“What did you have in mind?” she asked, watching as he dropped to his knees in front of her. Bringing his mouth in line with hers, he kissed her.
“Well, much as I like the idea of pulling your jeans down around your knees and taking you as you writhe, trapped in your own clothes, I think I’d rather have you naked.”
“Yeah?” Georgia asked, surprised at how the idea of Parker stripping her only as much as absolutely necessary turned her on. Next time. God, a stupid part of her hoped there’d always be a next time.
“Yeah.” He unbuttoned the rest of her shirt and slid it off her shoulders. A warm palm settled on her neck, fingers brushing against her pulse. Georgia bit her lip when that hand trailed over her chest, palming her breast, then down to the top of her jeans. Parker let his fingers dip inside the waistband and pull until the zipper slid the rest of the way open.
Under coaxing hands, Georgia braced her feet against the floor and raised her hips, allowing Parker to slide her jeans down her legs. Given the desperation she’d heard in his voice, the tension that hardened every line of his body, she’d expected him to hurry. To rip away the denim, taking the soft cotton briefs with them.
Instead, he slid only the jeans down her legs as she leaned back on elbows to watch. Pressing a kiss to her navel, he trailed his mouth south as he unlaced her boots. A scrape of teeth against the top of her underwear as he pulled off one boot. A teasing brush of nose against her center as he pulled off the other. An open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh as he slid off a sock. A matching one as he removed the other before finally, finally sliding her pants away.
Georgia lay there in nothing but matching gray underwear as Parker knelt between her legs and drank in the sight of her. Any other time, with any other man, Georgia might have been embarrassed. She wasn’t dressed for this, her bra and briefs too plain, too boring. Too functional. But as Parker knelt there, palms skimming up the tops of her thighs, thumbs darting in to nudge at the only barrier between them, Georgia didn’t care. All the leather, lace, and demi cups in the world couldn’t have made her feel more attractive or more powerful than the sight of Parker on his knees between her legs, staring up at her as if he couldn’t decide where to begin, as if he couldn’t believe she was there, stretched out beneath him and ready for the taking. No one had ever looked at her that way. Awed. Reverent. Humbled.
With Parker’s expression fixed firmly in her mind, Georgia turned to her stomach and went up on hands and knees. Any reservations she had about the position, one she didn’t particularly enjoy and had too often found demeaning, vanished when she caught Parker’s reflection in the huge mirror before her.
Stunned admiration graced his face. Had him stepping forward and lifting a hand, reaching for her as if to prove her existence. A shiver tore through her when gentle fingers slid against one cheek, then spread until a full palm cupped her ass.
“Yeah?” he asked, licking his lips.
Georgia arched her back, pushing her ass against his hips, letting them sway against him. “Yeah,” she moaned, shocked at how just the feel of him pressed against her lit up every nerve ending until each heartbeat throbbed from the center of her. She shivered, rocking back and forth, brushing the very tip of her hardened nipples against the rough fabric of the bedspread. “Parker.” She couldn’t stop her undulating movements. Couldn’t process anything beyond the way his fingers gripped her hips, pulling her ass against him until every inch of him slid against her as rough fabric teased at sensitive nipples. God, she could come like this. On display, ass in the air, and without a single touch to tip her over the edge. Could, but didn’t want to. “Parker, please.”
He glanced in the mirror, caught her agonized expression. Slowly, he came back to himself, a smile spreading across his face. “Please what?” he asked, firmly dragging fingers over cotton, hard enough to dip between her cheeks, sliding against skin no one had ever touched before until finally, finally, toying with the soaked scrap of fabric covering her. He let his fingers dip, and nudge, and play . . . but only against the cotton of her briefs, never beneath it. Always teasing her with what might be, reminding her of what he could give. Georgia shook her head. Greedy bastard. He knew now, the power he held over her. The things he could demand from her. The things she’d willingly, if not readily, give.
“Please what?” he asked again, using a finger to push against the bundle of nerves that had her choking on a desperate sob.
“Please . . .” She rocked against him, shifting her hips, trying to grab the orgasm she knew lay just beyond her reach. When he used his fingernails to scrape back and forth against sensitive flesh, Georgia broke. “Please, please fuck me.”
A predatory grin slid across his face as he removed his hands. Georgia dropped her head, a desperate sigh escaping as she rocked her hips against nothing but air. Why? She’d done as he demanded, so why would he . . . Fingers grasped the elastic of her underwear and slowly dragged them over her ass and down her thighs. She choked on her relief. Gasped when he blew cold air against her overheated flesh. She lifted a knee, ready to lose the only garment standing in their way. A hand stopped her, pressing her leg back against the mattress.
“Leave it. I like them there. Holding you in place, open and ready.”
Georgia shivered. A pretty illusion they both knew wasn’t real. But as she shifted, her briefs preventing her from widening her legs, the cotton sliding against her skin with every movement, a new sort of arousal wound through her. One that had her wondering what else she might enjoy. What else she might explore with Parker. Before the thought could run away with her, Parker slid his fingers between her folds, exposing her to him in the most intimate way she could imagine. One finger slid up, brushing against a bundle of nerves that had her crying out, straining forward and pushing back, her body confused about what it wanted most. Parker held her still and open, one finger circling and pressing and rubbing as he slid into her in one smooth, strong stroke.
