—TWENTY—
“Zephyr79 has left the meeting.”
A burning ball of shame funnels through me, a cruel, wicked windstorm, stealing the breath from my lungs. My fingers curl into tight fists as I stay rooted to the couch cushion, desperately trying to hold the tears back before they burst through like a broken dam.
Maybe he lost connection.
Maybe his phone died.
It could be the storm.
I suck in a breath so hard, my chest aches. Standing from the sofa, I pace over to my propped-up cell phone and close out the video call, then send him a message to see what happened before I jump to conclusions and join a nunnery.
Me: I’m going to choose to believe that your phone died, and that you didn’t voluntarily leave after seeing me.
He doesn’t appear to be online, so I try to stay hopeful that it was a fluke and had nothing to do with my face.
Shaking away the jitters and anxiety, I distract myself by scrubbing down my countertops twelve times like a psycho. I try not to think about Zephyr.
I try not to think about Parker.
I try really hard not to think about the way his hands felt on me, or the way his words sliced me down just as I was about to leap into something new and frighteningly intoxicating.
Pushing through the weighty pit of dread in my stomach, I snatch my phone back up fifteen minutes later and check for a response.
Nothing.
But… it does say that Zephyr was active two minutes ago.
Oh, my God.
He saw my message.
He saw my message, and he ignored it.
He did voluntarily leave that chat after seeing me for the first time.
Tears prickle my eyes like little rose thorns, and I feel sliced down all over again.
That’s twice. Twice in one night I’ve been rejected and stomped on by two men I’ve grown to care about. Two men I’ve developed feelings for. Two men I’ve opened up to and become vulnerable with, despite the coil of guilt I’ve felt at betraying Charlie in some twisted way.
I toss my phone onto the kitchen counter, then storm out my patio door in bare feet as the rain pours down, pelting the earth and masking the wretched meltdown that is brewing in the back of my throat. After spending an hour wilting in the shower when I returned home, washing away Parker and the stains he left behind, it seems I need another cleanse.
My feet carry me out to the center of my spongy lawn, naked toes sinking into the grass. My loungewear is instantly soaked, the white tank top and cotton shorts sticking to my skin as I shiver beneath the cathartic rainfall.
So much rain lately.
So much to disinfect.
The storm clouds release a mighty downpour as I tilt my chin up and face the sky, closing my eyes and whispering a desperate plea. “I’m lost, Charlie. Tell me what to do.”
Thunder rumbles in the distance, vibrating right through me, and that’s when I hear it.
The sound of a familiar engine rolls up to the front of my house as tires screech to a halt and a car door slams shut.
No way.
Frowning, I swiftly pace over to the side of the house, drawing to a stand when I see him stalking through my lawn towards the front door, his face masked with harsh intensity—like he’s on a mission.
Parker nearly stumbles to a halt when he spots me standing in the backyard, staring at him with a healthy mix of confusion and hostility.
Why is he here?
I don’t want him here. He told me to stay away from him.
I cross my arms over my chest with an air of defensiveness, and also to hide the fact that rain doesn’t mesh very well with thin, white cotton.
Parker’s expression darkens, his features tightening as he shifts direction and charges toward me. “You’re fuckin’ soaked and half naked,” he grits out through the heavy rain showers, slicking his hair back as he approaches.
My face twists with disdain, and I turn my back to him, stomping away like a petulant child.
“Melody.”
“Go home, Parker,” I order, throwing him a glare over my shoulder. “You’re not welcome here.”
He catches my wrist to spin me around, and I almost slip on the wet grass.
My arm pulls free like he just scalded me. “Don’t! Don’t touch me.”
“Goddammit, will you stop?”
“Why are you here?” I demand, chest heaving, outrage escalating. “You were pretty loud and clear at the lake tonight. I’m just a nuisance to you. A thorn in your side, a gnat in your ear. A fly in your fucking soup.”
Parker opens his mouth to respond, to make his intentions known, but his tongue freezes and he hesitates. He just kind of stares at me for a moment, his brows pinching together like he’s trying to work through something, or maybe he’s just angry and agitated like he always is.
I try again, forcing myself to soften. “Why are you here?”
He swallows. “I…” Parker trails off, seemingly unable to get the words out. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his jaw ticking when his eyes dip down, raking over me and lingering on my partially exposed breasts plastered against the now see-through tank top. He flicks his attention back to my face, his gaze hot and stormy. “You drive me fucking mad.”
My arms shoot up to block his view of my chest, my defenses flaring back to life. “If you came over to insult me, I’m not interested. I’ve had a really shitty day that you’ll be pleased to know you contributed to.”
“You think that pleases me?”
“Yes, I do.”
Parker swipes dark, wet hair from his forehead, letting out a grunt of exasperation. “That doesn’t please me, Melody. You want to know what pleases me?” He advances on me like a hungry predator. “Not giving a shit. Not caring. Being alone, keeping to myself, and not giving a flying fuck about whether or not you’re still out in that lake, broken-hearted, or at home crying yourself to sleep, thinking you’re not good enough for an asshole like me.”
I refuse to let his words chip away my armor. “You’re flattering yourself. I’m fine.”
