I shake my head, knowing I can’t deny her anything. Not with all this perfect skin on display, her willingness and my raging hard-on controlling every speck of brain power I have left.
With barely a step forward, I’ve got my hand around her waist, tugging her naked body flat against my chest, and my mouth on hers. Water pours over and between our bodies as she moans. I plunge my tongue in and taste her for the first time today, knowing I’m going to have more.
No more waiting.
No whispers of sweet nothings.
No lead-in to a soft merging of bodies.
I curl my hand around her nape, digging my fingers into her hair. With no resistance from her, I drink from her lips, pushing at her belly, walking her backward until her back meets the cool tiles. What seems like a tremor ripples through her and against my naked skin when she makes contact.
I growl, pulling back and sucking in a breath. Her chest heaves with the need for air too. Gripping her hair tightly by the roots, leaning my head down so that we’re eye to eye, I take in all that is her. Beautiful brown eyes. Rosy cheeks. Pink, velvety-soft lips. Her mouth opens, and I catch a glimpse of her little tongue.
My own body starts to heat, need and hunger warring for purchase, both taking root deep inside my psyche.
“Parker.” My name is a whimper on her lips as I tilt her head back, my fingers clenched in her blonde waves.
I have to warn her. “Brace, Peaches. This is not going to be slow. This is not going to be soft. Right now, I’m making you mine.” I barely recognize the grit in my voice with each word.
“Please, yes.” It’s all the answer I need, before taking her mouth in a hard kiss.
When I’ve had enough of her sweet tongue and plush lips, I pull back. “You on the pill?” I grate through clenched teeth, barely holding on to my carnal instincts. I feel like my body has a million tiny needles prickling the surface of my skin, each nerve ending jumping into action.
“Yes. You safe?” she fires back.
“Oh yeah. Never gone without, until right fucking now.”
Skyler wraps her arms around my head, lays her mouth over mine, and steals her own deep, gut-twisting kiss. Damn, the woman’s got it all.
Brains. Beauty. And one helluva body.
She arches along my slick chest, rubbing her tits against me. Heaven. I curl a hand around one firm globe, lift it up, and cover the pretty pink tip with the heat of my mouth.
Sky cries out, arching farther into me, wanting more, wanting it all.
I grin and nibble at the tip, then suck it until I know it must burn white hot. I want her to feel that heat. It’s the same intense fire I feel every time I lay eyes on her gorgeous face.
“So good.” She mewls and draws in a harsh breath when I switch tits and go with gusto on the twin. Her fingers thread through my hair, holding me in place, rubbing her form across my rigid length.
Pulling back from her tit, I let it go with an audible plop. She grunts and frowns her displeasure.
I run my mouth up her chest, work her neck until she’s a squirmy ball of sizzling energy, and lay my mouth over hers.
I hook a hand around each thigh and lift her up. She gets the hint, immediately wrapping her long legs around my waist. Our chests are plastered together when I curl a hand up her back, locking it around her shoulder, and the other hand on her tight, firm ass.
I kiss her hard and deep for a long time, content just rubbing our naked bodies against one another.
She eases back and plants her forehead against mine. “You feel amazing, honey.”
Honey.
The first time she’s ever called me anything but Park or Parker, and it’s honey. If I didn’t think she owned me before, it was sealed the second the endearment slipped from her kiss-swollen lips.
I whisper the only warning she’s going to get. “Gonna take you now.”
“Take me, honey,” she confirms in her own lust-coated tone.
“Fuck me.” I growl and shimmy my hips until my dick is right at her slit. The second I feel her center close around my tip, I thrust up while using the leverage I have on her shoulder to force her body down on my cock . . . hard.
“Oh my God!” she cries out, her head tipping back against the shower tiles behind her. “My, oh . . .” She loses her words, mouth gaping open, chin pointed to the sky, neck stretched, voice gone.
Hell yeah. I take pride in fucking my woman stupid.
My balls ache as I allow her to adjust to my size before I make good on my promise to fuck her fast and hard, not slow and soft.
