move upward on their own accord, bringing me onto all fours, but he growls. “Tits on the bed, arms out, ass up.”
I gulp down a shaky breath, nodding.
He’s angry. Vibrating with his quiet fury. I’m so confused, but a lot turned on. His teeth sink into the cheek of my ass and I cry out.
In pleasure. In pain. In shock.