Blurred Lines
Page 31

He comes up behind me, taking my plate before I can rinse it, and cleans off both plates himself before setting them in the dishwasher. Loading the dishwasher is one chore he’s quite good at. Unloading, not so much.
“You’re not serious, right?” he asks.
“Yes I’m serious! I can’t have sex now. What if I get…rumbly?”
Ben busts up laughing. “Oh my God, no wonder you and Lance never had sex. Rumbly?”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Keep it up and my hour reprieve will turn into days.”
“Okay, okay, listen,” he says, setting his hands on my shoulders. “I get maybe how you could feel that way on a first date, or the first time you sleep with some dude destined to be the future Mr. Blanton. But, Parks, it’s me. That’s the whole reason we have this arrangement, right? So we don’t have to worry about things like food babies, or rumbling, or farting in bed—”
I hold up a finger. “There will be no farting in bed. Clear?”
He continues as though I haven’t spoken. “Since it’s just me, you won’t have to worry if you’re at just the right angle that makes your stomach look flattest—and don’t lie, I know you girls do that—and I don’t have to worry about what you’ll think of my size. Just kidding on that last one, I know it’s hugely impressive, and—”
I laugh, pushing him backward. “Okay, fine. You win. You promise not to notice my food baby, and I’ll promise not to laugh at your tiny thingy.”
His smile drops in mock seriousness. “You take that back.”
I shrug. “Sorry. I have my theories, and—”
Ben’s fingers wrap around my wrist, and before I know what’s happening he’s tugging me out of the kitchen toward the stairs.
“Where are we going?”
“Where do you think?” he answers.
“But it’s not eight o’clock yet.”
“Close enough, Parks. Close enough.”
Well.
Okay, then.
Chapter 12
Ben
“You first,” I command.
Parker’s hands land on her hips. “No way. You first.”
I grin, because I’m already in motion before she’s finished speaking, one hand reaching behind my head to grab a fistful of shirt, yanking it up and off.
I toss it aside.
Parker’s eyes narrow at my now shirtless abs. “You knew I was going to say that.”
“Guilty.”
“Now your turn,” I coax.
She doesn’t move, and we stand facing off in her bedroom.
“The door’s open,” she says prissily.
“Nobody else is here,” I say, with what I think is admirable patience. “Just us.”
“But—”
I anticipate this, too, once again moving quickly, but this time reaching for her shirt, which, thankfully, is a stretchy, striped affair that allows for fast, uncomplicated removal.
“Ben!” she shrieks.
I toss her shirt into a pile with mine. Success.
Only this time, I’m not quite as cocky.
Because for all of Parker’s fussing about her food baby, or whatever, from where I’m standing, she’s pretty much flawless.
I thought I was prepared for this, but seeing her standing there all narrow waist and full breasts, I find that my mouth is dry and my brain is barely working.
Also, cock hard.
My stunned response to her body, newly shed of clothing, must give her confidence. Her nervousness melts away in front of my eyes, and it’s her turn to smirk smugly.
“Your turn,” she says sweetly, her hands returning to her waist, but this time in a saucy, provocative manner, as her right hip cocks to one side.
My moves aren’t quite as smooth this time.
My fingers manage the buttons of my jeans with ease, but in my haste to get them off, I forget that I’m still wearing shoes and socks, which ends in me having to hobble awkwardly to the bed to disrobe.
Parker cracks up at my clumsiness, and I grin as I hurl my jeans at her.
I’m horny, yes—definitely—but it also hits me that sex with Parker might be fun in a way that I haven’t experienced before.
I put my hands behind me, leaning back on the bed wearing only my boxer shorts, as I look her over and her laughter slowly fades.
She lifts her thumb to her mouth and bites her nail.
She’s nervous.
We can’t have that.
I stand up, moving toward her slowly this time until we’re standing face-to-face, chest to chest. Her bra is low-cut and black and lacy, but I force myself to look only at her face.
“Kiss me,” I say.
“Hmm?” She’s staring at my boxers. Or, more likely, the bulge beneath them.
“Kiss me.” It’s a command.
Her eyes jerk back to mine, holding just briefly, as though seeking reassurance. And then she seems to find it, because her eyes lower to my mouth and go smoky.
I take a step closer still, my head lowering just slightly so it’s within easy reach.
“Kiss me.” This time it’s a whisper.
Parker lifts up onto her toes, tilts her chin up, and softly—softly—rests her mouth against mine.
And then she kisses me.
I let her take control. It’s the least I can do after the way I devoured her against our kitchen wall yesterday. It’s her turn to drive.
Her palms cup my face and her lips coax mine apart. Her tongue finds mine, tentatively at first, and I groan at the goodness of it.