“You braced, baby?” I grate through clenched teeth. The walls of her sex are strangling my cock in the best freakin’ way possible.
“Oh, yeah, sweet man. Biggie is all in,” she mutters.
Fucking Biggie.
Naming my dick. Cute.
“You made a joke, Peaches. During sex. You’re funny.” I rub my nose against hers, take her mouth, pull my hips back, and slam home. And I don’t stop. Not when she screams out her thanks to God, when it should be me she’s thanking. Not when her head bumps against the tile wall, not when she curses.
Skyler’s body bounces on and off my cock, her mouth either crying out in pleasure or gasping for air.
My body is on autopilot.
Rut. Fuck. Plunder.
Deep. Deeper. Deepest.
I keep going until her body pulls tight as a guitar string and her cunt puts a viselike lock on my cock.
“Fuck. Fuck!” I growl, powering up and rocking her body down with each thrust.
Skyler’s voice is a hoarse moan, echoing off the shower walls as she spirals into pleasurable oblivion.
Knowing her body’s grip on my cock means I’ve satisfied my woman, I can go wild fuckin’ nuts getting mine.
Curving both of my hands around her ass, her arms locked around my shoulders for purchase, I ride her hard, pressing her body against the tile with unrelenting jabs, my thighs screaming at each plunder, until her body locks up tight for the second time.
“Holy shit. Park. Park, honey, again!” She scratches her nails across my shoulder blades, and the spike of pain catapults through me like a nuclear explosion of gratifying pleasure.
I roar as my arousal surges out from cock and balls, through my chest, down my legs, out my arms and hands, in an allover body blast of sweet, sweet release. Skyler takes it all as I plant my feet and hips and root my dick as deep as possible inside her welcoming heat.
Nerve endings tingle and pop like static electricity as the relief of finally connecting with this woman on every level hits me. I sink my chin into her neck and lay open-mouthed kisses along every inch of skin I can reach.
For a long time we stay that way, her hands running soothingly up and down my back, my lips on her neck.
She takes a lung-filling breath, her chest lifting with the power of it, before she nuzzles into my neck. “Best I’ve ever had.”
The compliment does not go unnoticed, but instead of responding, I lock my arms around her, hold her tight, and bring her under the lukewarm water. With one hand, I adjust the knobs to add more heat. Gently, a direct opposite of the way I just took her, I let her body slide down my body, her feet hitting the tile floor. She wobbles for a moment until she has her footing. Her head comes up, and she gifts me with a goofy, toothy smile.
A smile that would have any man working their ass off to see every day. A smile I want to see more of, so much so, I tell myself one of my new goals is to get her smiling like that every day.
Taking my time, I shampoo her thick golden locks. I run my fingers through to wash out the soap as well as memorize the way it feels to have her hair slipping over each digit under the water. I add conditioner and work it through her hair, making sure to massage any tension out of her scalp and neck. Leaving the conditioner in, something Sophie taught me women do so that it has time to set and soften, I grab my bodywash and squirt it onto my palm.
“Um, that’s boy soap.” She blinks innocen
tly at me, still in a daze from our shower romp and the scalp massage.
I grin, rub my hands together, and proceed to soap up her entire body, paying extra attention to her sexy bits. All of her is sexy, so the job isn’t hard, and I am thorough. Very thorough.
“Yes, yes, it is. I like the idea of you smelling like me, like a man when you leave this house. Leads other men to believe you’re taken.”
She rests her arms on my shoulders and tips her head back to look at me. “Am I taken?”
“Did I just fuck you against your shower wall?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Then I took you.” I split hairs purposely, not really knowing how to respond. My mind says one thing, but my suddenly mushy heart and body say another.
I haven’t ever wanted to be “taken” by a woman. Even with Sophie, someone I genuinely loved spending time with and had a great time fucking, didn’t make me want to make her mine long term. Skyler, on the other hand, is a whole ’nother ball game.
