Trademarked: Bad Boys Need Love Too

by Misti Murphy

  “That must have been devastating,” Bree says, sympathy coating her words because she gets it. We’ve both been fucked over, but that’s good, right? It means we would never hurt each other like that.

  “It was hard,” I admit. “It’s why I hadn’t dated until you came along with your cookie euphemisms and your thumbtacks and your cute little skirts. I didn’t want to get fucked over.” I rub my thumb along the underside of her boob. “But it could have turned out much worse. I could have married her and then I would never have met you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You mean so much to me, babe. And for a second, when I heard Dutch flirting with you, I could feel what it would be like if you were no longer in my life. It was stupid. I behaved like an asshole to my best friend and to you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she says. “I get it. I probably would have reacted the same way if it was you and some hot chick in your kitchen.”

  “Some hot chick, huh?” I smirk. “Does that mean you think Dutch is hot?”

  She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “He’s no Parker Kent. Or Thor. But women do seem to find him appealing.”

  “That’s true,” I agree. “But I’m hotter?”

  “So much.”

  “That’s nice to know.” My chest swells with warmth and I touch my lips to hers. “Because I’m falling for you.” No, I’m not falling. I’ve fallen. She fills all my empty spaces. “I mean I...” I rub at the back of my neck. “I. Fuck. What I’m trying to say is—”

  She peels away and locks her gaze on mine. There’s a galaxy of warmth in the green depths that makes my chest swell even as my heart skips several beats. Her smile is like a sunrise peeking through clouds above water. “Are you trying to tell me you love me?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” I clasp her face between both my hands. She’s my present and my future. She’s my map and my compass. She’s restructured the mitochondria of my heart so that it can only belong to her. “I love you, Bree Jackson.”

  Her eyes widen, and she stills on my lap. Leaning into me, she presses a featherlight kiss to my lips. “I love you too.”

  “You do?”

  “Uh-huh.” Her mouth curves against mine.

  “And the super cock?” I tease.

  “Now, that I’ll never tell.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Bree

  Gah! My heart feels like it could explode, it’s so full of happiness. It’s engorged like a penis from emotions. I have a heart erection for Parker Kent. A heart boner. To go with that, I have an actual boner underneath me, pressing against the inside of my thigh. Parker’s never fail super cock.

  “You sure you don’t want to confess your love for the super cock?” He nibbles my mouth, moves on to my jaw, my throat. Tingles shoot from every spot that he touches, which is a lot, considering our thighs are mashed together and his hands have migrated to my back and are slowly working their way down my spine.

  “Not going to happen.” I moan as he sucks on my shoulder. That’s going to leave a hickey, but I don’t care. I’m Parker’s and he’s mine. He can mark my skin, layer his scent over mine, make it so I can never remove him from my soul. Hell, he’s already done it.

  “No?” He flicks open my shirt buttons. One. Two. His lips press against the exposed skin.

  “No,” I say breathlessly as he undoes the last button and slides an arm around my waist to unhook my bra. It falls to my elbows and he grazes my nipple with his teeth. “He can be patient. He’ll wait forever for your declaration if that’s what it takes.”

  “He’ll wait forever,” I warn Parker. No, he won’t. I love his cock. I adore it. I’d knit it sweaters and feed it treats if that was something one did with a cock. But he doesn’t need an ego boost. He knows how amazing he is. Parker’s dick is in a league of his own.

  “If that’s what it takes.” Lifting me up, he stands in one fluid motion that makes my breath stutter. I feel so small and feminine in his arms that my ovaries twerk and beg for his sperm. His mouth locks with mine, lingering, tasting, teasing with each step he takes to the bedroom. “Don’t ever admit it. I’d rather take forever with you.”

  He tosses me onto the bed and undoes the buttons on his shirt. It’s a slow process. One I adore watching as the material gapes a little each time, revealing more and more. Like a strip tease. Or peeling the wrapper off a chocolate bar. My mouth waters, and my panties need to come off, off, off. And my heart is so turned on.

