Blame it on the Tequila by Fiona Cole (the reading strategies book txt) 📕

the hard top and the wall. I’d have bruises tomorrow, but I didn’t care, I was too focused on picking up where he left off with his buttons. In the end, I clawed at his shirt until I gripped both sides, pulling with years of pent-up passion, sending buttons pinging everywhere.

His tongue plunged into my mouth, and I twirled mine with his, sucking like I wanted to do everywhere. I wanted to taste every inch of his skin, know every secret spot that turned him on. I wanted it all.

I fumbled with his belt, and he pulled back enough to pull my shirt over my head.

“I will never get over these fucking piercings. These tits I’ve dreamed about since I was a teenager.” He palmed one and pinched the other, pulling a cry from my parted lips. “I’m going to worship them,” he promised, starting to work on getting into my pants. “I’m going to worship all of you. But first, I just need to be inside you.”

“Yes,” I hissed.

We slammed back into action.

The room became a symphony of groans, whimpers, heavy breathing, and the rustle of clothes. Something tore, and I didn’t care what it was. I just needed him.

His pants dropped to his ankles, and his thick, hard length fell into my hands. I’d watched him last night—watched his rough grip around the soft skin and silver piercing, and I’d thought of nothing but feeling him since.

He released a savage moan, his hand fisting in my hair too tight when I slid my hand around him. I hadn’t been with many men and none of them like Parker, but he filled my hand like he was made for me.

“Fuck,” he groaned, kicking his pants free.

I stroked him softly a few more times, stopping to cradle his balls, while my other hand explored every inch of skin I could reach. I fingered the piercing in fascination, wanting to look at it but also wanting to get his mouth back on mine. I was in a sensory wonderland and didn’t know where to go next.

He pulled away, and I almost fell off the dresser to chase his lips, but he quickly hunched down to dig in his wallet for a condom.

I trembled in anticipation, having imagined this moment for years. It was almost too much but not enough all at once. My head swam watching him slide the condom down his length, my hips rocked, already seeking more. When I expected him to come to me, he dropped down, kissing and biting his way down my chest, taking only a moment to suck my nipples into his mouth before descending between my legs.

I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him to fuck foreplay, but he shoved my legs wide without care, making room for his broad shoulders. He used his thumbs to pull my folds apart and dove in. My whole body contracted at the first swipe from my opening to my clit. My fingers clawed at the hard wood, searching for something to hold me steady. He ate me like a man starved, sucking on my clit with purpose, pushing two fingers deep without warning, twisting and sliding until I thought my whole world would explode.

Just when I almost tipped, he stopped, standing to his full height, and kissed me—making me taste myself. His forearms tucked under my knees, and his palms gripped my hips, jerking me to the edge of the dresser. He pushed all the way in to the base, tearing a savage cry from my throat like it’d been waiting there for years.

For just a moment, he stilled, and we held each other. Foreheads pressed close, breathing each other’s air, we made a moment, committing it to memory. The moment over seven years in the making. The moment we gave in.

He hooked one of my legs around his hip and used his free hand to cradle my face and tip my chin to meet his deep blue eyes. Everything fell away, and it was just me and him—Nova and Parker—like we’d longed for, for so long.

His thumb traced the arch in my cheek, the edge of my jaw, the curve of my lip, and I just watched him, felt him filling me. Finally, he pulled back one agonizing inch at a time, only to slam back in. It started slow and steady, a pounding rhythm full of intensity and need. But the desperation came roaring back, creeping through our veins, pulsing with more, more, more.

We lost our rhythm. Our soothing, searching hands became frantic again, grabbing on wherever we could. Our kisses no longer explored with intent but roved and tasted every inch we could reach. His nipple in my mouth. His ass under my clawing nails, his wavy, damp locks in my fist.

He rutted against me, thudding the frame behind me against the wall with each powerful thrust until I was sure it’d come crashing down.

And I didn’t care if it did because, with each slide, my world came closer and closer to exploding into a million pieces, and all I needed was him to cling to, and I’d be okay.

His hand moved between us, his thumb slicking around my clit with quick sure movements, and I rocked harder, racing for the finish.

“Parker. Parker.” I cried. I pleaded. I whimpered.

One more swipe, and I fell. I did my best to stem the ragged screams of pleasure by shoving my mouth against his shoulder, but it was useless because moments later, he joined me and clung to me as he tipped too. We fell in each other’s arms into the abyss of pleasure. By the time the world came back into view, I was still in Parker’s arms, and he was in mine.

Our sweat-slicked skin stuck together. Our chests heaved in sync, trying to catch our breaths. Our mouths still pressed to each other’s flesh as if unwilling to part.

Prying my grip loose of his hair, I stroked my fingers down his back, just relishing