Found in Us

by Layla Hagen

  "Hello, stranger, how's Copenhagen?" I ask, referring to the last city he's going to on his trip before he returns on Sunday.

  "Wouldn't know. Just landed at Heathrow."

  "You're back early? Why?"

  He laughs softly into the phone. "I was expecting a bit of excitement, not an interrogation."

  "I am excited. I didn't expect it."

  "I decided to let my assistant deal with Copenhagen. Thought of a more fun way to spend the weekend."

  "Mmm, and what would that be? Staring at spreadsheets and reports in your office?"

  "How about I tell you over dinner? I made reservations at a place that opened last week. I'm sure you're going to love it."

  I eye the bags of groceries lying on the kitchen table. "Why don't you come here and I'll make dinner? I just bought enough food to feed half a dozen people."

  "I've got a better idea. I'll pick you up and we'll go to my place. There better be no roommates for what I have in mind for dessert."

  "Your place?"

  "Yeah. I assure you the kitchen has top-notch appliances."

  "You tested them yourself?" I ask, amused.

  "I'm offended. What would a CEO be doing in his own kitchen?"

  "Shut up." I laugh. "And pick me up in ninety minutes." I spend the next half hour trying on dress after dress, until I settle on a red, knee-length, tight dress with long sleeves. It hugs my curves just fine, accentuating my waist and my hips. I pair the dress with some decently high black heels. I style my hair in loose curls, then proceed to apply black eyeliner and eye shadow. I smile after I’m done. I’ve always been somewhat of an expert at creating smoky eyes. It’s my favorite style of makeup. I like the way it makes my blue eyes stand out.

  When I walk outside the building, I find Parker pulled up right in front, standing outside his car. I slow down my pace as I take him in. Every inch of him oozes sex appeal. The messed-up, dark blond hair, so different from his otherwise impeccable appearance. Some would say it needs trimming, but I like it this way. It frames his strong jawline and blue eyes. Under the jacket of his sleek suit, I can make out the contour of his sculpted chest. I smile. The outside world can guess what's under the surface, but I know for sure. The evening air chills me, and I pull my trench coat tighter around me. With an effortless swing, Parker removes the grocery bags from my hands and pins me against the car as his lips meet mine in a fierce clash. Claiming my mouth, his tongue darts inside with passionate, rhythmic moves that make me think of a more intimate dance that moves to the same rhythm.

  "Someone missed me," I whisper, grinding against his erection.

  "You have no idea how much," he growls. "You look so beautiful. Let's get in the car or any neighbor looking out the window will witness a show he's not likely to forget."

  "Sounds tempting," I tease, but get inside the car.

  "I brought you something," he says as we drive away. You have three tries to guess what."

  My heart skips a beat as he shows me a rectangular box. I take the box with a blue ribbon around it from his hand.

  "Thank you," I say. I try not to read too much into his gesture. He probably instructed his assistant to buy me something. Still, the fact that he thought about bringing me something at all tugs at my heartstrings in a dangerous way. Men have never been that considerate with me. "Let me guess," I say, staring at the box intently. A man of his status is most likely used to buying jewelry. But the box is a tad too large and too high for that.

  Still, I give it a try. "Jewelry?"

  Parker scoffs. "I didn't buy you jewelry. I bought something I thought you'd appreciate more."

  "Hmm, oh God," I exclaim, as a thought strikes me, "did you buy me a . . . toy?" My cheeks catch fire.

  "A toy"—Parker frowns—"as in a teddy bear?"

  "Come on, Parker, you really want me to spell it out?"

  "Yes, I am thoroughly confused," he says with a smirk that tells me he knows exactly what I mean. "And unless you spell out exactly what is in there it doesn't count as guessing."

  "I meant a vibrator."

  Parker bursts out laughing, more heartfelt than I've ever heard him.

  "You were mocking me." I cross my arms, feigning to be mad at him, though I can barely keep a straight face.

  "No, it was just too good an opportunity for fun to let it pass. But I'll keep it in mind for my next trip."

  "I'm done guessing," I say.