“You don't get it,” he shakes his head. “I'm supposed to hate you. I'm supposed to hate everything you stand for. Now, all I want to do is fuck you.” Parker yanks my arms apart, putting my breasts back on display for his eyes to drink me in. His voice lowers, the words cracking. “What the hell are you doing to me?"
My body heats, my pulse throbbing as his fingers tighten their grip on my wrists. My angry breaths of indignation turn shaky and uneven. "I'm just being me.”
"Yeah,” he mutters, hardly a whisper. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Parker inches closer to me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, my heartrate quickening.
No.
No, he doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get to rip me open, then think he can be the one to stitch me back together again. That’s my job.
Reining in my growing arousal, I tug my wrists free and move away, watching as his eyebrows dip once more. “Go home, Parker,” I tell him, hating the way my voice sways. “If you’re looking to scratch an itch, I’m sure you have plenty of options.”
“Is that what you think?” His frown deepens, lips pursing together as he studies me. “You think I’m out there chasing tail, and you just happen to be next on my long list of options?”
I shrug, faking my way through indifference. “Maybe. Probably.”
Parker slowly nods, stepping forward and closing the gap between us. His proximity is alarmingly potent as his eyes skim across my face, a green blaze of wildfire. “How about this: I haven’t had sex in eleven years—haven’t thought about it, haven’t wanted it. Haven’t even cared.” He leans down closer, until his lips graze my ear like a whispered kiss, and he breathes out, “Or how about this: I’ve jerked off more times in the last week thinking about you, than I have all goddamn year.”
An electric jolt shoots through me, and my hands lift involuntarily, gripping the hard muscles of his arms to keep myself from teetering.
Parker’s head raises slightly, pivoting until our eyes lock. “So, believe me when I say you’re more than just an itch. You’re a fucking revolution.”
My fingernails claw into his tensing biceps, a little gasp escaping my throat. As my eyelids flutter right along with the colony of butterflies in my stomach, I lean into him, drawn to his words, his scent, his aura.
But just as I’m about to give in to him—again—he pulls away.
He steps back, leaving a chilly emptiness in his absence. My eyes pop open, spitting fire as he keeps trekking backwards through my yard. Leaving. “Good,” I seethe, sick of his mixed signals. Sick of the crumbs he throws me right before he steals them all away. “Go.”
Parker holds my gaze for another moment before spinning on his heels and storming through my backyard.
His dismissal infuriates me.
What was the point of that?
What the hell was the point?
Fists clenched at my sides, I shout at his retreating back, “I hate you. You’re nothing like Charlie. You’re the opposite of him in every way, and it makes me sick that I…” Parker comes to an abrupt stop, his shoulders tautening as his head bows. I swallow. “It makes me sick that I…”
“That you what?” Parker faces me then, twisting in place. “Say it.”
My bottom lip quivers with the words I can’t seem to expel.
“Fucking say it, Melody.” He traipses back over to me with fury on his face. “What makes you sick? That you want me?”
I shake my head as he advances.
“Admit it. You want me.”
“No.”
“No?” Parker comes to a halt when we’re toe-to-toe, his chest swelling with labored breaths, something savage glinting in his eyes. “You’re lying. You’d let me take you right here, right now, in the pouring fucking rain, like a wild animal.”
Shudders rip through me, stopping my breath. His gaze slips to my heaving breasts, my nipples tight, nearly cutting through the thin fabric, and when he glances back up… there’s a shift. Something palpable, visceral. I feel it, he feels it, and I think the sky feels it, too, because just then, lightning cracks above us, an aggressive flash of heat that mimics the look in his eyes.
We pounce on each other.
I go for his mouth, but he dodges me, biting my jaw instead, then trailing his tongue along my neck as he shoves the straps of my tank top off my shoulders and pushes the fabric down past my breasts. Parker groans when my breasts spill free, dipping his head lower until he’s sucking a nipple into his mouth and I’m arching into him, my body crumbling. My moan mingles with his as my hands frantically fumble with his belt buckle, unlatching it and searching for the zipper.
Parker bends further and grasps me right beneath the thighs, lifting me into the air and hooking my legs around his waist. I squeak in surprise, but it dissolves into a needy whimper when his erection presses between my legs and he carries me off somewhere, who knows where—I don’t really care as long as he keeps suckling my nipple like that, his teeth nicking the sensitive flesh and inciting my pelvis to grind against the hard bulge in his jeans.
My back slams into the wooden planks of the backyard shed, and I yelp when Parker starts tugging my shorts down my legs, his mouth all over me, my hands scratching at his scalp and fisting his wet hair.
The storm rages on around us, or maybe we are the storm. We’re the flashes of lightning, the thunder booming, the dark clouds of destruction hiding the bright moon. The rain pours down and drenches us, a welcoming contrast to the searing heat threatening to detonate.
My spine bows back when Parker’s finger slips inside me, and I grasp at his shoulders, clawing and digging. “Oh, God…”
“Goddamn,” he rasps against the shell of my ear, biting at the lobe.
