He left his fingers in place, and the hand that was around my neck trailed slowly down my back, cupped my ass, and then moved below his other hand as he found my clit. He moved his fingers in achingly slow circles. My hips moved of their own accord in rhythm with him. He flicked one finger slowly across my clit, and then he resumed those aching circles.
I gasped as I felt myself coming, my body clenching his fingers inside of me as he continued pressing circles into my clit. I shuddered beneath him. I grabbed fistfuls of sheets as my orgasm rolled through me, sparking white light behind my eyes despite the darkness.
He didn’t remove his fingers even after my orgasm subsided. Instead, he continued those aching circles around my clit. The fingers that had been inside of me pulled out slowly only to thrust aggressively back in. I groaned out another whimper. His fingers circled again and again and again, and before I knew what hit me, a second orgasm rolled through me, this one just as intense as the first. My legs shook and my brain felt fuzzy and my body felt depleted as I tried to escape the haze of the first back-to-back orgasm of my life.
He pulled his hands away from me and I felt his warmth leave me. I inched my way onto the bed, needing to just rest for some time after our wrenching, shattering sex. I didn’t even have the energy to remove my blindfold.
I must have fallen asleep, because Parker was shaking me awake what seemed like thirty seconds later.
“Show’s over, babe. We need to get back to the hotel.”
I felt him slip something onto my hand, and then he removed my blindfold—a bandana. I blinked against the bright lights groggily.
“What time is it?” I asked, my voice hoarse.
“Twelve-thirty. George is waiting for us with a car.”
I nodded, and then I stood, looking around in confusion for my clothes.
“Let me help.”
I rubbed my eyes as Parker handed me my bra, still clasped, and my panties first. I pulled them on, and then I grabbed my t-shirt and jeans. Parker tied my shoes on my feet while I buttoned my jeans.
“Come,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me behind him. I followed him, still half-asleep.
If I’d have been coherent, I might’ve complained about the fact that he’d put the ring back on my finger despite my protest about this stupid idea. If I’d have been coherent, I might’ve remembered that I was angry at both him and my dad.
But as I snuggled into his side in the back of the car and George drove us back to the Four Seasons, I was glad I wasn’t coherent.
Coherence would’ve meant anger and sadness and hatred.
Instead, all I felt was satisfied and loved.
three
The hazy Parker-induced bliss I was in shattered the moment we walked through the door of Parker’s hotel room.
The room was a mess. My clothes were scattered everywhere, mixed in with Parker’s belongings.
“Goddammit,” Parker muttered, and he immediately sent a text message. George had walked in behind us. He was also immediately on the phone.
Little black spots clouded my vision. I sat on the edge of the bed as my breaths came faster and faster. My heart rate escalated.
I was afraid I was going to start hyperventilating or pass out or throw up.
I was pretty sure that I was having a panic attack.
I thought this whole engagement sham was supposed to solve all of the problems. Instead, someone had somehow gotten past both hotel security and the security my dad had hired for our hotel floor. They went through our things.
They didn’t just go through our things, though. They’d thrown everything everywhere. It was like a tornado hit our room. Like it picked up our suitcases and dumped them all over the room before letting them fall haphazardly to the side.
It had to be some kind of message.
I just wasn’t sure what the message was, exactly.
It was cliché to say I felt violated. I didn’t feel violated.
I was violated.
Someone had rifled through my clothes, my panties, my socks and shoes and shirts and pants and bras. Someone had been through my toiletries. They went through my make-up bag. They might’ve touched my toothbrush.
Just the thought of someone touching my toothbrush sent a violent shudder through my belly. I clapped my hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom. I got to the toilet just in time to throw up.
Parker was right behind me. “Babe, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, sweeping my hair back into his fist.
“Get out,” I croaked, and then I heaved and expelled the rest of the contents of my stomach.
He didn’t move. I had to give him credit. He stayed with me at my absolute worst. I didn’t want him around to see me like that, but it hadn’t been the first time.
And if the rock glittering on the third finger of my left hand was any indication, it probably wouldn’t be the last time, either.
I drew in a deep breath that shuddered out of me, and then the tears came.
I couldn’t think of a single time in history when I didn’t cry after I threw up. Parker flushed the toilet that I was still hovering over. He turned the tap of the sink and dampened a towel. He sat on the floor and leaned up against the wall, and then he pulled me against him, cradling me in his arms as he ran the cool cloth across my forehead.
Despite the chaos of our room, the imploding of our world, I felt safe when Parker held me. He tossed the towel to the side.
Maybe my dad had picked the right guy to protect me, after all. Maybe he’d had some premonition that I’d feel safest wrapped in Parker’s arms.
A knock sounded at the bathroom doorway. Neither of us had shut the door. My head pounded as I keened softly in Parker’s arms. He’d been brushing the hair away from my temple in a soft, tender motion.
“Hey,” Parker said to whoever stood in the doorway. I didn’t have the energy to open my eyes to see who it was.
“She okay?” my dad asked.
“She will be. I’ve got her.”
“I know you do. Thank you.”
Parker nodded. My cheek was against his heart, and I noticed how fast it was beating. It forced an unwelcome thought into my mind for the very first time.
Was Parker scared, too? Was he as terrified as I was that someone was after me? He was there for my protection, but that didn’t mean he was immune from the potential danger that lurked around me.
So not only did he have to take care of himself, but he was responsible for my safety, too.
And my safety held high stakes. It wouldn’t just be letting down my dad—a man he looked at as a role model, a father figure.
His career was at stake. His livelihood, everything he’d worked for, was on the line. If he fucked this up, he stood to lose everything.
So in the moment he cradled me in his arms on the bathroom floor, I finally had the epiphany I’d been waiting for.
He’d really fucked things up by falling in love with me.
He’d told me he couldn’t stay away. He’d tried. Shit, he’d managed to keep his distance for an entire month under the guise of working on his album.
But ultimately, he couldn’t stay away.
If he could have, he would have.
I finally understood.
He was risking a whole hell of a lot to be with me. And I suddenly knew I needed to put in the effort to make it worth the risk he was taking.
What a fucking epiphany to have on a bathroom floor after I’d just puked my guts out while he held my hair back.
“Is anything missing?” my dad asked.
Parker shrugged. “I’m not sure. We’ve been in here pretty much since I sent you that text.”
My dad knelt beside me. I could smell the crisp, leathery scent of his aftershave. I opened my eyes. He looked as anxious as I felt. “CC, can you stand up? Can you check through your things and let me know if anything is missing?”