Trademarked: Bad Boys Need Love Too

by Misti Murphy

  Winding it around my middle, I tuck in the end as I join him in the hallway. “You know stuff... about stuff. About things that aren’t... This is awkward.”

  “Wow, this must be good.” He grins. “You’re almost pash rash red.”

  I slap his bicep. “Just listen.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t have any lube.” I shrug. “I didn’t expect to be getting it on in my childhood home.”

  “Wait, are you saying that Parker doesn’t get you raging wet?”

  “Of course he does. That’s not... I’m talking about other stuff. What else can I use?”

  Tim shakes his head, thoroughly amused. “I’ve got you, Breezy. Be back in a minute.”

  I retreat to the bedroom and a couple minutes later Tim’s back with a tube of lubricant, which he hands to me.

  “You carry this around?” I stare at the label.

  “Uh. No. This is your brother’s.”

  “Oh. Gross.” I thrust the bottle back at him.

  “Don’t be such a prude,” he says, refusing to take it back. “If it helps I gave the bottle a quick wash with soap in case you were worried about sex cooties.”

  I roll my gaze at him as he turns and walks down the hallway.

  “Everything all right?” Parker asks groggily as I shut the door.

  I stare at the bottle in my hand. It might be a bad idea. Holding it behind me, I turn around. Parker’s laying on his back, his hands tucked behind his head, his muscular torso on display. His hot gaze is glued to me, and a small smile curls his lips. “Um, yes. That was Tim. He was letting me know Callan’s home, so he’s heading out.”

  His focus strays to my hands behind my back. “What have you got there?”

  “N-nothing.”

  “Really? Because it seems like you’re hiding something.”

  “It’s nothing. Really. It’s not important.”

  “Kind of looks like it might be important for you to be hiding it from me.”

  I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I can’t exactly hide the lube from him. When I put it down he’ll see. It’s obvious what it is. Releasing the oxygen from my lungs, I tread back to bed and reveal the palm-sized bottle. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Sitting up, he takes the bottle from my hand. “Lube?”

  “Uh, yep. I was thinking...remember that day when you bent me over your couch?”

  The lines at the bridge of his nose deepen as he glances from the bottle to me. “You were so sexy, so fucking hot. Having you like that almost melted my brain.”

  “You told me you wanted to do very bad things to me.” A shiver wiggles down my spine, and I’m instantly wet. “And then you touched me.” My voice is barely a whisper. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. The intense dark pleasure that the pressure of one finger had summoned inside me. “You put your finger in my ass.”

  His fingers tighten around the bottle as his eyes smolder with recollection. “You want more, don’t you?”

  I kneel on the edge of the bed, butterflies dancing in my belly. “Yes. I think I do. I want to feel your touch everywhere. I want to do everything with you.”

  “Come here.” He drops the bottle onto the bed and pulls me onto his lap. Super cock stands to stiff attention and smacks its head against my thigh as though begging to be inside me. Both hands laced in my hair, he kisses me. “Are you sure?”

  “Am I sure? No.” I smile. I’m not scared like I was before we had sex the first time, but this is a different hole altogether. One that isn’t necessarily built to accommodate him. “But I want to.”

  “Christ,” he whispers against my throat. “I thought about it that day too. The way you told me not to stop touching you. Didn’t expect you’d want me to.” He pushes me onto the mattress, his body aligned with mine as his hands stroke my skin, waking up my need. “Didn’t think you’d let me have all of you.”

  My fingers travel the line that dissects his torso and then wrap around his shaft, pump it. “I want you to do very bad things to me, Parker.”

  “Trust me?” He murmurs against my breast as his fingers stroke between my legs.

  “Absolutely.” I arch under his gentle bite.

  “We can stop. If it’s too much. If you change your mind.” He presses on my clit, rubs it into a soft ache. Slides a finger inside me and leisurely strokes where it feels so good. “Say the word.”

  I nod while I run my hand up his shaft.

  Pulling his fingers from my pussy, he growls. “Hands and knees, babe.”