I hear his zipper unfasten as I thrust against his pumping finger, needing him deeper, needing more. Parker lifts his head from the crook of my shoulder, finding my eyes for one blinding, potent second, before he pulls his finger out of me and flips me around until my front is pressed up against the shed wall.
A gasp escapes me as the splinters dig into my skin, but I hardly notice because Parker snakes his arm around my midsection, palming my breast with one hand, while the other spreads my thighs apart. Instinctively, I arc my back, searching for him—begging for him.
His mouth is devouring my neck again, his tongue hot and demanding as he tastes me, sweat and rainwater, his hand leaving my breast to fist my hair and tug it back. Parker situates himself between my legs from behind, the tip of his cock seeking entry. The feel of him there, teasing me, has my body tremoring and aching as I grind against him. “Please.”
“Fuck, Melody…”
As the thunder rolls overhead, Parker spreads me wider as his opposite hand curves around my throat, and he pushes inside.
Hard. Abrupt. Unforgiving.
Holy shit.
My cry is muffled when his hand clamps my jaw, two fingers slipping into my mouth, and I bite down. Parker’s forehead drops to my shoulder, his prolonged groan making my skin hum as I slink one arm behind his neck to hold him to me.
He starts to move, his hips rocking against me, slowly at first, stretching me and making me squirm. His tongue drags along the crest of my shoulder, up to my neck, and he pulls the flesh between his teeth, grunting, while his cock hits deeper, his thrusts quickening.
I plant both hands against the shed for leverage while his fingers tug my jaw open, and I yelp again, unsure of what hurts, what stings, what’s right or wrong, and what feels so good, the line between pain and pleasure becomes a glorious, permanent blur.
Parker’s fingers leave my mouth and sweep down my body until he finds the juncture between my legs, and I press into his palm, a silent plea. With one hand gripping my hipbone, keeping me steady while he slams into me, the other rubs my clit into a delicious frenzy, pulling mewls and whimpers and unabashed moans from my throat.
His lips dip to my ear, his breathing ragged. “You’re driving me fucking wild… you feel so goddamn good.”
“Uhh…” It’s all I can manage, his words and hands twisting me inside out, stealing my coherency and common sense.
Reinventing me.
I feel myself peaking, climbing, singing and buzzing, while Parker fucks me against the shed in my backyard beneath black clouds and moonlight.
Like animals.
As his fingers work me to orgasm, and his thrusts become more feral, my body tenses and thrums, and I break apart into a thousand tiny particles, atoms, and stars.
My climax nearly cripples me.
Knees buckling, I crumple forward, while Parker squeezes my breast, tweaking my nipple as a cry of pleasure tears through my throat. He rams into me with violent, frenzied strokes, grunting his release, burying his face into the slick curve of my neck.
“Fuck,” he grits out, shuddering against me, his palm still cupping my breast while his opposite hand clings to my hip, fingertips biting into the delicate skin.
And then it’s over.
His movements temper, and he just kind of holds me for a moment as we both come down from the heady high. It’s nothing but raindrops and heartbeats and heavy breaths as Parker’s grip on me loosens, his head lifting from my shoulder. I feel his heart vibrating into my back, his erection still firm and pulsing inside me, his fingers trailing lightly down my torso, almost a tickle, as he lets out a deep, equivocal sigh near my ear.
Then he slides out of me, letting me go, and I remain still, partially collapsed against the shed with my shorts dropped to my ankles and a sodden tank top bunched around my middle.
Rainwater mixes with Parker’s release and spills down my thighs, reminding me that Charlie is no longer the last man to have been inside me. I gave that title to a man who claims to not even like women—who was cruel to me—who didn’t deserve it.
I gave a precious gift to an unworthy man.
The realization rips a sob from my chest before I have time to even recover. I slump further against the wet wood planks of Charlie’s beloved shed; the shed that has now been defiled by a painful act of betrayal.
A betrayal to him. A betrayal to me.
With limbs quivering with regret, I simply stand there, hardly able to hold my weight and the weight of so much more.
My eyes squeeze shut, my face hidden behind my hands, when I feel a gentle touch graze the small of my back. Light as a feather at first, barely there at all, until he applies more pressure and rubs his palm up and down my spine, as if he’s trying to comfort me somehow.
It’s a tiny token of solace.
A gift in exchange for mine.
And then he’s tugging my shorts up my legs until they’re secured around my hips, the soaked cotton sticking to my skin like adhesive. I pull my forehead up from the shed, pivoting slowly, facing him. His pants are pulled up, but the belt hangs loose, and there’s an angry nail mark etched into his neck from where I must have scratched him.
Parker stares at me with a faint wrinkle furrowed between his brows, and I swear there is concern etched into that crease—maybe even a semblance of empathy.
But it’s all he gives me before pacing backwards, gaze dipping down, jaw hard and tight like his fists that ball up at his sides.
And just like that, he’s gone.
Parker leaves me there against the shed, tainted and torn, reeking of guilt and self-loathing and him.
And when I awake the following morning to chirping birds and ribbons of sunlight, I’m curled up inside the little wooden shed, body aching, skin filthy, dignity shattered.
Heart broken.