  I climb onto my knees as he starts on his belt. There’s only so much patience I can manage. I bat his hands away and undo the metal buckle. Pop the button on his pants. He groans as I tease him back by unclicking his zip one tine at a time. Click, click, click. See, it’s fucking excruciating.

  His hot chocolate gaze makes my vagina all gooey like a marshmallow. Actually that’s a gross metaphor, but apt. Parker Kent melts my vagina into a puddle of steamy, swoony need as he takes over the removal of the rest of his clothes.

  Pressing me flat to the mattress, he covers my body with the weight of his and eases his tongue into my mouth in a move that has me gripping his overstuffed biceps. “I’m going to get you naked and then I’m going to love every single inch of you.”

  “Fuck me.” Come on, when a man starts getting this sweet in the bedroom it’s freaking hot.

  “Yeah, there’s going to be some of that too. But mostly loving.” He rests on his haunches and peels my shorts and panties down my legs. Smoothing his palms over my thighs, he plants a kiss on my mound and coos, “Hey there, beautiful.”

  This man and his need to make my cookie feel special.

  He slides a finger along my seam. “You and I have had some fun times together, haven’t we?”

  “Mmm,” I moan as I grab handfuls of sheet, pleasure making my hips beg for his touch.

  “Shh.” He grins. “I’m talking to your cookie. This is serious.”

  “G-go on.” My voice pitches high as he circles my clit and touches the tip of his tongue to it.

  “We’ve dated.” He sucks my clit between his teeth and hot damn, spots dance in front of my eyes. “Exclusively. You’ve let me touch you.” He pushes one thick finger inside me, creating a shower of sparks. “Taste you.” That magic tongue swirls my nub.

  “Oh Goweee.” My thighs shake as my body begs for more.

  “And fuck you.” He growls, and the sound vibrates on my sensitive skin. “I think it’s time I told you that you’re the only cunt for me. You’re pretty and sweet and I love slamming into you.” Another finger eases in beside the first, brushing against my inner walls in a leisurely manner. Pleasure eats me up, my insides tighten. “I think of you as mine. My perfect cunt. My beautiful cookie that I’ve licked and bitten and marked as mine alone.”

  “P-ar-keeeer,” I cry out, those dancing spots blinding me, his sweet words and his methodical fingers pushing me up, up, and over. My body swells with pleasure, floats in it.

  Withdrawing his fingers, he places one last kiss on my clit before he covers my body with his. The swollen crown of his cock rests against my seam, hot and heavy.

  “I think your cunt loves me,” he whispers, like we’re two separate entities.

  His lips curve, and I can’t help but do the same. “I suspect she does.”

  “And now I’m going to love her.” He shifts his weight to one forearm as he pushes inside me. Deliciously slow. Our gazes lock. A quiet groan escapes as he seats himself deep. “And you. All of you.”

  We rock together, unhurried and easy. His hands in my hair, mine trailing his spine. It’s a slow burn, a quiet, concentrated ache building in a barely noticeable way with each thrust. Heat burrows under my damp skin, and his sexy, masculine aroma fills my senses. The desire in his gaze and my inability to glance away seems to make everything more intense until that sweet ache is bigger than me. Uncontainable. It tears me apart from the inside out. Darkens my vision and dulls my hearing as it consumes me.

  “Babe.” Parker groans, his f
orehead dipping to mine as he shudders through his own climax, spilling himself inside me.

  ***

  I can’t stop smiling. My cheeks hurt from the ridiculous grin plastered on my face as Parker and I duck into the sushi restaurant a few blocks from his apartment. He grins back at me and squeezes my hand. The two of us are so loved up it’s not even funny. And neither is how hungry I am. Famished, really. Something I hadn’t noticed until now, thanks to how preoccupied I’ve been with the man beside me.

  After our sex-marathon this afternoon I’m not sure sushi is going to cut it. Not like a good deep-dish pizza would, but with the movie premier coming up soon Parker wants to look his best. What’s better than magnificent sex-god?

