Vintage Volume One

by Suzanne, Lisa

  “But why?”

  He looked away from me, squinting his eyes for a moment before answering. “Look, I don’t chase women. I’ve never needed to.”

  “So I’m a challenge?”

  He shook his head. “That’s not it. It’s this connection. I don’t get it. I felt it the second I first saw you.”

  “When was that?”

  He paused, his eyes glancing across the store. “You were folding shirts the night of our event here. The second I saw you, I was drawn to you. To your blue eyes. Eyes like ice. I want to warm them, to warm you. To your dark hair. Darker than night. And then that smile. Fuck, that smile lights up your whole beautiful face. The whole room. I can’t help but want to make you smile just to see that light.”

  I felt his words. They warmed over me, pushing me away from my doubt and right toward Parker’s arms.

  I grabbed my Coke, chugging down what was left in the cup to ward off the emotions I was feeling. I wished I had something stronger than Coke.

  “From that first night, Jimi, it was inexplicable. Still is, actually. You make me want to change. You make me want to stop doing the stupid shit I do. You make me want to explore what it means to be in a relationship. But I can’t do any of that without you.”

  “Okay,” I blurted out at the end of his spiel.

  “Okay?” He looked surprised.

  I nodded.

  “What does ‘okay’ even mean?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what I want. But I believe that you’re sincere.”

  “If you think I’m after you because you’re some challenge, or because of who your dad is, or because of some other reason, you’re dead wrong. I’m after you because I like you. You’re sexy. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re interesting.”

  “Go on,” I said, smiling.

  “Oh fuck. And there’s that smile.” He readjusted in his seat, making a big show of it and causing my smile to widen even more.

  I’d been called a lot of things in my life, but no one had ever pegged me as a person who lit up a room with my smile.

  It was something I needed to hear. Parker seemed to know what I needed, and that told me that we had the potential to be great together.

  I just had to figure out how to stop getting in my own way.

  “What time do you get off tonight?”

  “Eight again.”

  “I’ll be here before eight.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure. I spent six weeks on the road thinking about you. I’m not giving up now.”

  thirteen

  “You’ve got two minutes.” The voice came from behind me, and once again, I jumped.

  I whirled around. “You really need to stop sneaking up on me.”

  Parker pulled me in for a quick hug, kissing my temple in the process. “But that look of fear on your face is priceless. And then I get to pull you into my arms to make you feel better.”

  “You get your kicks from scaring ladies?”

  “Just you.”

  “Well stop. You keep this shit up, I’ll have a heart attack before my thirtieth birthday.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two. You?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “God, you’re old.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve always been partial to the young ones.”

  I liked that he was older than me. Damien had been almost the same age as me, and while I had never felt unsafe with him, I felt a lot better when Parker was around. I thought back to the night when Vinnie had confronted me in the break room. Parker had swooped in to save the day, immediately earning a piece of my trust despite the fact that I still had a hard time trusting his intentions.

  I finished straightening the rack of books I had been working on, and then I punched out. Parker walked me to my car.

  He slammed me up against the driver’s door, his body pressed against mine.

  A tingle of fear ran through me, but after our conversation at the café earlier that day, I pushed that fear out of my mind. He cared about me. I believed his sincerity.

  His lips found my neck again. I was dazed with need for him, crazy with lust. After our non-kiss the night before and his confessions during my lunch break earlier that day, I needed him. I needed him to kiss me. I needed him to fuck me.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, his voice gruff and low against the sensitive flesh of my neck. “Because I need to get you the fuck alone. Now.”

  “My place,” I said without thinking. It didn’t matter if I was ready to bring him there. I wanted him, and he wanted me. This was going to happen, and my place meant it was on my terms. “Take the ten to Overland and follow me from the exit.”

  “Text me your address.”

  I pulled out my phone, and he grabbed it from me, programming in his number.

  I sent the text, not even realizing in my lust that I was giving him my number.

  After those six long weeks of resistance, I gave it up to him so easily. Too easily.

  But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like we were going to my house to play checkers.

  It took about twenty-five minutes to get to my place from the store. I pulled onto my street into my usual spot. Parker pulled in behind me and was out of his car and beside my door before I’d even finished gathering my purse from the passenger seat.

  He opened my door for me and held out a hand to help me out of the car. Gallant for a self-proclaimed asshole.

  We walked in silence to the door of my building. I unlocked the front door, and then we took the stairs up to my second floor condo. I opened the door and flicked on the light, leading him in and closing the door behind him. I locked it while he looked around, surprise touching his dark features.

  “I pictured a lot less white.”

  I shrugged, looking around. My walls were barren. I liked the clean white. I liked the fact that a person couldn’t just walk into my home and define who I was based on what colors my walls were or what pictures I hung on them.

  “I hate decorating.”

  “You just seem more… red than white. Maybe rust.”

  “Rust? Did you just say I seem like rust?”

  “Do you know what that color means?”

  “Colors mean nothing.”

  “That’s not true. Colors are symbolic.”

  I tossed my keys on the counter and set my purse next to it before turning back in his direction, taking one step closer to him. “Symbolic like frozen yogurt flavors?”

