Parker's Passion (5 page)

And hell. Yes. Her nose wrinkled.

But she didn’t run.

She touched him. She touched his scars—mottled and discolored and ugly—thumbing them gently. “Hmm,” she said, turning away to open the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and soaking the gauze with it. She met his gaze saying, “This will be cold,” before daubing it on his cut.

He flinched when she touched him.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Did that hurt?”

“No.” It didn’t hurt. But then, it wouldn’t.

Most of the nerves there were dead. The only place it burned was on the sides, where his scars weren’t quite so thick.

She gently dabbed at him, making sure to get the antiseptic over the whole cut. “I’m going to cover this, but I
need to wrap it around your waist,” she said. “It will be easier if you take off your shirt.”

God. No.

His belly was bad enough. But the rest of him?

“Kaitlin…”

“I need to do your arm too.”

“I can do my arm.”

She sent him a mocking pout. “Parker, let me help you. You helped me last night. It would be my honor to return the favor.”

God bless her. She
was so damn sincere and genuine. How could he explain?

“I don’t like taking off my shirt,” he said. Well, that didn’t explain much. Then again, it explained everything. “These scars…” He waved to his exposed stomach. Hell he could barely stand to look at it himself. He hated the way he looked. Had since he was five.

“Yes?”

He sucked in a breath, steeling his spine.
“I have them…all over.”

She set her hand on his knee. Her jaw went slack. Her eyes glazed over. “Wow,” she said after a long moment. She cleared her throat. “That must have hurt a lot.”

He cracked a grin. He did not know why. “Yes. Yes it did.”

“Okay. Now take off your shirt.”

“Kaitlin…”

“Just do it, Parker. Let me wrap this up and then you can put your armor back on.” This she said gently, with no discernible derision. It was horrifying how she seemed to see right through to his soul. Then again, it was comforting as well.

Which was probably why he did it…why he took the hem of his shirt in his hands and pulled it off. Exposing himself to another human—not in the medical profession—for the first time in years.

Chapter Five

Kaitlin forced her features into a blasé moue and got to work wrapping the long gauze around Parker’s abdomen, holding the bandage in place. What she’d seen in that moment of time, when he’d stared into her eyes, had devastated her.

Such pain. Such agony.

And the physical pain had been the very least of it. A mere twinge in a sea of anguish.

His chest was, indeed
, covered with scars. Old ones and newer ones. She understood now that flicker of pain she’d felt the first time they’d touched. That scorch of flames. He’d been burned, and burned badly. There were thick patches and other, funny colored spots where they’d done grafts. There were long incisions where some other procedures had been done. And God knew what else. One round puckered scar on his chest looked like a bullet wound. Kaitlin couldn’t help soothing her palm over the spots that glowed red in his aura, willing healing energy to seep down deep.

Whatever this was, it had happened long ago, but the pain still lingered.

It was difficult, being so close to him. Each time she wound the gauze around him she had to lean close, almost touching. It wasn’t a discomfort she was used to, that prickly sizzle of raw emotion. This was a different kind of sizzle. A craving.

He smelled wonderful, of aftershave and sweat. She wanted to
coil herself around him and hold on. But she couldn’t. First of all, she needed to finish bandaging him up.

Second of all, she could sense his embarrassment. He was uneasy, being so exposed. As she worked, she sent him
reassuring waves and felt his tension relax.

She turned her attention to his arm
, quickly cleaning and wrapping that gash. The scars covered his shoulders and traced down to his wrist on one arm and to the elbow on the other. Odd for a burn. As though the fire had been dribbled on him.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

He froze and glanced away. “Not much.”

“Not much?”

His lips tweaked. “Funny thing about burns. If they go deep enough, the nerves get fried too.”

“Hmm.” What could one say to that? “Lucky you.”

He caught her sarcasm and snorted a laugh. Then sobered. “I
was
lucky. They say if the flames had reached my hands or my face, I would probably have died.” He held up a broad palm. “More nerves here than on ninety percent of your body.” He shrugged. “Or something like that.”

“I did
n’t know that.” She quirked a grin. She was done and he wasn’t rushing to cover up. That was something. It spoke to his comfort with her, perhaps. She hoped.