Grabbing her hips, Parker held her still as he began a long, slow dance of thrust and withdraw; all the while his finger circled and scraped, ensuring she was wet and ready and desperate for whatever he gave her. How he had such control, she had no idea. He slid a hand across her hip and up the length of her spine, stopping just long enough to flick open the clasp of her bra before continuing up until he curled a fist in her hair and pulled her head up.
“Take it off,” he said, studying her in the mirror.
Georgia complied, sliding her bra from one arm, then the next.
“Open your eyes.” He removed his finger when she didn’t immediately comply, drawing a strangled groan from her lips. Slowly, she opened her eyes, staring as he took her from behind.
“Watch,” he commanded. He snapped his hips forward, the momentum rocking her back and forth. She did as he said and stared, lips parted and mouth dry as he set a brutal pace, his hips connecting with her ass, her breasts bouncing and swaying with each thrust. Sweat slicked across his chest, glistened on cut abs she didn’t think she’d ever tire of tracing. His fingers returned, rubbing and rolling and pinching until Georgia was a breathless heap of wanton need she didn’t know how to quench.
Finally, as her vision began to fuzz at the edges and her body began to protest the ongoing assault of sensation, Parker’s movements grew jerky and less coordinated until finally, finally, he was throbbing inside her, spilling on a shout of pure pleasure that seized her muscles and dragged her over the edge right along with him until everything was gray and soft and distant, and the only thing she could feel was a heartbeat—his, hers, she couldn’t tell—reverberating through her.
She collapsed to the bed, Parker following until he sprawled across her, breathing heavily. He rolled to his side, slipping from her as he did. Pulling her close, he brushed aside her hair and laid his lips against the bare skin of her shoulder, eliciting a tiny, tired shiver. When he opened his mouth, licking and sucking and nipping at the skin he’d exposed, Georgia sighed.
&n
bsp; “I think you staked your claim, Parker.”
He sucked hard, pulling blood to the surface, leaving a mark that would linger for days.
“This’ll last longer,” he said, drawing a finger across the newly sensitized skin. “You’ll see it in the mirror, feel it rub against your clothes, and remember what you let me do. What you wanted me to do.”
“Bit smug, are you?”
“Yes.” He nodded into her shoulder. “And I’ll see it and want to do it all over again. I’ll get hard as I stare at you, watch you squirm as you grow wet and ready. I won’t even need to touch you; the memory will be enough.”
As heat pooled between her legs, Parker pulled the comforter over them and tucked her into his chest.
The memory, Georgia realized as she went limp and languid in his arms, could never, ever be enough. Not where Parker was concerned.
Damn him.
CHAPTER NINE
Parker thrust his thumb and forefinger beneath the rim of his glasses and rubbed at tired, burning eyes. Any sane man would be in bed, wrapped up in the naked perfection he’d left for the cold light of a laptop. For once, sleep should have come easily. He’d felt it, hovering just beyond his grasp, heavy and waiting. An hour had passed, then two, Georgia dropping into a deep, restful sleep. For a long time, Parker had been content to lie there, to let the luxurious heat of her seep into his bones until he was loose and languid and quiet. The quiet, he now realized, was the problem. It had allowed thoughts to circulate, surfacing one by one, like bubbles from a deep dive, popping to the surface and bursting across the front of his brain. Sleep, no matter how tempting or needed, wasn’t his to achieve. Not until he answered the questions bouncing around his brain.
Will. Why did it feel like everything came back to him?
Probably because in one way or another, everything did come back to Will.
Georgia’s brother. Ethan’s teammate. More than once he’d worked with the CWU. And then, finally, there’d been the off-book mission that had gotten him killed. Was it coincidence that the Vega operation had been one of a dozen files Parker had hacked just a week ago?
The part of Parker that ran on data—numbers, patterns, statistics—balked at the idea. Coincidence ranked right up there with medical miracles, winning lottery numbers, and perfect Pac-Man scores. They happened, but only rarely.
And never to him.
The suspicion, growing like an itchy weed Parker couldn’t ignore, had finally driven him from bed—and a soft, sleeping Georgia—to dig through files.
God, how he wished he hadn’t.
He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes, wishing he could so easily wipe his memory. A part of him wanted to delete the open file in front of him, close the computer, and pad back down the hall to slip beneath the covers. Parker wished he were the sort of man who forgot things, or at least the sort of man who could willfully ignore them. For once in his life he wholeheartedly believed ignorance could be bliss.
Instead, he forced himself to study the frozen image before him. To stare into oh-so-familiar blue eyes. Hands trembling, he pulled a pair of earbuds from a pocket on his backpack and plugged them into the computer. For a long moment, his finger hovered over the track pad, his gaze glued to the screen and the tiny “Play” icon on the video file. One click, that’s all it would take, and everything would change.
