Page 87 of Flint’s Strike

“Shit. Were those açaí bowls retaliation for you ordering Mario’s the day before? Because if so…he and I are gonna have words.”

“Probably. But how was I supposed to know the vinaigrette had jalapeños in it?”

She reaches for my empty plate, but I capture her wrist and press a kiss to her palm.

“Nope. My job tonight. Remember?”

She looks vaguely uncomfortable until I let go, then curls her hand into a fist on her thigh. But in the next breath, she sits back against the cushions. “There isn’t much to do. I clean as I go.”

“Good. That’ll leave us more time for the naked part of the evenin’.”

Parker leads me into the bedroom, barefoot, hips swaying, and that dress clinging to every curve like it’s glued into place.

I set my small satchel on her nightstand—a toothbrush, boxers, deodorant, and a strip of condoms inside.

A white, lacy throw covers her bed, corners squared. A few strands of yarn have worn through, and from the look of the stitching, this didn’t come from a store. Four pillows are stacked against a headboard that looks like it’s seen better days. At the foot of the bed, there’s an old cedar chest, the corners worn smooth. Everything’s mismatched, but obviously cared for.

Parker clasps her hands in front of her, releases them, starts to reach for me, and stops. “Can I touch you?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Her fingers tremble once on the top button, but she takes a deep breath, and loosens them one at a time until she reaches my belt.

“This is fine? Here?” Her palm hovers just above my sternum.

I pull her closer, one arm around her waist, and her fingers come to rest directly over my heart. “Need me to give you the map again?”

“No. I don’t think so. Graft margins are bad. This spot”—she traces a small circle in the air over my ribs—“is an asshole. And this one I can do whatever I want with.” Sliding her hand into my hair, she tightens her fingers, pulling me lower until she can kiss and nip along the pulse point at my neck.

“Fuuuuuck, Parker,” I groan. “Keep that up, and I’ll come in my pants.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” She drops to her knees, flicks open the button on my Wranglers, and works my zipper down with aching slowness. Then she gives my jeans the same care. Finally, her fingers curl in the waistband of my briefs, and those hit my ankles too.

My palm flattens against the wall behind me, my knees no longer a sure thing. Parker takes me in her mouth, one hand wrapped around the base of my shaft, and every thought in my head that isn’t her name burns off after the first stroke of her tongue.

“Parker—” The word comes out wrecked. “I can’t hold on for much longer.”

She looks up at me, those pretty, swollen lips doing things to my crown I’d forgotten were even possible.

When I’m as close as I’m willing to risk, I cup her cheek. “Enough. I don’t want you on your knees, sweetheart. I want us to be face to face for this next part.” I reach for her elbow, careful not to stretch my torso too far, and help her to her feet. “I haven’t even kissed you properly yet.”

I take a few thick waves of hair in my fingers, and gently tip her head back to seal my mouth to hers. She tastes of wine and caramel and vanilla and me. The warm citrus of her shampoo does as much for me as feeling her nipples pressed up against the few places on my torso I still have sensation.

Our tongues don’t so much dance as fight for control, and in the end, I’m no match for Parker’s will.

She tugs my shirt off my shoulders, skimming her hands down my arms until she frees the buttons at my wrists. The fabric lands in a heap behind me. Her teeth capture my lower lip, holding on for a single moment before letting go.

“You’ve got me at a disadvantage,” I grit out. “I’m about to blow my wad and you’re still in your dress.”

“That’s easy to fix.” Parker slides the dress over her head, leaving her in nothing but a silky blue bra and panty set that leaves very little to the imagination. “I want to see you, Eliot. All of you.” Her hands settle lightly on my arms.

I let her turn me without a word. Her mouth finds a patch of healthy skin along my shoulder blade, then trails down the curve of muscle along my spine to the small of my back—to skin the fire never touched. By the time she’s done, I don’t think there’s a single bit of unmarked skin on my back she hasn’t kissed.

“Parker.” I don’t recognize my own voice. But the need—that’s one hundred percent mine.

Turning, I reach for the clasp of her bra, letting it fall to the floor between us. Parker shimmies out of her panties, and now it’s my turn to look. To appreciate all that creamy skin, the sprinkle of pale freckles that dot her shoulders, the weight of her breasts in my hands.

My thumbs skate over her nipples, and they rise to meet my touch. Goosebumps race along her arms. “Eliot…”