“You learn a lot of handy medical tidbits when you spend a chunk of your life
as a kid in a burn ward.”

“How old were you?” She asked, though she already knew.
Young. Too young to suffer through such an experience. And the physical scarring was only the tip of the iceberg.

“
Five.”

She touched his hand. Not a light touch, but a full, warm clasp. “I am so sorry, Parker.”

He shrugged. One shoulder. “Thanks. It’s over.”

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

He still carried wounds—and not just those on his skin.

It was as though he stood on a desolate hill, stalwart and brave and absolutely alone. His isolation sheathed him. Caged him.

All of a sudden, s
he was suffused by the overpowering urge to ease his spirit, to relieve his solitude—if only for a moment. To show him the world was not a bleak wasteland. That he didn’t have to travel it alone.

She knew what he wanted. Knew what he needed.
She’d tasted his simmering desire. Felt it thrumming on the air.

And she wanted it too.

For the first time in her life, she wanted it too. She ached to taste him.

Slowly, she eased her hand up his thighs, over his hips. And she unsnapped his
jeans.

Parker froze. He stared at Kaitlin, this beautiful, incredibly alluring woman as she unfastened his jeans.
Unfastened his jeans.
Lust blazed through him. His pulse pounded painfully. His cock went on point.

Shit.

It had been tormenting, having her lean in, again and again, so close—her scent, her warmth surrounding him like a cloud as she wrapped his injury. He’d fisted the covers to keep from grabbing her and yanking her against him.

And now…this?

He should stop her. That’s what he should do. Grab her wrists and still her movements.

But he couldn’t.

It had been so long…and damn it, he wanted her.

She glanced up at him, a question in her eyes.

He opened his lips to tell her no, but that word didn’t come out. “Kaitlin,” he huffed, on a breath.

She took this as assent and stroked his hard length
through the cotton. A teasing trail. A shudder rocked him. God, it felt so good. A groan escaped from his throat. She rolled down his briefs. His cock bounded out and he frowned. She was far too delicate for such a rampant—

“Oh my,” she said. And she took him in her hands.

His vision blurred as she wrapped him in a warm fist and stroked. Delight danced up his spine. 

“Kaitlin…”

She dipped her head and her tongue peeped out. He held his breath as she neared. And
ah!
Bliss as a velvet softness stroked the tip of his cock, licking at the eye, lapping up a bead of cum.

She swirled it around the head and more
quakes claimed him. A snarl began at the base of his balls. Hell, he wasn’t going to last. He clenched his ass to hold back. Because, God, he wanted to last. He wanted
this
to last.

She murmured something
—he had no clue what it was because his ears were filled with the sound of his scudding heartbeat—but the vibration slid through him like a knife of pleasure.

Her lips parted and she drew him in, sucking at
the tip as she stroked him gently. She was tentative, untrained, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t. It was too fucking awesome. Perfect. She explored him with leisurely kisses and caresses, tracing the long bulging vein down to his nest and then nibbling her way back up. Each touch, each lick, each agonizing lap drove him deeper into insanity. But it was a delicious madness.

Edging higher, she took him deeper, burying his cock in her throat. Sensation scored him, his mind spun, his breath wheezed. And she sucked.

“Ah! God.” A warble.

Though he filled her mouth, he felt her smile. She began a slow sultry slide. Up
and down, up and down. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on it, taking it all in, memorizing it.

When her haphazard movements became too
excruciating to bear, he laced his fingers in her hair and guided her in a more satisfying rhythm. She seemed to understand what he was asking for, because once she caught the pace,
holy fuck
, once she caught the pace, she devastated him.

Moving faster, holding him more firmly, sucking harder, she worked him.

He should stop her, he thought as the snarl in his balls became a howl, when his body constricted and he felt the familiar harbingers of orgasm.

It was wrong to use her like this, to let her please him without giving anything back. To empty himself in her mouth.

But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t…

Her fingers fluttered over his thighs, over his belly, over his chest. She set her palms flat on him, this beautiful gir
l, and stroked his hideous scars—as though she didn’t care.

As though she didn’t see him as a freak. As ugly. As someone who really didn’t belong in this world.

