NIGHTS WITH PARKER
“Why would I do that when I’ve already fucked you, Lucy?” Automatically, my brain plays back the highlight reel of the last couple of hours. The downright dirty sex in every imaginable position—the slapping of skin, the exchanging of fluids, and the nearly broken furniture. All in all, it was one of my more epic nights.
“Lizzy.” She corrects me, bringing my attention back to the here and now. I’d rather be back at the epic portion of the evening.
“That’s what I said,” I reply nonchalantly, giving the impression I have not a care in the world and what I’m doing right now isn’t the least bit fucked up.
“God, what is wrong with you? You can’t even keep my name straight.” She scowls, keeping the blanket secured tightly across her chest. Does she think I don’t know what’s underneath it? I had my mouth on pretty much every single part of her body. Some were nicer than others, but the breasts? The breasts were outstanding.
“Why would I need to keep your name straight? Will it be appearing on a marriage license next to mine anytime soon?” I ask, with a casual shake of my head. “Not likely.”
I do up the last button on my shirt, reach for my wallet on the nightstand, open it up and toss a couple of bills down, all the while pretending that I don’t notice that the half naked girl in the bed is staring daggers at me.
“The room is paid through the night; this should be enough money to make sure you get home safely.”
I watch with little interest as her tits sway when the sheet falls away as she pushes up and onto her knees. She reaches for the money, crumples it up, and throws it at me. This one’s got a temper on her; the red hair should have tipped me off, but I was too busy staring at the fucking tits to notice.
“I’m not a whore, you asshole!”
“Seriously?” I ask, pulling on my suit jacket. I don’t know why I say what I say next. I’m honestly not trying to be a dick, but she’s combative, and I think I like that about her. I think I almost want to see her temper flare. “You might want to consider it because you take cock like a pro.”
I can almost imagine she resembles a volcano erupting as she lunges off the bed, hands out in front of her. Landing on my chest, she gives me a shove. She’s tiny, but she packs a mighty punch, I’ll give her that. She almost manages to move me back a step but I catch myself, locking my frame tight before she could actually connect.
“Relax, Leslie; I was giving you a fucking compliment.”
“It’s Lizzie, you asshole! Lizzie!”
“Right,” I say, taking a few steps back and looking around the room to make sure I don’t forget anything. Making sure there are no knives or blunt objects Lisa can use to do bodily harm. “Take care of yourself,” I call as I reach the door.
“You think you can just go around making girls think that you’re into them and then leave them after you’ve gotten what you wanted?” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks wounded, like a fragile bird I’ve managed to do real damage to.
“I’ve had success with this in the past, yes.” I give her a nod, my stance firm, my gaze cold and apathetic.
She shakes her head, her eyes no longer angry but filled with pity instead. This infuriates me. It enrages me to see her looking at me as if I’m someone she can look down at. I’ve had just about enough of her when she whispers, “What kind of a miserable scumbag of a man are you?”
“The kind you met at the bar down the street and allowed him to buy you two drinks. The kind who never actually said there would be anything beyond tonight. The kind you liked well enough to come to a hotel with less than an hour after meeting him, letting him fuck your brains out while you called him God, baby, and daddy and loved it,” I say with a smirk on my face. “That’s the kind of man I am, but Laurie? What exactly does all that say about the kind of girl you are?”
Parting blow delivered, I leave her looking damn right repentant, making her feel like the easy piece of ass that she turned out to be. Not that I’m judging because believe me, I’m not. Easy is what I prefer; it’s exactly what I need to get through the fucked-up day-to-day existence that I lead. It doesn’t change the fact that I feel like shit as I ride the elevator down to the lobby. It’s nearing three am when I make it out of the hotel and onto the street. It always amazes me how there are always people bustling around the city, even at this hour. New York doesn’t ever sleep; there’s always life to be seen and heard and experienced, and it’s one of the things I’ve always appreciated about living here.
Following a brief text message as I left the room, James, my driver, is waiting with the car idling by the curb. He spots me and moves to exit the car in order to come around and open my door, but I wave him off. I can open my own fucking door.
“Evening, Mr. Parker,” he calls as I slide into the back seat, shut the door behind me, and rest an elbow on the back of my seat.
“Did you grab my bag, James?”
“Yes, sir. Your apartment is locked up, and the plane is ready and waiting.”
Fantastic, I think to myself. This is exactly what I want to do with the next few months of my life. Yes, I’m being sarcastic. The last thing I want to do is get on a plane to spend God knows how many months in the fucking South. I owe a special thanks for this shitty fact to my father, the asshole who knows no bounds to just how much of a dick he’s capable of being. As a matter of fact, the only good thing about this trip is not having to deal with my father’s bullshit for a prolonged period of time. Maybe I will thank him, after all.
Find out more about Parker releasing September 22nd – Add it to your TBR
Oliver Parker is a narcissistic a$$hole—vain, self-absorbed, conceited, and egotistical.
And those are his better qualities.
He takes what he wants, and he wants me.
Only, I don’t want to be had. Not ever and not by him.
When fate puts the hotel heir in the perfect position to get his way, my only choice is to give him what he wants.
But I’ll spend my nights with Parker fantasizing about his demise.