  “To go?” he asks, pulling me against his chest and wrapping his arms around my waist while he nuzzles my neck. “We can eat in bed.”

  “Naked,” I whisper. I like the idea. A lot. Every moment with Parker makes my heart happy. I didn’t know I could feel like this.

  He pushes my hair to the side and kisses me. “Definitely.”

  “Parker?” a man’s voice interrupts our loved up bubble.

  Parker stiffens. His torso tenses like steel as he pulls his warm lips from my skin. The nape of my neck prickles as he unwinds his arms from my waist. It’s the weirdest sensation.

  “Brad, what are you doing here?” Parker asks. He’s friendly enough, but also not in a way that I’m used to.

  “The same as you, I expect,” the other guy says. “We all have to eat.”

  Parker’s a full head taller than the other guy, and he’s using it to stare him down. But Brad doesn’t seem perturbed by it at all. He straightens his tie and glances in my direction. His gaze is assessing. I don’t know what he expects to see, but he must make up his mind quickly because he darts his attention moves back to Parker. “Who’s this?”

  Parker doesn’t look at me. His arms folded across his chest, he says, “This is Bree.”

  “Your insurance rep, right?”

  “Right,” Parker agrees.

  Brad turns to me, his tone smug, “Well, I hope you’re taking good care of my favorite star.”

  “I am. Parker’s care is my top priority.” I look up at Parker, expecting him to be grinning back at me, because of course I’m taking care of him. In more ways than one. But Parker doesn’t crack a smile at the implied innuendo. He still doesn’t look at me. He actually takes a step away from me.

  He nods once before addressing Parker. “It’s good to see you eating healthy, keeping up that physique for the next movie. Because I have several scripts on my desk that would be a great fit for you.”

  This guy is Parker’s agent. And he clearly doesn’t know we’re together. In fact, it sure feels like Parker is deliberately making it look like we aren’t... Why the heck is Parker acting like this?

  “I think she’s ready to take your order.” Brad gestures at the server, who is standing patiently waiting for us.

  I’m grateful for the out as I step up to the counter and start rattling off a list that includes California rolls and sashimi.

  By the time our food is ready Brad is gone. But Parker is still distant. We walk side by side, but something has shifted. He’s not touchy-feely like he was earlier. By the time we enter the elevator in his apartment building, I desperately want to ask him why. But as the doors slide shut he presses me up against the wall and kisses me, and maybe I was reading into whatever just happened.

  ***

  The train rocks back and forth under my feet, and there’s a guy in the corner across from me who is openly leering at my legs. I tug on my skirt to try and cover a little more skin and then twist away so that I’m not offering him a front on view. It doesn’t help.

  I’d had to go into the city to meet a new client, otherwise I wouldn’t be dealing with this guy’s perving.

  I glance out the window in time to catch one of the billboards advertising Parker’s movie, which is coming out in a couple of weeks. Of course he’s front and center, but instead of boxer briefs he’s completely at ease in a sexy black suit. Lipstick, a shade of pink that’s probably labelled Bubble Gum Passion or Cotton Candy Tart has been kissed onto his cheek and his collar. Anabelle’s leaning against his arm, dressed in a conservative skirt and white blouse. Her hair is ever so slightly not perfect, her glasses askew, and she’s hugging a binder like it’s her lifeline.

  It’s going to be a great movie. Except for the parts where Anabelle touches or kisses or looks like she’s in love with my boyfriend or vice versa. But I still wanna see it. Though I’ll probably have to do it with one eye closed. Parker’s worked so hard on this movie, and I want to support him, even if I have to tie up my green-eyed monster and shove her in the closet.

  I even let Tim help me pick out a dress in case Parker asks me to accompany him to the premier. A flowing, silk gown the color of a waterfall, with a deep V and a split that finishes so far above the knee it’s kinky. Which is exactly the point. If I ever take the dress out of the garment bag. I’ve tried dropping hints about him asking me, but he never seems to pick up on them. And anytime I bring up the premier he changed the topic as though it’s the last thing he wants to talk about. I guess he doesn’t like talking about it. I can see that. I imagine worrying about what the world will think of your soon-to-be-released movie is pretty stressful.