  He shot me a look.

  “Okay, so what does black mean, then?”

  He cast a glance in my direction. “It means a lot of things. Protection. Seduction. Authority. Secrets. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve only ever seen you wearing black.”

  He nodded once. “Rust means lust and corruption.”

  “You see me as lust and corruption?”

  He took a step toward me. “I definitely see you as lust,” he said, reaching out to run his fingertips down my cheek. I shivered at his touch, and he noticed. I backed up, bumping into the counter where I’d set my purse.

  He moved in another step, trapping me.

  I felt him consuming me, surrounding me the same way he’d consumed my thoughts since the first moment I’d met him. Each passing day only caused my obsession for him to grow, whether or not we were together. And having him here, in this space, in this place where I lived, where he’d be able to strip away the guard I kept around myself, was dangerous.

  The last time I’d let down my guard, everything had been taken from me.

  “And corruption?” I asked, my voice rushing out in a soft whisper.

  “Oh, Jimi. You’re definitely going to corrupt me. I think you already have. And I’m going to corrupt the shit out of you tonight.”

  All the breath squeezed out of my lungs at his carnal promise, and then he lowered his head as he moved in close to me.

  My breath caught
in my throat as the anticipation of his mouth on mine caught up with me. I’d waited for this moment, wanted it since that first night when I’d met him at Vintage.

  And it was finally time.

  His lips pressed against mine, firm and assured, and then his mouth opened, his tongue meeting mine confidently.

  His kiss was full of arrogance, the same arrogance he walked around with every day. Normally I’d view a guy like him as a total douchebag, yet he just wasn’t.

  I felt the pressure of his hips coming toward me again. The edge of the counter was hard behind me, digging into my back, but I couldn’t feel it with the tingling sensations exploding in my body.

  His mouth didn’t leave mine as one of his hands balanced on the counter beside me and the other hand came up to grab my breast. He was rough with me, his kiss demanding as his hips continued to assault my own.

  Both of his hands came under my ass suddenly, lifting me onto the counter. I spread my legs as he stepped between them, his tongue still dancing erotically against mine.

  I’d never kissed a man like him before.

  I’d never felt so alive.

  He was kissing me with this intensity, this passion, this force that proved to me that he was feeling the same things I was. His lips battered mine, yet his movements were sensual. He wasn’t gentle, yet there was an obvious tenderness to his actions.

  A fusion of emotions attacked me: desire, excitement, lust, apprehension, joy, fear.

  My hands moved between us, cupping his cock through his jeans in my hands. He was rock hard for me, and I wanted him inside of me, moving in me, pushing me into an orgasm unlike any other I’d felt in my life.

  He growled into me, a feral, sexual, masculine sound that lit my blood on fire. He reached between us and grabbed my hand, halting my progress and pulling away from me.

  The kiss stopped.

  Everything stopped.

  My heart included.

  “What’s wrong?” I murmured.

  His eyes studied my face for a moment. I felt flushed, my lips swollen from his kiss. I saw all sorts of emotions cross through his eyes, none of which I could name in the daze he’d sent me into with that kiss. “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he finally said.

  He stepped away from me and walked into my family room, glancing around. I jumped from my perch on the counter, following him.

  I had a sectional couch. I had a nice entertainment set-up that I hardly ever used, preferring silence to the television running constantly in the background. I had a couple of sitting chairs, one of which I tended to fall into after work most nights with a book.

  He froze when he saw his hat sitting on my coffee table.

  “I figured you got rid of that.” His voice had a touch of disbelief to it.

  “How could I get rid of the one thing I have that belongs to you?”

  He muttered something under his breath, but I didn’t quite catch it.

  He reached under his shirt and unbuckled his belt, pulling it off slowly, meticulously.

  “Come here,” he demanded.

  I complied.

  “Hold out your hands.” I did, and he pulled both of my arms, somehow swinging me around so my hands were together behind my back. He wrapped his belt around my wrists tightly, buckling the belt so my hands were bound together behind me.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Keeping your hands off of me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have never been this hard before in my life, and if you fucking touch me, I’m not going to be able to corrupt the shit out of you like I promised.”

  I chuckled. “You could’ve just told me not to touch you.”

  He moved in close to me. “Don’t talk back.” His voice took on a hard edge, and suddenly I was a little more nervous than I’d been a few moments before.

  I didn’t know him. At all. And he was binding my hands behind my back in my own home.

  Danger signaled in my head, but lust was much louder.

  He stalked toward me, and I backed up, stumbling a bit until I felt the couch hit behind my knees. I sat, uncomfortable with my hands behind me, anxious about what was coming next, what he had planned for me.

  Despite the fear stirring in my abdomen, I wanted this. I wanted him. The fear of the unknown only ignited that desire.

  He knelt, nudging his way in between my knees. He shoved my shirt up so that the hem was above my chest. He eyed my breasts covered in a lacy black bra with greed. I wanted to touch him, to pull him into me, to kiss him like he’d kissed me with all of that fire back in the kitchen, but the switch had been flipped.

