He swallows hard as I drag my nails down his skin, back toward his dick.
“Not all of this is mine,” he admits, his gaze sliding to the right for a brief moment. “Some of it was done by Chasm …” He trails off, and I think we both realize what the implications in his words are. Chasm. Chasm … maybe he and I have a thing? I don’t know. All I know is that I really, really like Parrish.
“Regardless, you’re the canvas, and you’re beautiful,” I tell him, wrapping my fingers around the heat of his body. He bucks his hips, letting his head fall back, his lids growing heavy. It’s almost surreal that we’re in here doing this, like it’s a dream that I don’t ever want to wake up from.
What happened to as if, Little Sister? Or I’m going to bury you?
Those moments seem so far away from this one, as if an eon has passed rather than a handful of months. Doesn’t matter. The connection was there from the beginning, when we looked at each other and that hatred boiled up like flames, consuming us both.
Parrish was attracted to me, and he didn’t want to be.
I was attracted to him, and I didn’t want to be.
Birds of a feather.
My fingertips trace his body, feeling up his most intimate parts with a curiosity that burns.
I remember the way he shuddered at the café when my hair brushed against his skin, leaning forward and letting the frayed end of my braid tickle across his skin. He lets out a sharp hiss, eyes closing as I tighten my hand around his body. My mouth ends up on the side of his neck, tasting the slight saltiness of his skin. We both showered when we got back, rinsing the dust from the ATV accident off, so there’s a faint tang of soap there, mixed with Parrish’s naturally attractive scent.
Is it attractive to everyone or just me?
My lips kiss his pulse, tongue trailing down the side of his throat until I find his chest. Gently, so as not to hurt him, I scrape my teeth lightly against the scales of a blue-green dragon, following the length of it until I get to the tail. When I move back up, I get bolder, flicking my tongue across one of Parrish’s nipples.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs, shaking now, panting hard. “I can’t take much more of this.”
I pause briefly, lifting my head up to look at him.
“It’d be nice if we had some lube …” No sooner has the suggestion left my lips than Parrish is grabbing my hand away from his dick and bringing it to his mouth. He licks my palm with long, slow strokes of his tongue, wetting my skin as I stare at him in abject fascination. My own body is quivering, a pulsing at the apex of my thighs that makes me want to wiggle and writhe against him.
“Nice and wet.” He releases me, our eyes locked together as I find his velvety body again and wrap my fingers around him. His hips try to move with me, but I’m sitting atop his thighs, pinning him down, holding him in place.
We’re in the basement of his grandmother’s house, with Tess and Paul and the kids upstairs. It’s dangerous to do this, a huge risk to both our futures in this family. Yet it doesn’t matter. We may as well be in a different universe right now.
Ours mouth find one another again, tongues sliding together, tasting each other. It’s glorious, like the opening of a brand-new door that leads into an undiscovered world. I never want it to stop, this feeling that’s untangling inside of me, like a plant with reaching tendrils, blooming flowers, bloodied thorns.
Parrish is writhing now, his hands clamping down on my waist and squeezing hard. We’re pressing into one another, his pelvis pushing up off the bed, my own rubbing against his thighs. He starts to move faster, kisses me harder, building this hot frenzy between us that makes it hard to form rational thoughts.
When he shudders and digs his fingers even harder into my hips, I bite the side of his neck, and it’s game over. For him, anyway.
“Shit,” he murmurs, shaking and swallowing hard as I continue to run my tongue along his pulse. “Here.” Parrish sits up slightly, tearing his shirt and hoodie over his head and handing them to me. Presumably, it’s to clean up with. “Sorry about that,” he adds as I clean my fingers off with the fabric. It’s sort of … all over the place, but we’ll deal with that later.
“Sorry for what?” I ask, and then he’s grabbing the back of my head and kissing me all over again. He very carefully slides his hand under the waistband of my pj pants, making certain he doesn’t get any of his own release on his fingers. And then, oh my god, he strokes along the wetness of my panties, and I forget whether my name is Dakota or Mia or something else entirely.