He had yearned for this, yearned for such acceptance, his entire life.

It rose, the demanding beast
coiled in his belly. It rose, and roared. Unable to control himself, he held on to the back of her head and thrust into her mouth. She took him. All the way.

Her hands
drifted over his mottled skin, finding all his scars and loving them. And then, as though she knew, as though she felt his crisis approach, she encircled him. Intensified her barrage. Coaxed him to detonate.

It was blinding, the bliss. A hot white curtain fell, engulfing him in sensation, in an unaccountable
serenity. He shook, lunged, howled as he released.

And she took it all. She took everything.

Without hesitation.

He stared down at her as she continued to suck and swallow and consume his seed, his soul. Her eyes were closed, as though she was soaking it in as well. As though what he’d given her had pleased her.

No one had ever done that for him.

No one had ever accepted who he was—scars and all.

No one had ever embraced him in such a fashion.

When, finally she lifted her head, he yanked her up into his arms and kissed her.

Not the gentle sweet buss from last night. This was a frantic thing, but a thing of desperate thanks.

God help him. She was perfect.

He was lost.

She hadn’t expected him to kiss her like that.

Though she could tell from his frenzied reaction to her touch, from his moans and the rise of his
root chakra energy, he enjoyed what she’d done. And he’d come. Erupted into her mouth with a flood of salty, musky flavor, tinged as it was, by his pleasure.

It had been delicious.

She’d known she’d pleased him. But she hadn’t expected the kiss, the wave of raw gratitude.

When he pulled back, he didn’t say anything. He just
looked at her with his palm on her cheek, his thumb stroking her lips. His gaze was bold, brash, as though he could see to her soul. A sudden shyness suffused her.

“I…” She began cleaning up the papers and wrappers strewn on the bed. “I should go.”

“Kaitlin.”

She stilled
and met his eyes. “Yes, Parker?”

“Thank you.”

Her lips quirked up. “You’re welcome.”

“No. I mean…
thank you
.”

As she gaze
d at him she saw it. The depth of his appreciation. But she felt it too. For a short while, two very lonely souls hadn’t been so very alone.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

“I’m here all weekend,” she murmured. “I hope so. Thank you for saving the eagle.”

He gestured at his bandage, or perhaps to his groin. “Thank you for saving me.”

She slipped out of the
house the same way she’d come in and made her way back home. Astonishingly, no one was up when she pushed through the door. It seemed like a hundred years, a lifetime, had passed since she’d left this morning.

But the coffee was ready. She poured herself a cup and went to sit on the deck and watch the water. She tried to enjoy the view, the breeze
, the scent of pine wafting through the boughs, but she couldn’t. She was suffused with his scent. It filled her, saturated her.

Her body hummed for completion, pinged with an ache she didn’t understand—but did.

After a while Jamie padded down the stairs and joined her on the deck, which was nice. The distraction. They chatted about nonsense. Television shows and movies and an art auction she’d gone to recently. When Bella and Holt wandered into the kitchen, she and Jamie went inside and started talking about what they wanted for breakfast. They were debating between French toast and pancakes when Tara padded downstairs with a yawn.

“What do you want for breakfast
, Tara?” Bella asked.

Tara snorted. “I am not making breakfast.”

“Did I ask you to make breakfast?”

“I know you
, Bella. A question like that? In the morning? To a baker? It’s my day off.”

Bella looked at Holt. “I didn’t ask her to make breakfast, did I? I simply said, ‘What do you
want
for breakfast.’ Huge difference.”

Holt held up his hands and snorted a laugh. “Leave me out of this.”

“It’s Emily’s turn to cook, anyway,” Bella muttered.

Kaitlin fro
wned as something pinged in the back of her consciousness.

“Is it?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah. The last time we came, Kristi and I cooked.”

Tara wrinkled her nose. “I heard you made some weird tofu thing. Surely that doesn’t count.”

Bella blew out a breath. “
Jeese-o-frickin-peese
. I’m telling you. It’s Emily’s turn to cook!”

That something
pinged again. Kaitlin stilled and tried to focus on it. It grew. Her gut lurched.

Good gravy.

“Where is Emily?” Her tone must have carried her panic because everyone froze and glanced around the room.