  He eyed the ink that wrapped from my back around my torso with curiosity. He looked like he wanted to ask a question, like he wanted me to turn around so he could see the rest of it, but he let it go.

  He leaned forward, his lips finding my chest as he placed open-mouthed kisses between my breasts, leaving a white hot trail of fire as the scruff on his chin scratched against my soft skin. He licked the ink that wrapped around my side before he continued his way down my body.

  He moaned as he kissed my stomach, lowering himself to the top of my jeans. He unfastened the button and yanked down the zipper, and then he reached around me and pulled my jeans down with my panties, pushing them to my ankles. I was still wearing my shoes, I realized absently.

  He was eye-level with my thighs, and he looked up at my face, his eyes meeting mine. He pressed my knees open wider so my pink flesh was exposed to him.

  The danger he held in his eyes almost gave me my first orgasm of the night.

  It had been awhile since I’d had sex, since I’d been pleasured by someone other than myself, since I’d had a man’s attention focused on me.

  Parker was most definitely the right choice to reintroduce me to this fantastic world.

  His face charged toward my pussy without preamble. He pushed two fingers into me as he licked his way through me, sucking and biting as his fingers plunged punishingly into me.

  I came apart. I lasted all of thirty seconds before I shattered under him, unable to pull him to me like I wanted to do since my hands were bound behind me.

  I felt a tear fall from the corner of my eye once my legs stopped shaking, the force of the pleasure causing my eyes to water. Parker kissed his way back up my abdomen, kissing away the lone tear in a gentle display that was so at odds with what he’d just done. His eyes met mine briefly before his mouth pressed against mine once more. The tang of my own flavor bit at my taste buds as his tongue charged forcefully back into my mouth.

  He pulled back. “You taste that?” he asked, his voice a whisper.

  I nodded.

  “So fucking sweet,” he said, and then his mouth was back on mine.

  He kissed me for minutes or hours, I’m not sure. I’d been with a few men before, but never any as rough or demanding as Parker.

  “On your knees,” he demanded, pulling his mouth from mine.

  I complied, not sure what else I could do.

  Not wanting to do anything else.

  Not wanting to displease him.

  He unzipped his black jeans and lowered them a few inches. He pulled his cock out from his boxers and stroked it a few times. If I’d pictured it a hundred different ways, none did justice to the real image in front of me.

  His body was chiseled, and his cock was perfect.

  My mouth watered in hot anticipation at the gorgeous sight before me.

  I craved it. I craved Parker, and I wanted to please him the way he’d just done to me.

  “Open your mouth,” he said. I did. He ran his fingertips down my cheek again, from my temple down to my chin. It was one of his moves, I’d noticed, a way for him to show a softer side before he was about to do something rough.

  And I liked rough with Parker.

  He stepped toward me. My hands dangled behind me, still bound. I wasn’t sure how to do this without my hands.

  “You look fucking gorgeous
like that,” he said softly. I tried to imagine what I looked like from his point of view.

  On my knees.

  Hands bound behind me.

  Mouth open, waiting.

  Shirt pushed up to my chest, bra still on, pants around my ankles.

  My long, straight, almost black hair messy, unable to brush it away from my face.

  He gazed down at me for a few quiet seconds, a soft sigh releasing from his chest, and then he grabbed the back of my head with his hand as he pushed his cock into my waiting mouth. I wasn’t expecting him to push in so quickly. I immediately closed my lips around him, trying to create friction between us. But he kept pushing in rather than pulling out. I opened my throat as I felt his length sliding down. I tried to move my head back, tried to get him to thrust back, but he wouldn’t budge. I breathed noisily through my nose.

  Fear started pounding in my brain, filtering down to my eyes, my ears, my chest. My heart palpitated. I felt my hands shaking behind me, my knees shaking beneath me.

  “Relax,” he growled, and I did, following yet another of his commands.

  He finally pulled back, and I sucked in some air.

  “Again.” He pushed back into me, but this time I was prepared.

  His hand found the back of my head as he slid down my throat again, a shudder quaking through him as he pulled back and I rounded my lips around him.

  “Perfect. Exactly like that.”

  He thrust in and out of my mouth a few more times before he pulled out completely.

  He walked behind me and pushed my shoulders so that I tipped forward. He gentled my fall, and I turned my head so my cheek met my carpet. He yanked hard on the hands bound behind me, and then he pulled my hips up so that my ass was perched in the air.

  “Do you like being tied up? Do you like being at my mercy?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, shame filling me at my admission.

  I fucking loved it.

  I fucking loved the shudder that ran through him because of what I was doing to him with my mouth. I fucking loved the sounds he made as he growled with pleasure.

  A dark, twisted part of me loved the panic he created in me, and then the utter relief when he destroyed that panic.

  I felt him remove my shoes and then my pants. My shirt covered my back, and I was glad. I wasn’t ready to show him my tattoos yet. It seemed somehow more intimate than the actual act of what we were doing. I heard some additional rustling, probably as he stepped out of his own clothes, and I heard the familiar tear of a foil wrapper.