  I flip over onto my stomach. Nerves riot in my belly as I get on my hands and knees. Desire floods me too. Arousal makes my thighs slick, and a delicious naughtiness curls through my core.

  “This view,” he says, shifting onto his knees behind me. “I love this view. I wish you could see it.” He strokes and massages my ass, his fingers caressing, teasing, touching.

  “One thing,” I tell him over my shoulder. “I’m not sure you should talk to my ass. It might be weird.”

  “Okay, got it.” Pressing a kiss to one cheek, he delivers a light spank to the other while he traces my seam with his fingers. He settles one digit against my clit, his movements measured, deliberate, and drawing an ache for more from deep inside me.

  My hips roll with each swirl of his finger, seeking more of him. Needing to bridge any distance between us. “Please, Parker.”

  Reaching between us he wraps a hand around his cock and strokes the crown over my slit, before easing inside me. God, that’s it. This is what I need. Parker making love to me. His body on mine. In mine. Moving as one. The pleasure of being so close to him after having to go without him. He gathers me into his arms, pulling me against his chest as he thrusts maddeningly slow. I’m so close already.

  His fingers splay across my throat and he tilts my head to the side, his lips seeking mine greedily. “Want more, babe?”

  “Yes.” I moan, falling back onto my hands and knees as though my body has a mind of its own. A very eager mind that can only think about pleasure.

  Squirting some of the lube onto his fingers he rubs them together to warm it up before stroking over my asshole. I buck to his touch with a whimper. Wanting more. The pressure of his fingers circling my clit is a steady thrum of pleasure in my veins. His thumb settles against that spot that hasn’t been touched by more than his pinkie and massages slowly before easing gently in. Dropping my head, I squeeze my eyes shut as the sensation soaks me. My thighs quiver. I could come from his touch.

  His lips leave a warm trail along my spine as he pulls out and takes his thumb away at the same time, leaving me suddenly empty. He squeezes more lube into his palm and spreads it over his shaft in slow strokes as he says, “Touch yourself for me.”

  I ease my fingers between my legs and roll them around my swollen clit. Spots dance in front of my eyes, but I don’t give in to the pleasure. I want this. I want him. Everywhere. Knowing I’ve given every part of me to him and that he’s taken each piece of me and branded me as his.

  His powerful thighs align with mine as he rocks into me once more before slipping from my pussy and notching the fat head of his cock against my ass. I push back almost immediately, but he grips my hips and rolls gently against me. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “I want it,” I say.

  He groans; this twisted, needy, animalistic sound that screams of desire as his cockhead breaches my asshole. The sensation is uncomfortable. There’s pressure. I can’t do this. I can’t take him. Not there. I mash my face into the sheets and end up with a mouth full of cottony Powerpuff Girl.

  “Babe, are you okay?” Behind me he stills. His hands stroke and soothe as they massage my hips and the small of my back. I’m so very full of him. Stretched tight. “You’re tensing up. It’ll be better if you relax. Or we can stop. We don’t have to do this.”

  “No. I want to.” The pressure is easing as I stretch to accommodate him, leaving in its place a pleasure that’s more intense than anyth
ing I’ve felt before. The urge to push back on him and have him fill me all the way is so strong.

  “You’re so tight,” he says through gritted teeth. He’s holding back so hard. Waiting for me to be ready for him.

  “More,” I whine.

  He takes his time. Inch by inch. Filling me up. Until he’s deep inside me. Strong arms wrap around me and pull me back against his chest as he starts to fuck me. Agile fingers tease my clit and stroke inside my pussy, causing me to grind into his palm. Sweet, hot pleasure swells through me, the force of it blinding. His mouth claims the side of my neck in a searing kiss. His lips vibrate along my skin, demanding I come for him. Hard.

  You bet your sweet cookie I do. Every time with Parker is better than the last, but I’ve never felt anything this heady before.

  “I love your super cock.” I orgasm, my body an earthquake. The electricity of my atoms going haywire and turning everything dark. My cookie clenching greedily around his fingers. The throb in my clit is the pulse rushing in my ears.