“You know what I mean, honey.” She uses that damn word again, and when she does, it’s cute as hell. I’ve never been anyone’s honey before, and I like it a lot. Too much. Especially when it’s coming out of her tasty mouth.
“Guess it depends.” I purse my lips and force her under the water so I can rinse her body, again thoroughly, with extra attention paid to tits and ass to make sure all of the soap comes off.
Her nose scrunches in that adorable way I can feel in my dick. “Depends on what?”
I shrug. “Do you want to be taken?”
She pouts and looks away, obviously pondering the question seriously. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it since the disaster that was Johan.”
Even hearing his name has my ire flaring and my teeth clenching. “Perhaps we shouldn’t think about it just yet and let this be. Do what feels natural.”
“Natural?”
“Yeah. Does it feel natural to sleep next to me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Eat with me?” I continue.
“Yes.”
“Let me eat you,” I toss in to lighten the direction the questions are going.
She smacks my chest and wraps her arms around me in a hug. A shower hug. Freakin’ cute as hell.
I hold her in my arms, set my chin on the crown of her head, and just breathe. “How about we not label what’s happening between us. Nothing needs to be decided right now.”
Not to mention I have no fucking clue what I want for the long haul, just that, for right now, I want her.
“Oookay, honey,” she finishes.
Honey.
“Like it when you call me that, Peaches.”
I can feel her grin against my chest.
“Like it when you call me Peaches.” The flush in her cheeks darkens with her admission.
“Good.” With a flat hand, I smack her bare ass. “Now get out of the shower, woman, so I can get myself clean and take you out. Open the boxes I set on the coffee table. There should be some disguises my assistant sent over.”
Skyler gives me another goofy, toothy smile. “Yay!” She lifts her arms up fast and cheers in the air with a one-two punch, which has the delectable result of her boobs bouncing. “Escaping the castle again. Woo-hoo!” she cheers and shimmies out of the shower doing a little dance sans any music.
Goofball.
At least for now, or for however long this lasts, she’s my goofball.
Just in case she’s recognized, I hire a couple of bodyguards to follow us around the Museum of Modern Art. There’s a specific painting I want to show her, not to mention van Gogh’s The Starry Night is displayed here, which is a sight all on its own, one I think every human should lay their eyes on at least once.
Two supremely large, burly fellas flank the room as we walk in. Both are dressed in casual clothes, jeans and T-shirts, and they’ve been warned to keep enough distance so people won’t figure out who they’re here to protect—plus I don’t want Sky to know I’ve hired them. The illusion of privacy is something she desperately needs right now. Still, I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m taking Skyler freakin’ Paige to a very public place where we’ll be in contact with a lot of potential fans. The good thing is that most people are focused on the art, not the people in their surroundings. And I love art. Almost as much as I love women. A close second. Well, not that close.
I hold Sky’s hand, leading her through the MoMA to the appropriate floor so she can experience van Gogh’s most notable work. I glance at her and smile. She’s wearing a wig that is a replica of the black bob Uma Thurman wore in the cult classic Pulp Fiction. Only she’s paired it with a pair of fake black-rimmed glasses. The look doesn’t take away from her beauty, but she’s absolutely not going to be recognized without her flowing golden locks.
Since I’m not famous, I don’t have to wear a disguise today because nobody knows me anyway. I’m wearing a pair of faded Levi’s I’ve broken in to utter perfection over the years and a comfortable baseball-styled shirt with three-quarter sleeves. The main color is a dark gray, the arms a burgundy. Skyler is dressed super casual too, though she still looks good enough to push into a dark corner and have my wicked way with her. Today she’s wearing a maxi dress in a burst of red, orange, blue, and purple, all intermingled together to create a visual that’s heart-stopping. I could look at her all day. She’s living, breathing art.
