“Not pulling out,” he groans. “Can’t.”
Daws has my butt in his hands and is shoving me down roughly onto his still rock-hard erection, tilting his hips up at the same time, looking me right in the eye and growling. As though he wants to take permanent residence inside me and he’s angry it’s not possible. I can feel his shaft jerking rhythmically within my channel, the swell of his belly pressing against mine, an abundance of wetness spreading where our bodies meet.
“Jesus. I must be the luckiest man alive,” Daws grates through clenched teeth, pulling out a little and ramming deep again, the force causing us to stagger two steps. “Balls deep in the hottest little girl in the city. Got her cherry juice dripping off my cock, that greedy pussy pulsing for more. I’ll give you more any time I’m allowed. I’ll beg for it.”
His mouth captures mine before I can respond and I get lost in the passionate kiss, the final shudder of his big, rugged body. I get lost in the way he wraps his arms around me, cradling me close, our labored breaths mingling with the sounds of New York City waking up. And I’m positive there has never been a more perfect moment in time.
I want more of them.
And I think there’s a good chance he wants them with me, too.
But I’m about to find out that nothing this amazing ever came easy.
After Parker and I walk back to the design space, the rest of the day goes by in a blur.
We’re not alone for a second. She’s running back and forth between models, instructing hairdressers, zipping garments into bags. In the middle of it all, she’s sewing the pants to match my jacket. Every once in a while, she looks over at me where I pretend I’m doing a crossword— instead of staring at her—and she beams, sending my fucking heart climbing into my mouth.
If you’d asked me yesterday if I thought it was possible to fall in love in less than twenty-four hours, I would have laughed.
It’s not only possible. It happened to me.
I love this girl.
I want to protect her. Guard her innocence against the evils of the world. Hold her in my arms and let nothing but good things touch her. And God, I want to fuck her again. I’m praying like hell it wasn’t a one-time thing. If it was, I need to be grateful. Grateful for the memory of that tight-as-hell clench of her pussy, her breathy whimpering sounds. How her sweet backside felt in my hands, those little muscles flexing as she rode my dick. Be grateful.
There’s no help for wanting more, though. Now.
I miss holding her, kissing her, talking to her.
I can’t look away from Parker as she zigzags across the room, in her element. A toss of her hair makes my pulse drum wildly. I have to swallow a knot when she giggles. Jesus Christ, this is more than love. I’m goddamn obsessed with her. With her hazel eyes and freckles and the lithe curve of her calves. With her tits. With her sweet voice and sense of humor. I have to physically restrain myself from plucking her out of this place, driving her to the middle of nowhere and fucking her until she’s pregnant. Mine.
Parker is mine.
In my head, at least. For now.
I’m starting to think she might actually date me, if I asked. And I plan to ask.
Crazier things must have happened, right? Crazier than a perfect angel going out with a big, ugly bastard like me?
“Hello,” a girl says, stopping beside my chair. She holds out a hand, her smile brittle. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jocelyn.”
I shake her hand without taking my attention off Parker. “Daws.”
“Daws.” She says my name like there’s a snail in her mouth. “I’m Parker’s best friend and assistant.” Her laugh is humorless. “A lot seems to have happened since I went home last night. For instance, Parker seems to have lost her mind. A plus-size male model at Fashion Week? Well…it just isn’t done.”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. A little while ago, some kid walked in straight out of the pages of a magazine. A young guy with symmetrical features and not an ounce of fat on him. Parker told him she wouldn’t be needing his services for the show and he left, but not before I asked myself what the hell she’d want with me…when she could have someone a lot closer to perfect. Perfect like her. “I doubt people want to watch me strut down a runway, either, but I trust Parker to decide what’s best,” I say, finally.
“Isn’t that sweet?” Jocelyn sighs, tapping a finger on her arm. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough if this was a…” She sniffs, gives me a once-over. “Huge…mistake.”