The Garrisons: Parker, Brittany & Stephen: The CEO's Scandalous Affair

“Why did you come back?” she finally asked.

Behind her, a drop of water hit the marble floor and another dribbled down the drain. Her finger trailed a thin line in the glass, clearing a quarter-inch view.

“I wanted to… check on you.” His voice was low and seductive. And so close. He had to be just inches from the glass door.

“I’m fine.” She made a second line in the fog. “See?”

His five fingertips touched the glass, leaving ovals where his skin pressed against it. “Yes, you are. Very fine.”

She lifted her left hand, and matched his handprint, fingertip for fingertip. “And so are you.” He might not have heard her, since she breathed the words.

“Anna.” His fingers moved an inch, and she followed them.

“Yes?”

This was the part where he made a light joke about her voice or teased her about his shower. This was the part where he backed away and gave her privacy to change alone. This was the part where he reminded her that she had work to do and he was the boss and she was the—

“I want you to open the door.”

Heat and desire rolled through her like the steam clouds in the shower. Her arm trembled, her chest tightened and everything in her that was female curled into a fist of longing low in her belly.

She pressed the door just hard enough to release the latch, but not reveal herself. The barrier was still there, but falling fast.

Through the opaque glass, she saw a dark jacket slide to the ground. The tie, the buttons, the shirt. Gone. She heard the metal click of a belt buckle, the teeth of a zipper, the scuff of a shoe, the soft whoosh of falling clothes.

Blood throbbing through her veins, her breathing already labored, she took a step back, and another, until she hit the warm, water-slick marble wall. Behind her, she reached for the faucet, flipped it on with one hand and both showerheads exploded into a pulsing rush of water that streamed over her body.

She closed her eyes, heard the shower door click closed, and felt the heat of Parker as he stood in front of her.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly.

She did. His eyes were pure black with arousal, his jaw clenched, his nostrils flared with each ragged breath. Water matted his hair to his head and flattened the thatch of dark curls over the valleys and dips of his broad chest. With her eyes, she followed the water stream as it poured over the taut outline of his stomach and finally flowed over a daunting and mighty erection.

Without a word, he put one hand on either side of her head, caging her in without touching her.

“Anna.” He mouthed her name, so softly she felt his breath on her face. “You have no idea how happy I am to know I can trust you.”

She blinked into the water that streamed on her face. Why would he say that?

“Of course you can trust me,” she said, her fingers curling against the wall as she fought the urge to scrape her hands over every inch of him.

“I just… wasn’t sure.”

The idea of Parker Garrison, man of certainty and decision, being unsure nearly buckled her knees. All her doubt disappeared with his admission; all her warnings vaporized in the steamy humidity of the shower.

“You can trust me,” she repeated, closing her eyes and lifting her face. “And you can touch me.”

At the command, he grazed a finger over her wet, parted lips, sliding the tip against her teeth, then following the watery path down her throat. She could hear him inhale with effort and strain as he glided over her breastbone and reached her nipple, making maddeningly slow circles around the peak.

“What else can I do, Anna?”

Her eyes remained closed as she let the silky, delicious touch of his finger send lightning through her. “You can kiss me.”

He feathered her lips, so soft she wasn’t sure it happened. She opened her mouth and his tongue flicked hers. Slow and steady and with remarkable control, he kissed her, while his other hand cupped her hip, caressing her wet skin, taking teasing strokes of the dips and curves of her backside.

“What else, Anna?” He inched closer so that every wet, hard, sculpted muscle of his body finally pressed against her. His thumb circled her nipple, torturing it to a hard nub as he rocked against her once, fully erect and wickedly hard.

She arched with a soft gasp, marble at her back, man at her front. “You can taste me.”

With a groan of pleasure deep in his chest, he took his kisses lower, suckling her throat, licking her collarbone, then nibbling down to her breast. She twisted under his tongue, digging her fingers into his hair to guide his head from one breast to the other.

He gently squeezed both breasts, using his tongue to wipe water and flesh, then sucking each nipple with his eyes closed, as though it were the sweetest treat he’d ever enjoyed. She watched him, shaking, marveling, rolling as her insides twisted into an aching knot of pressure and pleasure.

“Parker,” she moaned. “Please.”

Straightening, he placed his knees between hers, easing her legs wider, opening her to him.

“What else can I do, Anna?” His voice was rough, with just a hint of tease and humor in the rasp.

He could do anything he wanted. Anything. Everything. And yet, the man who always had control gave her the power.

The thought made her dizzy as she flattened her hands over the soaking-wet hair on his chest, then slowly lowered them, loving every ripped muscle and the smooth flesh that covered them. Finally, she touched him, closing her hands over the velvet skin and sighing at how wonderfully shaped, how completely masculine he was.

She stroked him once and he grew even harder in her palms. She coiled her fingers around the length of him, considering all the things they could do to each other, but wanting only one.

She looked up at him, seeing him through the soft white clouds of steam, his expression intense, his eyes smoky.

“Make love to me, Parker.”

The tiniest smile tugged at his mouth. “I thought you might say that,” he said, reaching to a shelf above her head.

He tore the condom foil with ease and she took it from him, sliding it over him.

His eyes shuttered as he rose to meet her touch. Then his strong, sure hands gripped under her arms and pushed her up the slippery marble so he could enter her.

Just as he did, he covered her mouth with a ferocious kiss, thrusting his tongue and manhood inside her at exactly the same time, filling her completely.

Their delighted, desperate groans echoed off shower walls, rolled in the mist and gurgled with the water, both of them lost with each single-minded thrust of man against woman.

Shocked by the power of it, she wrapped her legs around his waist, locked her arms around his neck and rode him. Water blinded her now, so she buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling the smell of sex and soap and salt, her body coiling with achy pleasure.

Over and over, he ground out her name, pinning her to the wall, plunging as far into her as he could go, taking them both higher and higher to the unavoidable edge.

And finally she fell, digging her teeth into his skin, spiraling out of control and vaguely realizing that he was falling at the same time, filling her, needing her, loving her.

The steam clouds cleared as they slowly, carefully slipped down the side of the shower to the floor, staying connected in that most intimate place as Anna remained on his lap, her legs like a vise around his waist.

The position brought them face-to-face, as he kissed her cheek, her neck, her eyes, her mouth, neither of them able to catch their breath.

“Whatever you do,” he whispered, “don’t even think about singing.”

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