If he didn’t know what it contained, if he didn’t know how it ended—in life, in death, in something worse, something in between and agonizing—then he wouldn’t have to decide what the hell to do about it. Wouldn’t have to hurt the woman sleeping down the hall. Again. Only this would be so much worse, because Parker knew the moment he watched this file, the moment he told her about it, he’d be taking away every ounce of closure he’d given Georgia.
Nothing good could come of this.
But Parker was at least part of the reason William Bennett stared back at him, hands bound behind his back, his face shockingly thin—the pallor of sickness, injury, and abuse obvious even beneath a months-old beard, as a man stood behind him, the sharpened edge of a machete resting against Will’s shoulder.
The front page of the Wall Street Journal, dated just four weeks ago, sat against Will’s stomach.
Steeling himself, Parker hit “Play.”
“Diga su nombre,” a disembodied voice demanded. When Will didn’t respond, the demand for his name came again, this time accompanied by a violent cuff to the side of his head with the flat side of the machete. Will slumped in his restraints, blood sliding down the side of his face from where the blade had connected with his scalp. Righting himself, he stared stoically into the camera—silent, defiant, his jaw set in a way Parker was all too familiar with.
“Diga su nombre,” the voice repeated. “Diga su nombre, o voy a quitar una oreja.”
The speaker stepped forward, out of the background. Using his free hand, he grabbed a fistful of Will’s hair and jerked his head to the side, sliding the blade up to the top of Will’s right ear.
“Cinco.”
Will didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
“Quatro.”
The muscles at his neck bunched and corded.
“Tres.”
Parker clenched his fists, even as Will sat there. Quiet. Determined.
“Dos.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t jerk or struggle. Just leveled a stare to the right of the camera and set his jaw.
“Hazlo.”
Will fought an agonized scream with clenched teeth and locked muscles as three rough, ragged strokes separated the top of his ear from the rest of his head.
Breathing heavily, Parker forced himself to sit there, to watch and wait and fight down the rush of nausea that wanted to send him running for the sink. He swallowed it down. Determined to be present, to endure. Parker wouldn’t look away. Wouldn’t shrink from the violence, from the agony and desolation carved in the lines etched across Will’s face.
He’d be here; even if it was too little, too late, he’d be here.
It was the least he could do.
As Will slumped in his restraints, a man stepped into view, coming to a stop at Will’s left. Parker recognized Hernan Vega immediately. How many hours had he spent studying the head of the Vega cartel? How much time had he spent wading through the filth this man left in his wake? The kidnappings, the trafficking, the brutal hits against competitors and usurpers alike?
“You make this hard on yourself,” he said in heavily accented English as he stared at Will. “You will tell me what I want to know.” He placed a hand on Will’s shoulder, tightening his grip when Will tried to jerk away. “Who sent you?” Vega asked.
Will shook his head, his gaze trained on the dirt beneath his feet.
“You have another ear. Fingers. Toes. Would it not be better to give me what I want?”
“Can’t,” Will mumbled, his lip turning red with blood he’d drawn fighting a scream. “Don’t know.”
“Then we begin again. And I ask again.” Vega patted his shoulder and walked away. “But you will tell me. One way or another.”
The screen went black.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
What the fuck was Parker supposed to do with this? What was he supposed to tell Georgia?
He dropped his head into his hands, fingers pulling at his hair.
He couldn’t tell her. Not now. Not knowing how she’d twisted herself into knots over the mere idea she’d abandoned her brother’s memory. That somehow she’d left him behind.
How the fuck was he supposed to tell the woman down the hall that she’d done exactly that? That they all had? It wouldn’t matter that she hadn’t known.
This would destroy her.
And for what?
Would telling her change anything? This video was weeks old, and there’d been no mention of names. No indication of who was behind everything.
And Will . . . Will could be dead of injury or infection or worse. Even if he was alive,
what could they do about it? Right now, Parker couldn’t even guarantee their own safety, let alone do anything to assist a man half a world away.
His hands shook as he stared at the screen.
Could he stand next to her, sleep beside her, knowing it was all a lie? The man she’d buried had been some nameless, faceless stranger. Her brother might be alive even now—alive and trapped in a hell he couldn’t hope to escape alone. Even if she didn’t know, even if she never found out, the knowledge would dog Parker. Remind him every time he touched her, kissed her, held her, that he was quietly hurting her.
That he didn’t deserve her.
He shuddered hard. Trapped. Snared in a prison of his own making.
“Hey,” Georgia said, her voice thick with sleep that hadn’t fully released its hold. “What are you doing up?” she asked, padding down the hall, her footfalls silenced by thick socks.
Tell her.
He looked up, found her in the Henley he’d stripped out of earlier. Too big, the shirt engulfed her, the hem coming to midthigh, the sleeves to just past her fingertips. She hadn’t bothered to button it, and every time she breathed, the gap widened, revealing the shadowed valley of her breasts. She shifted, rubbing one leg against the other as she stared at him, sleep-mussed and sexy.
She didn’t fight fair.
How could he tell her what he knew would destroy her when she stood there so soft, sexy, and inviting?
Defenseless (Somerton Security #1) Page 19