When we get to the right place, there’s a crowd of people and a guard surrounding one wall. She squeezes my hand and keeps her head tilted down. It sucks that she has to do this in order to keep her privacy as well as protect her safety. If even a single person recognizes her, she’ll be mobbed in seconds, hence the reason for Burly One and Burly Two. So far they’ve been discreet enough that she hasn’t clocked them, and we’ve enjoyed our time in the museum, discussing art and walking through the Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit, an American architect, interior designer, and writer. His life’s work was incredible, and to my surprise, Skyler knew a lot about him. She’d been in love with one of his famous designs, the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo.
What I found most fascinating was the guy did it all. From the design of the building plans to the nitty-gritty detail of the window designs. If there was to be stained glass, he created the pattern. Incredibly gifted soul. Most important, though, was the light in Skyler’s eyes as she surveyed his work, her gaze intense and assessing.
Easing us closer to van Gogh’s The Starry Night, I nudge her body in front of mine so she can get a really close look.
With her ass pressed against my crotch, she leans forward to inspect the painting, yet still afraid to get too close.
“Go on up and check it out. Just keep a foot away.” The guard motions to the painting.
Skyler smiles wide and takes a couple of steps forward, getting closer. I follow her with an arm around her waist, keeping her close. She shakes her head, the black wig tickling my nose.
“It’s stunning, and the colors are so rich.” Her voice is a whisper, but I can hear it.
“Van Gogh had a mind for color and depth that, in my opinion, is unmatched. The swirls, the amount of paint on the brush. There’s a quote that has always stuck with me about his work.”
“What’s that?” She tips her head back, leaning it on my shoulder.
“He said, ‘I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.’ I think this painting, along with Starry Night over the Rhône, which happens to be my personal favorite of his, proves this fact. Don’t you think?”
She nods silently and gets lost in the picture for a few moments.
After a while, I squeeze her waist. “You ready? I want to show you something else. The reason we’re here actually.”
I hook my arm around her shoulder and walk her out of the exhibit and to the gallery that has the Jackson Pollock painting I want to show her.
We enter the room, and it’s larger than some of the others. On the left wall is the painting named One: Number 31, 1950. It’s huge
. If I had to guess it would be around ten feet high and sixteen feet long. Across from the painting is an empty bench.
“Come here and sit with me.” I lead Skyler over to the bench and sit next to her.
She looks at the black, white, and gray painting and scrunches up her nose in the cute way I’m beginning to adore. “What are we looking at?”
“This is Jackson Pollock’s drip design technique. It’s been compared to choreography because the colors and drips seem to twirl and dance throughout the painting.”
I stare at the magnificence in complete and utter awe.
Skyler, however, does not have this same experience. “Is there something hidden in there I’m supposed to be seeing? Like one of those illusion prints? All I see is black and white paint dripped all over a big canvas. I’m kind of surprised it’s considered art.”
I can’t help but chuckle.
She tips her head. “I mean, is it supposed to mimic branches crisscrossing over one another? Like when you lie on the ground under a tree and the leaves and branches intermingle into a pretty pattern?”
Needing to be closer, I loop my arm around her waist and lean toward her. “Instead of trying to see something there, why don’t you just look at the painting. The longer you look, the more likely you’re going to feel something. It could be love, ambivalence, hate. Don’t try to determine what the painting is hiding or trying to present. Just look at it until you feel something.”
“You mean other than confused?” One of her eyebrows quirks playfully.
I hold her close, set my head against her hair, and breathe. For a few minutes we just sit still, the museum moving around us, the painting all we can see. Soon all I can hear is her breath moving in and out and smell the ever-present scent of a juicy summer peach.
Skyler leans her head against mine. “You know what I like best about this painting?”
“Hmm?” I murmur, even though there’re a million things I could say. The painter’s attention to detail. The exactness of colors mingling. The movement of each line or drip of paint, but I don’t. Instead, I let her say her piece. Share what she needs to share.
“Seeing it through your eyes. You see things for what they are. No bullshit. No hidden agenda. I want to see and feel the world that way again. I want people to see me for who I am. Bared. Honest.” She shrugs. “Just me. Not the person they think I am.”
International Guy: Paris, New York, Copenhagen (International Guy Volumes Book 1) Page 19