Addicted to Mr Parks (The Parks Series #2)(73)

“I like everything. Your dirty mouth. Your fiery temper. Your ponytail. Your amber eyes. Your sexy, tight body…I could go on, but I’d rather devour your body. Is that all right?”

My face was a playful expression of shock. “You’re asking my permission?”

“What do you think?” He laughed, nuzzling into my neck and kissing at my collarbone before sliding into me. “You’re so special,” he whispered. I looked up into his green eyes. They were vivid, soft, and heavy with emotion as he invaded me sweetly, taking his time. What he saw looking up at him was his reason to exist. Similarly, I was looking at him the same way. I was addicted to him. To his sex. To his voice. His looks. His attitude. I was addicted to everything Wade Parks. When I was with him, butterflies took residence in my stomach. Fevered heat spots would scatter across my skin. My smile would widen, and my heart would pound. He was my addiction. I knew that for sure. What I also knew for sure was that he was an addiction I was never going to give up. Ever.

We began to unlock our hunger for one another, grinding at an equal pace, kissing intimately.

“You’re my favourite place,” he breathed. “Let me lose myself in you.”

“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else,” I told him as he consumed and captivated my place all night long.





Chapter

Twenty-Three





Morning came upon me in no time. The sun had replaced the rain, and there was the most handsome, stunning face lying next to me. Sharing the same pillow. Heaven.

“Morning, Princess.” He smiled, his eyes remaining closed.

“Shall I make breakfast?”

“No. I’ll make us breakfast.”

It was rather nice to have a man that never wanted his woman to do anything for him. Except maybe suck his cock and f*ck. But not the simple things like cooking, ironing clothes, domestic things. On the other hand, I liked to cook, and I would have loved to cook for Parks, but he would never let me. I was the woman, and he was the man, and the man took care of the woman. That was his silly theory.

“Stay in bed. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Can’t I—?”

My words were squashed by his finger on my lips. “No, you can’t.” Parks jumped off the bed and made his way out of the bedroom, strutting that firm, outstanding arse of his.

After a couple minutes of rest, I sprang up in bed, panicking. “Parks,” I called to him from the bed. I knew he could hear me, but he was choosing to ignore me. “Parks,” I yelled louder. Nothing. Then it hit me. He was so bloody difficult. “Wade,” I called, rolling my eyes, frustrated that he’d won.

“Yes?” He entered the room within a second and sexily leaned against the doorjamb.

“I have nothing to wear.”

His devilish smirk told me he knew all along. “I left your belongings in the car.”

I frowned. “Can I have something of yours to wear, then?” His shirt would be fine.

“No,” he said point-blank. “I want you naked.”

“Just give me a shirt.”

“No.” His green eyes were humouring me.

What? “Listen, I’m not strolling around this house bollock-naked.”

Parks perched on the edge of the bed, shaking his head at my comments. “Evelyn, unless I’m missing something, you don’t have a pair of bollocks.”

“Well, ‘vagina-naked’ doesn’t sound as good.” I grinned.

He uncharacteristically rolled his eyes. “Nothing that involves you using crude words sounds good.”

Crossing my arms, I acted offended. “I do not use crude words.”

Parks laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Tell me some.” I pouted.

“I would if I wanted to spend the next couple of hours doing just that, but I would rather spend it having breakfast with my naked girlfriend.”

“Your bullock-naked girlfriend,” I pointed out annoyingly, which seemed to do the trick.

“Evelyn,” he said my name exasperated, dropping his head. “Go put on one of my shirts.”

“See, that wasn’t hard.”

He left me in the bedroom so he could go tend to breakfast. I brushed my teeth quickly—using his toothbrush—washed my face, combed my hair, and pulled on one of his shirts.

Making my way into the kitchen, I heard the song “Ordinary Love” by U2, and Parks was humming to it. Watching a control freak not be so freakish made me smile. He looked relaxed, carefree, as he made breakfast at the oven with the windows wide open in front of him looking out at the sea and letting the sun shine in.

Parks must have felt my presence, because he turned, leaning back against the counter. His hair was a dark, dishevelled delight, sexily falling across his forehead. His body looked the ultimate male model in black boxers, and his greedy gaze leisurely roamed over my body.


“Ready for breakfast?”

I couldn’t help but fall weak at the knees when he flashed me a wide, adorable smile.

“Hmm.” Humming my appreciation, I slid down into the chair Parks pulled out from the table for me. Already on the table was orange juice, watermelon juice, fruit salads, and yogurt with berries and muesli.

“Don’t panic, that’s for me. I have yours cooking.”