abs tighten and strain, he kind of forgot to care.
Over the music Garrett heard her repeated use of the word "fuck" and "ass" and knew there was only one person she could be referring to.
"You're pathetic in your own way," Parker yelled along with the music as she upper-cut the bag, dropped low to the ground, swept one leg under it, popped up, and spun, ending with an elbow jab and a slam of her forearm to the bag.
Garrett felt his dick twitch.
The music continued to wail as Parker stood there with her hands on her hips trying to catch her breath.
Her pose reminded him of one night a year ago—minus her pants and with the addition of entirely too much alcohol on her part.
Garrett had answered the knock on his door at two in the morning wearing just a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms. A loud crack of thunder had boomed overhead as he opened the door to find his friend standing on his front stoop sopping wet. It hadn't come as a surprise to see her standing there. His house, and back when they all lived together, his room, was always where Parker or Milo would show up when they got into a fight.
Garrett sighed and pushed his door open wider so she could duck under his arm and come inside. As she breezed by him, the smell of tequila assaulted his nose. He backed out of the doorway and shut the door, taking a minute to rub the sleep from his eyes. Garrett had a feeling he'd need to be wide awake for the discussion that was going to follow. He heard the rustling of clothing behind him and turned to help Parker with her coat, only to find her standing in the middle of his living room in nothing but a black lace bra and matching boy shorts. Her hands were on her hips and light from the street lamp outside the window reflected off of her rain soaked skin, droplets of water catching the light when she moved and reminding him of expensive jewels.
Garrett shifted his feet and adjusted his hips in an effort to hide the raging hard on that sprung up at the site of her spilling out of her bra. It could have been a shadow or a trick of the light, but he had sworn he could see the tiniest sliver of nipple peeking out at the edge of the lace.
He licked his lips and fought to keep his mouth to himself and not wrapped around her wet, lace covered nipple.
"Milo doesn't want me," Parker whispered in the dark room.
"Parker, I-"
"We've both been working overtime and haven't spent much time together in ages. So I put this on and stood in the living room with candles lit and waited for him to come home," she rambled.
Thinking about Parker silhouetted by candle light made his dick harder. Thinking about Parker waiting for him to come home from work so he could fuck her senseless made him almost come in his pants.
"He came in the door, took one look at me, and said, 'Not tonight, Parker,' and then went in our room and shut the door."
Garrett's feet were cemented in place as he watched a tear fall down her cheek.
"You'd never do that to me, would you, Garrett?" she asked with a sniffle and a hiccup from all the tequila she'd most likely consumed. "If I was yours..." she trailed off.
As Garrett's heart beat frantically in his chest and he stared into Parker's watery green eyes across the room, he knew this lover's spat wouldn't be easily fixed with a hug from him and a promise that her and Milo would be fine like all the other times. It wasn't because he didn't think they'd be fine.
On the contrary. He was sure they'd kiss and make up and everything would be status quo. His problem had been his inability to open his mouth and say anything other than what was screaming inside his head. "If you were mine, I would never be able to walk away from you. If you were mine, I’d worship every inch of your body with my hands, lips, and tongue. If you were mine, I wouldn't be able to stand in the same room as you without running my hands over your skin and tasting your lips. If you were
Over the music Garrett heard her repeated use of the word "fuck" and "ass" and knew there was only one person she could be referring to.
"You're pathetic in your own way," Parker yelled along with the music as she upper-cut the bag, dropped low to the ground, swept one leg under it, popped up, and spun, ending with an elbow jab and a slam of her forearm to the bag.
Garrett felt his dick twitch.
The music continued to wail as Parker stood there with her hands on her hips trying to catch her breath.
Her pose reminded him of one night a year ago—minus her pants and with the addition of entirely too much alcohol on her part.
Garrett had answered the knock on his door at two in the morning wearing just a pair of drawstring pajama bottoms. A loud crack of thunder had boomed overhead as he opened the door to find his friend standing on his front stoop sopping wet. It hadn't come as a surprise to see her standing there. His house, and back when they all lived together, his room, was always where Parker or Milo would show up when they got into a fight.
Garrett sighed and pushed his door open wider so she could duck under his arm and come inside. As she breezed by him, the smell of tequila assaulted his nose. He backed out of the doorway and shut the door, taking a minute to rub the sleep from his eyes. Garrett had a feeling he'd need to be wide awake for the discussion that was going to follow. He heard the rustling of clothing behind him and turned to help Parker with her coat, only to find her standing in the middle of his living room in nothing but a black lace bra and matching boy shorts. Her hands were on her hips and light from the street lamp outside the window reflected off of her rain soaked skin, droplets of water catching the light when she moved and reminding him of expensive jewels.
Garrett shifted his feet and adjusted his hips in an effort to hide the raging hard on that sprung up at the site of her spilling out of her bra. It could have been a shadow or a trick of the light, but he had sworn he could see the tiniest sliver of nipple peeking out at the edge of the lace.
He licked his lips and fought to keep his mouth to himself and not wrapped around her wet, lace covered nipple.
"Milo doesn't want me," Parker whispered in the dark room.
"Parker, I-"
"We've both been working overtime and haven't spent much time together in ages. So I put this on and stood in the living room with candles lit and waited for him to come home," she rambled.
Thinking about Parker silhouetted by candle light made his dick harder. Thinking about Parker waiting for him to come home from work so he could fuck her senseless made him almost come in his pants.
"He came in the door, took one look at me, and said, 'Not tonight, Parker,' and then went in our room and shut the door."
Garrett's feet were cemented in place as he watched a tear fall down her cheek.
"You'd never do that to me, would you, Garrett?" she asked with a sniffle and a hiccup from all the tequila she'd most likely consumed. "If I was yours..." she trailed off.
As Garrett's heart beat frantically in his chest and he stared into Parker's watery green eyes across the room, he knew this lover's spat wouldn't be easily fixed with a hug from him and a promise that her and Milo would be fine like all the other times. It wasn't because he didn't think they'd be fine.
On the contrary. He was sure they'd kiss and make up and everything would be status quo. His problem had been his inability to open his mouth and say anything other than what was screaming inside his head. "If you were mine, I would never be able to walk away from you. If you were mine, I’d worship every inch of your body with my hands, lips, and tongue. If you were mine, I wouldn't be able to stand in the same room as you without running my hands over your skin and tasting your lips. If you were
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