  "Not fair. And I'm dying to hear what’s on that dirty little mind of yours."

  I undo the ribbon and open it. And then my jaw drops. "You—I can't believe it. You brought me some Tarte Tatin?"

  "Yes," he says proudly.

  "That's every cooking addict's dream. How did you know I'd want something like this?"

  "I had my assistant research to find out what French dish would most appeal to a hobby chef."

  If he didn't look dead serious, I'd be convinced he's humoring me. "Wait, you seriously did that?"

  "Yeah."

  "You're . . . thorough," I say, stunned.

  "Always. What did you expect?"

  "Oh my God, this is heaven in a box," I say, eating one of the two pieces of pie. It's a caramelized apple tart baked upside down. The feeling of bliss isn't just due to the food, though. He wouldn't go to these lengths if I weren’t important to him, would he?

  "I'm curious, what would you call a vibrator? Battery-operated heaven?"

  I elbow him. "Shut up."

  "You aren't eating the second one?"

  "No way. I'm taking it home to study it. I tried to bake this a few times, with disappointing results."

  "I'm guessing my performances last week were also disappointing since you were so eager for a vibrator." He smirks as I blush.

  "No, it's not that at all. I have one anyway. I mean—”

  I stop as Parker starts laughing again.

  "What?" Parker asks, and I realize I've been staring at him.

  "Nothing. I like to see you laugh. You look younger. You should try it more often."

  "Not many people can bring this out in me. But you can. And I'd like you to do it as often as you can."

  My heart skips a beat.

  I put the box on the back seat. There are a million things I wanted to ask him about his trip. He went to Paris and Barcelona, two cities I’m dying to see. But the lightning-quick beats of my heart somehow seem to drive away any thought of those cities. One glance at the growing bulge in Parker's pants, and thoughts about anything else except one thing vanish for good.

  "A penny for your thoughts?" I ask mockingly.

  There's a pause, and when Parker speaks again, his voice has a rough edge to it that sends delicious shivers through my belly. "They're only worth that much to you, huh? You'll have to offer more than that."

  "Tell me and maybe I'll consider it."

  "If you insist," Parker says, and though he resumes a serious demeanor, there's still a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Why was your first thought that I bought you a vibrator?"

  "Hmm, let's see . . . maybe because of all the sexting we did this week?"

  "Did you use a vibrator while we were doing it?"

  "No."

  "How did you pleasure yourself, Jessica?" he asks, and I shudder at the roughness in his voice.

  I sink in my seat, my face suddenly really, really hot. "With my hands," I whisper, staring at the wheel.

  "Show me," he growls. "Touch yourself."

  An electrifying jolt wracks me, heating up every part of my body. One in particular.

  "So you didn't want my neighbors to witness something that might give them interesting dreams, but you're okay with everyone driving around us watching?"

  "There are barely any cars on this road, and they won’t see what’s going on. Do it. I want to see you pleasure yourself, Jessica."

  I sink in my seat, the tips of my fingers prickling as I push the fabric of my red dress up my thighs.

  "Like this?" I tease, running my fingers up and dow
n a thigh.

  "Lower," he commands.

  "You are demanding, aren't you?"

  "Now."

  The commanding tone in his voice is just as arousing as the idea of touching myself. I let my hand slide inside my panties, when he says, "Get rid of your knickers. I want to see."

  I oblige, taking my time to roll them down my legs, enjoying how his breaths are becoming increasingly sharper and heavier. It gives me a sense of elation and power.

  But I don't touch my core right away. I keep one hand on my inner thigh and run the other one up to my breasts, feeling my nipples harden in my bra under my dress, throbbing to escape. Throbbing for his touch. My skin burns for him.

  I am slick with wetness already when I finally touch myself intimately, and when I start circling my clit, I arch my back as waves of pleasure start spreading through me. I did this quite a few times this week, especially when his messages reached a level of hotness that had me aching for him. But touching myself under his gaze makes the tingles inside me a thousand times more intense. No man I've been with wanted things like this. But Parker is offering me a freedom that others tried to restrain. Pushing me even further than I would have imagined. First, the opera. Now this.

