I heard him sigh, and then I heard an echo of another sigh.
Great. I wanted some time to myself, and suddenly I was surrounded by my dad and Parker—the two people I most didn’t want to see.
“I have to go,” my dad said. “Show’s in less than an hour. I need my credentials.” I reached into my pocket without picking my face up from my pillow. I held out the cards to my dad. I felt his hand brush my back, a silent apology.
“Good luck,” he muttered not to me, and then I heard him walk away as I felt the bed dip down beside me.
Parker’s large, strong hand brushed some hair tenderly from my forehead as he tucked it behind my ear. It was sweet and affectionate and so out of line with the way he’d totally just played with my heart.
He’d played with my emotions.
So he’d sent a text. Big fucking deal.
I hadn’t received it, and it was presumptuous of him to think I did without checking first. It wasn’t like he’d texted me to find out what I wanted for dinner.
“I’m sorry, Jimi,” he murmured. “Did you read my text?”
I nodded into the pillow.
“I meant it. The part about how I can’t stop thinking about our future.”
I was silent. I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to have the same thoughts and dreams he had. I’d barely come to the realization that I was tired of being stubborn and wanted to just give into what I felt between us.
Instead, I was back to where I had been only a couple of days earlier. I was angry. I was hurt. And most of all, I was betrayed yet again by the two men I loved most.
“Talk to me, Jimi.”
I took a shaky breath, the tears thankfully dry. I flipped over so I was on my back, and I stared up at the ceiling.
“You want me to talk?”
I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. I refused to look at his face, but from the quick glance I got when my traitorous eyes darted over to him, I was certain that he was terrified that this newest development spelled the end for us.
And maybe it would be the end.
Maybe he’d fucked up one too many times.
Or maybe I needed him. If nothing else, he was working to keep me safe. Safe from what, though? Randy? What threat did he pose? Why was my dad even allowing him to be a threat?
I didn’t understand, and I knew asking would get me nowhere. I’d tried that once, and I was shut down pretty quickly. I felt like I needed to know, but my dad’s definition of “need to know” and mine were vastly different.
“Here’s what I have to say. Parker, I fucking hate you. I fucking hate that you forced me into saying that I would marry you only to find out it was a joke. I fucking hate my dad for putting you up to it. I fucking hate that I left my phone in my jeans and that I didn’t get your message. I hate that I’m alone. I hate that I have no one. I hate that I’m left in the dark because it’s all ‘need to know’ bullshit. I hate Randy, and I hate crying about it. I hate this tour, and I hate the comforter on this bed, and I hate the shower on this bus and I hate the—”
He cut me off when his lips crashed down over mine. I hadn’t even seen him coming. I’d been so busy ranting about everything I hated about my life that I missed his slow ascent over the top of me.
And as his mouth forcefully worked mine over and his tongue battered aggressively against my own, I subconsciously started listing all of the things that I loved.
Parker’s mouth, for one.
He was really, really fucking talented with his mouth.
And his hands.
God, his hands.
His hand slid from my thigh all the way up my torso and landed on my breast. He kneaded and massaged, and then he found my pebbled nipple and tugged on it. I moaned under him, my anger and hatred forgotten…or at least paused for the moment.
He thrust his hips into mine. Maybe my yelling about everything I hated did something to him, because he was hard as a rock. He wanted me, and knowing that made me want him, too.
I’d have to be mad later, because for now, it was time to focus on fucking.
He pushed off of me and sat back on his knees. He ripped his shirt over his head, and then he gazed down at me. The hint of stubborn fire I held inside of me burned. I didn’t move.
If he was going to just take what he wanted—even if it technically belonged to him—when I was mad at him, he was going to have to work for it.
A tiny smile curled his lips. He was amused. He could see the fire burning in my eyes, and he liked what that meant.
The first night he’d fucked me, he’d been rough. Aggressive. Dominant.
But every time since, he’d bordered on the gentler side with the exception of the night when he’d made his drunken confessions in the dark. Even that night, he was rough in a way that showed his passion as he made love to me. The way he was looking at me now, though, wasn’t gentle.
It was wicked and dark.
He reached under my arms and pulled me up. He ripped my shirt over my head, pulling my bra off with it. Then he stood. He paced around the foot of the bed, and I could only watch him. He was panting, but so was I. He was a tiger ready to pounce. He stopped and stared down at me. He was thinking.
He was debating what he wanted to do to me.
He stalked over to my side of the bed, his eyes branding me everywhere they touched.
He pulled me up so that I was standing before him. He knelt on the ground. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but I let him. It was my silent consent even though he hadn’t asked for it.
He pulled the button of my jeans and then lowered the zipper, the only sound in the room aside from the loud beating of my heart.
He peeled my jeans slowly down my legs, taking my panties with them, and then he pulled my shoes off and lifted my feet to get my jeans off of me. I stood naked in front of him. He turned me around so I faced the bed. He stepped away. I heard him rustling around somewhere behind me, and then he returned. Soft material came around my eyes. He tied it behind my head, leaving me in complete darkness. My body trembled in anticipation. Everything was still and quiet for a moment.
The calm before the storm.
From there, his actions were quick and fierce.
He pushed me roughly down onto the bed. I landed with a gasp, the upper half of my body against the rough comforter on the bed and my legs still on the ground. He must’ve made quick work of his zipper, because he spread my legs and his cock plunged painfully into me as he took me from behind.
I grunted at the intrusion. He moved slowly at first, pushing himself all the way in and holding still for a few seconds as if he was warming me up, getting me wet before he brought the thunder.
He growled loudly once, and then he pulled back, almost all the way out, before pushing forward again.
My body immediately warmed to his as my moisture coated his cock.
It was my natural response to him. I had no control over my body. The only one who had control over it was the one who was thrusting in and out of it.
I wanted him to have control over me. I wanted to give up my power to allow him to do whatever he wanted to do to me. I wanted him to fuck me until I was senseless, until I had no coherent thoughts, until I forgot about the anger and the hatred. I wanted him to use my body to satisfy his needs.
He picked up the pace, bucking wildly into me. His growls became louder, the only sound in the room besides our bodies slapping together each time his hips met my ass.
The sounds were magnified since I was in complete darkness. Every sense seemed more intense, but most especially the sense of touch. His hands were everywhere on my body at once, leaving tingles in each new place he explored.
“Oh fuck,” he moaned loudly, and then he bent over me, reaching around my front to grab my breasts as he came violently into me.
He pulled out of me and stood. I moved to stand, too, but he wouldn’t allow it. He pushed my shoulders back down toward the bed. I turned my face so my cheek met the comforter, the room still dark from the blindfold. His fingers curled around my neck as he pushed me down further into the bed. One hand was around my neck, holding me in place, and the other plunged swiftly into my pussy. He pushed his fingers up toward my G-spot, and some incoherent whimper rolled out of my mouth.