  Or maybe that’s the sound of him joining me. His hot seed filling me. The perfection of our bodies entwined like our hearts are.

  Sight. Sound. Colors. They come back to me as my orgasm fades. Parker slips carefully out of me and presses me back against the mattress. His lips whisper secrets against my own, using touch instead of words. “You have all of me too. My heart, my mind, my soul. Every beat, every thought, every breath is for you, babe.”

  ***

  I wake up to Sirius Black stretched out on top of me. He opens one eye as I jostle him with my movements, yawns widely and goes back to his cat nap. I push him gently onto the mattress beside me. Parker’s gone, but the sheet is not yet cool. I smile to myself as I notice his phone on my nightstand and his jacket over the end of my bed. My stomach grumbles as a savory aroma wafts through the house. Stumbling out of bed, I pull on a camisole and a pair of shorts before tossing my sex-knotted hair up into a messy bun and leaving the bedroom where I spent one of the best nights of my life. Even if it was on sheets covered with Powerpuff Girls.

  Callan stumbles into the hallway, pulling his shirt over his head. Eyes half closed, he grunts and rubs at his temples. “Morning. Is that bacon I smell?”

  “Smells like it.” I pass him on the way to the stairs. My legs are wobbly. Every muscle in my body is tender. “Thought it was you.”

  “Not me,” he says. “I just woke up. Tim’s one hell of a party animal.”

  “Yeah. He is.” I grin. The aroma of a fresh brew hits me. “Oh my God, I can smell coffee.”

  “Move it,” Callan says, shoving past me playfully. “I need some of that.”

  “Hands off my brew,” I yell at him.

  “There’s plenty for both of you.” Parker appears at the bottom of the steps, wiping his hands with a tea towel. “Bacon, eggs, and toast too.”

  “Hangover food,” Callan says.

  I hesitate mid-step and have to grip the rail. Sure they’ve met before, but Callan’s made no bones about his feelings for Parker. Except for last night when he and Tim encouraged me to see him. But is post sleepover sex bliss different? Is Callan going to be okay that Parker is making himself at home here? In my parent’s house? In my life? In my heart?

  Callan reaches the bottom step. Face to face with him, he reaches out to squeeze Parker’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’m starving.”

  I fly down the rest of the stairs and into Parker’s arms as Callan stalks through to the kitchen. He wraps me up securely and claims my mouth in a long, breathless kiss. He’s better than coffee. Oh my God, did I just think that? It’s true though. My whole body lights up from his kisses. The buzz I get from his love is way stronger than anything I could get from Arabica, or Robusta.

  “I think I’m making inroads with your brother.” He nuzzles my ear. “That’ll make it easier when we ask him to help move your furniture.”

  “What’s that?” Callan mumbles around a mouthful of eggs, his plate in one hand, the fork halfway to his mouth with another helping already. His brows flatten in an are you crazy gesture. “Are you moving in with him? Do you think that’s a good idea right now? You’re trending on Twitter.”

  “There might also be a guy hiding in your bushes out front.” Parker holds me tighter, reassuring me that he isn’t going to let go no matter how crazy it might get over the next few weeks, or how our relationship might be portrayed in the media, or how it might affect his fame.

  “I’m not moving in yet,” I tell Callan. “People knowing we’re together is new. It’s going to take time to get used to, and I need to find someone to take over the lease on my apartment.”

  “That’s good,” Callan says. “Smart. I taught you well, young Jedi.”

  “Star Wars references? You’re not allowed to hang out with Tim anymore,” I tell him.

  He grins widely, egg between his teeth. So gross. Brothers are gross. “That might be a problem. We’ve already made plans.”

  I roll my gaze at him. “Figures.”

  “What? You’re going to be busy anyway.” His gaze drifts from me to Parker and back again. “Spending all your time with your...” He swallows hard, like the eggs have congealed in his throat. He shakes his head, grins, and heads back to the kitchen, tossing over his shoulder, “Sorry, but there was no way I thought I’d actually have to call you her boyfriend. Or that I would almost, just about, like you.”