  "Parker," I gasp, as the unbearable tension transforms in shivers of anticipation.

  "That's it. Make yourself come."

  "Touch me," I whisper.

  "You're not the one commanding here."

  "Touch me," I beg, closing my eyes as I increase the rhythm of my fingers around my clit. When I'm on the verge of my release, I feel Parker thrusting two fingers inside me, curving them to touch that sweet spot that sends me into overdrive. I swing up my hips, pushing against his fingers while circling my tender spot.

  "Come, Jessica," he says. His words undo me like nothing else, and in one brutal second, an inferno of pleasure overtakes my body, and I'm left writhing and gasping out his name.

  My body still shaking, I put my panties back on. Damn. They’re soaked. And their touch on my sensitive skin makes me want Parker. The car takes an abrupt turn to the left, and it suddenly becomes dark. I sit up straight, swaying a little. We're entering an underground parking lot. This can't be where Parker lives though. It's just a parking lot.

  "What are you doing?" I ask.

  "Trying to avoid crashing, because I'm so hard I can barely concentrate on the road."

  Oh.

  He drives to the lowest level of the parking lot, where there are hardly any cars. He pulls over in the least illuminated part of the lot and turns off the engine. I swallow hard, my heart rate picking up speed again. There is so much sexual tension in the air it's almost like a fog.

  "Come here," Parker commands in a hoarse voice. He doesn't say anything more explicit, but there's no need. In a few swift moves, I leap from my seat and straddle him, seating myself in his lap. Our mouths crash into one another with desperate need. His tongue darts inside my mouth, joining my own in a dance that tells of lust and need and craving. Parker pushes the seat farther back and then grabs my thighs, his fingers grazing my skin, as if he can't get enough of me.

  Good.

  Because I can't get enough of him, either. Though I found my release not five minutes ago, my intimate spot pulsates again at being this close to him.

  "That's it," he murmurs, nuzzling my neck with his lips. Parker lets out a deep, hoarse sound when I press my soaked panties against the hard bulge confined beneath his pants. It's my turn to succumb to moans when he strokes the wet fabric of my panties with his fingers. I guess I shouldn’t have bothered to put them back on.

  "You're so responsive, Jessica," he says, caressing my swollen flesh with one hand, and seeking my breasts with the other. I don't know when he undoes my bra, but suddenly my hardened nipples are exposed. His mouth covers one of my nipples, swiping his tongue across it until my legs wobble and then he removes the panties.

  "Parker...," I whisper, fumbling with the zipper of his pants. Parker hands me a condom, and I roll it on. I palm his throbbing erection, and place his wide tip at my entrance. Feeling his tip on my swollen flesh almost sends me over the edge. But I don't slide onto him right away. No, I take my time, teasing him like he's done with me in other instances.

  "You like this, don't you? Being in control." His voice shakes despite the playful tone.

  "For someone so used to being in control, you seem to be enjoying it, too," I whisper, sliding his tip in.

  "I do with you." His lips find mine again, and he starts tugging at my lower lip as I ease myself onto him, taking him inside inch by inch, enjoying the feeling of being whole again. Every cell in my body is ignited as I start moving, taking him deeper and deeper inside me. Spasms of pleasure ripple through me, and my pussy clenches around his cock as I increase my rhythm, desperate for more pleasure. Parker grips my ass with his fingers, guiding me in my frantic search for a release. I tug at his hair, pulling his head closer to me. But nothing is close enough. Nothing is fast enough.

  I let out an unrecognizable sound as tension slams through me and I rock my hips forward into him. In my frenzy, I see Parker jerk his head back, an animalistic groan resounding from deep inside him. He finds his own release as I surrender to him.

  Afterward, I cuddle against him, resting my head at the nape of his neck. He puts his arms around me, hugging me tightly to his chest.

  "You okay?" he whispers, playing with my hair.

  "Perfect."