  I should probably use my train time wisely and type up my notes before I get back to the office. Instead I stalk my boyfriend’s costar on Google. Read the articles that suggest the onscreen chemistry between her and Parker isn’t movie magic. And they do look cozy. Laughing together. Her flirting with him and touching his arm more often than I’d like. Him responding in kind. It’s stomach churning stuff.

  But there’s nothing going on between them. It’s all for the movie. The media makes everything seem worse than it is. To be honest, I don’t think he’s even friends with her since the only time he’s mentioned her is when he’s filling me in on his day. It’s just... he’s been distant. It almost feels like he’s brushing me off. And I miss him. I miss the flirty text messages he usually sends during the day, and how he always had time to call, to check in. I can’t remember the last time he interrupted my workday, now that I think about it. And when I’ve tried to call him, he’s rushing from one interview to another and doesn’t have time to talk. In fact, most of our dates the past two weeks have consisted of short video chats over Kung Pao chicken and lo mein late in the evening, when we’re both exhausted. And those are the few times we haven’t missed each other completely.

  The train slows as it nears my stop, and I gather my things. Being able to finally escape Mr. Leg Ogler gives me a sense of relief as I scamper out into the street. No, there’s nothing going on between Parker and Anabelle. They’re just spending every waking moment together for the movie. That’s what’s making me a little edgy.

  ***

  “Hey Breezy.” Tim stands in the entrance to my cubicle, kind of half in, half out. Like he’s doing the Hokey Pokey. “Uh, how’re things?”

  He’s giving off this really weird unlike Tim vibe. Usually he comes in and plonks his ass on the desk instead of hovering. “About the same as this morning.”

  “That’s good.” He rubs at his neck, glancing back the way he came.

  “Is it?”

  “Uh. Yeah. Maybe.” Again he looks around as though wishing we weren’t having this conversation.

  “Tim?” I narrow my gaze on him. He’s breaking out in a sweat. His brow and upper lip are starting to glisten. A weird buzz starts under my skin, and not the good kind Parker can summon with a glance. More... stomach flipping, nausea inducing. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He huffs and shuffles his feet. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “What’s nothing?” I’m halfway out of my chair, my ass bouncing off the leather like it has the gravitation of the moon. “What’s going on?”

  Another darted glance over his shoulder, and he finally steps into
my cubicle. “We need to talk.”

  “Ok-ay.” I string the word out like a question. One that happens to be giving me a funny, wrong feeling. And the way he keeps looking around. Is Malcolm on the warpath? Has Tim heard there are going to be cutbacks or something? Although there aren’t enough of us in this department for any sort of pruning.

  “Not here,” he says, grabbing my arm. He drags me along the line of cubicles, past Malcolm’s office and the elevator. He doesn’t let up until we’re in the passage to the break room, which I’m assuming is his destination.

  Breaking left, he shoves open the door and pulls me inside. “This’ll do.”

  “The women’s restroom?” Is he kidding?

  “As good a place as any.” He drags me over to the sinks, where he notices how much he’s sweating. Turning on the taps, he splashes his face.

  I grab a few paper towels and pass them to him, so he can blot up the moisture. “Okay, you’ve freaked me out, dragged me in here. Time to spill.”

  A toilet flushes and Tim’s eyebrows double tap his brow as Marissa comes out. “What are you doing in here?”

  Her eyes widen a touch as she missteps. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Boys is broken,” I tell her.

  “You have better mirrors,” Tim says.

  Washing her hands, she glances at the mirror. “So true.”

  “Um, so I should get back to work,” I say, because this is awkward.

  “No, don’t.” Tim grasps my elbow.

  Shutting off the water, Marissa dries her hands with a smug look on her face. “I knew you were straight.”

  “What?” I say. Since he started working here Tim’s been clear about his sexuality. Mainly because Marissa hit on him a few times and he wanted her to understand that nothing would ever happen.