  “I’m taking that as he’ll help you move into my apartment,” Parker says. “Now we just have to find someone to rent yours. How do you think Sirius black will like being overlord of my place?”

  “You’re impatient.” I smile against his chest.

  “Maybe. But now that I’ve got you in my arms I plan on keeping you here. I can’t wait to share my entire life with you.” He lifts my chin and kisses the corner of my mouth. “I will wait because you need me to, but I don’t want to. If I had my way you would move in with me this afternoon. Weeks without you made it very clear how I mportant you are to me.”

  I smile, my heart a balloon full of glitter, close to bursting. The Sexiest Bad Boy, it turns out, is just a big softie. And he’s all mine.

  ***

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  PRICK TEASE EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  CLAIRE

  We have five weeks until the House to Haven charity ball where Henley and I will finally announce our engagement to the public. The whole thing will be televised, from the moment we make our annual speech with the engagement story woven through, to the minute we marry six months later.

  Of course I’ve been wearing the ring for the past week, but with how busy I’ve been organizing the annual ball that brings in forty percent of the funding it takes to run House to Haven, the media hasn’t noticed it yet.

  Letting myself into Henley’s house, I hang my handbag on a hook in the hallway, kick off my shoes and tread along the cherry oak floor, clutching the box of pamphlets he forgot to pick up from the post office. He’s been so stressed with all his media commitments, the least I can do is drop them off to him on my way to meet Olivia, my second in charge at House to Haven, for a pre-dinner meeting.

  Henley’s place is this gorgeous, old, three-story red brick house. It’s been in the family for generations, but his parents prefer to stay at their estate, so in seven months and one week I’ll be calling Travis House my home. It’ll be a huge change from my tiny apartment on the other side of town. “Henley are you home?”

  His voice trails out from the living room so I head in that direction. A series of rhythmic thumps and this weird uh, uh, uh noise gets louder as I draw closer. It kind of sounds like an injured animal, or maybe Henley’s moving furniture around and he’s man
aged to stub his toe on the couch. He sure sounds like a girl when he hurts himself.

  Rounding the corner, I notice a black, metal-studded stiletto lying against the skirting board. Adrenaline shoots through me. What the heck is going on? Is Henley some kind of a cross dresser? I’m not the type to judge people’s personal preferences, but if he’s keeping secrets from me… I drop the box, the pamphlets falling like so much confetti to the ground, as I stand in the archway to the living room.

  Well, the banging sound is, as I thought, furniture being moved around, but Henley hasn’t hurt himself. Although, by the face he’s making while some wannabe porn star bounces up and down on his naked lap, I can’t actually be certain he isn’t in pain. With her head thrown back like that, her bleached to death platinum blonde hair covers most of her skeletal frame, but I can see her hips rolling while she grinds against my fiancé. His hands are gripping her waist while he grunts, “Take it all, baby.”

  I can’t help myself. I just can’t. This should be the worst moment of my life. But when he says that, my first reaction is to laugh. It rolls up from my belly, this crazy gurgling sound.

  It’s all too ridiculous. Her obviously man-made tits bounce around like some incredibly bad remake of Baywatch while she makes those God awful uh, uh, uh sounds, drawing each one out until they become high-pitched squeals. This woman makes Pamela Anderson look classy.

  And Henley? Well, I don’t know which one of us is more surprised.

  “Shit.” He pushes wannabe Pamela off his lap in the midst of her grand performance and lurches toward me. “Claire, honey, this isn’t what it looks like.”

  I’m pretty sure it is. I can’t help but stare. I’m a virgin, so I don’t have first-hand experience with this side of things, but I’ve seen pictures on the Internet. I mean, they say that a man’s penis is supposed to be three times the length of his thumb, and Henley has long slender fingers, so it should be bigger, right? “It looks like two inches.”

  He blanches and cups a hand over his totally inadequate appendage as I spin on my heel and leave him to a woman who can bang him while keeping a straight face. Now that I’ve seen what I’d be working with, I certainly couldn’t.