  I missed this. Him. His scent, his kisses, the way he makes me feel. I missed the ardor of his lips and the warmth of his arms around me. I don't want this to be just for now. I can only hope Parker doesn't, either.

  It takes forever for us to cross the city. London, as usual, is buzzing with traffic, even in the late hours of the evening. I look out the window, the energy from my explosive release still pulsing in my veins. I love the vibrancy of this city: the bright lights everywhere, the rush of people. When I came to London for the interview, it was love at first sight. I never wanted to leave. The time I had to spend in California until my graduation seemed like one giant drag. I couldn't wait to come back here and make London my permanent home. I look out the window and realize we have left downtown behind. The lights are less bright, the cars fewer in number. We enter one of London's most expensive residential areas, which doesn't surprise me. I always assumed Parker lives somewhere expensive. What does surprise me, as he pulls the car in front of one of the houses, is the enormous size of his house. Built entirely with the red bricks I've come to associate with Brits, the house is three stories high and so large that four families could comfortably live inside.

  Despite my coat, I shiver when I get out of the car.

  "Here," Parker says, taking off his jacket and putting it on my shoulders.

  I pull it tighter around me, inhaling the smell emanating from it—the scent of him. I scrutinize my surroundings: a neat garden with grass trimmed to perfection and roses lined up on either side of the patio. All in all a nice but rather small garden, so I assume the largest portion of it lies behind the back of the house.

  Parker unlocks the door, pushing it open, and as I step inside, he curls an arm around my waist, his lips touching my ear. “I’m glad you came here tonight.”

  A vision of us rolling on what looks like freshly polished parquet invades my mind. Followed by another vision—of him flattening me against the wall between two paintings, which I'm one hundred percent sure are painted by Monet, and which I'll make sure to inspect later. Damn, this man can get me dripping wet just by talking, even though we were together not half an hour ago. Parker lets me go, taking his jacket off my shoulders and putting it on the hanger. Disappointed, I undo my coat and throw it on the hanger as well. Carelessly, of course, so it slides away, falling on the parquet.

  Parker bends to pick it up. I get a good view of his rear in the process, which does nothing to calm my hunger for him. He's a damn good sight. In a suit and out of it. He hangs my coat properly, smoothing a few cre
ases in it.

  "I love these paintings," I say.

  "London, paintings, food, toys." He smiles.

  I put my hands on my hips, shrugging. "I love lots of things."

  His smile widens. "I can see that. I don't think I've ever known anyone more in love with . . . life than you are."

  "Okay," I say, slightly taken aback by his line. I start inspecting the paintings. The mix of swirling colors captivates me, and I gaze at them, mesmerized as I always am when I have a painting in front of me.

  "Monet," Parker says, confirming my thoughts. "There are two more of his paintings in the library. I'll show them to you later on, let's go to the kitchen for now. Don't know about you, but I'm starving," he says, glancing at the bags of groceries.

  I trail alongside him, taking in my surroundings. From the flawlessly arranged art pieces on the tables, to the lush, expensive carpets, there isn't one object that is anything short of perfectly polished or even slightly misplaced. And while I have no doubt that Parker has an army of housekeepers doing the cleaning, this tells me he's a man who likes to have everything in order. There is no place for chaos in Parker's life. How can there be a place for someone whose life has always been governed by chaos, like me?

  "You live here on your own?" I ask.

  "Yeah, I bought this a few months ago, had it refurbished, and only moved in about one month ago."

  "Why didn't you buy a smaller one?"

  "I wanted this one. It's the house I grew up in. We lived here until I was eight. Afterward my mother sold the house, but I always wanted to move back here. When I saw it was up for sale I bought it immediately. The previous owner changed all the furniture except the things in my dad's study. It looks exactly the way it did when we used to live here. There's something really special about returning to live in the place where you grew up, don't you think?"

  In truth, I don't. If there is one place I wouldn't ever want to set foot in again, it's my parents' house. Ever since I moved out for college, I've done a good job avoiding it most of the time. I only went for Thanksgiving and Christmas, not able to find it in myself to break my mom's heart by not showing up on either of those days.