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Chapter or Story
"Oh, God," murmured Parker.
"Hmm," hummed Jarod gruffly, steadily drawing circles on Parker's shoulder with his fingertips. "Most people typically wait at least until morning to decide whether or not having sex with me was a mistake. Considering that it is morning," he added, "perhaps you should sleep on it before committing to a verdict."
"God, God, God," Parker whispered into the palms of her hands.
"This hardly warrants God in triplicate," Jarod drawled contentedly, cynical and consoling in equal measures. "Can I get you some water? A cup of tea? Oh, I know, how about some perspective: you and I are single consenting adults and the condom is intact, and even if it wasn't neither of us is diseased."
"You aren't going to stop talking, are you?" Inquired Parker, weakly.
"Pardon? You're a bit muffled," Jarod said, suggesting softly, "perhaps if you move your hands away from your face -"
"Stop. Talking. Please."
"Oh. Oh, I see. Now you want me to stop."
"Could you leave?" Parker asked.
"But-- uh, it's my house."
"Oh. Oh, I see. Now you want me to stop."
"Could you leave?" Parker asked.
"But-- uh, it's my house."
"Oh, fuck," Parker moaned, and proceeded to hiss a torrent of imprecations, all directed at herself. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
"You've gone completely off script here," Jarod said.
Parker scoffed, pushed her hands through her hair, and inquired indignantly, "I've gone off script?"
"Yes," answered Jarod gently. "Yes, you have. Your Oh, God adequately conveyed your apparent perturbation, and perturbation I can understand. After all, mistakes happen, and quite often, and then people put their clothes back on and go about their day. I didn't foresee a deep-dive into this next level regret and self-condemnation. We had sex; it happens."
"God," Parker said, breathing the word, tremulously, edging panic, "this was a mistake."
"So monumental a mistake, in fact, that you can't stop reiterating. Thanks," remarked Jarod blandly, disheartened. "I suppose you intend to blame me for this."
"I have no objections to that."
"Need I remind you that you broke into my home?"
No.
Jarod needn't.
Parker vividly recalled entering Jarod's home, seeking something she could not name, and finding the last thing she'd expected: Jarod lounging upon the sofa, flipping through paper work, wearing graphite-blue linen lounger shorts and a white linen shirt that had fallen open to expose his chest.
He'd been reaching for his water glass when Parker, already well acquainted with his house, entered it as if it were hers. Jarod looked up from a stack of folders and nearly stammered an apology for intruding.
Instead, he drank his water, replaced the glass, welcomed her cordially.
"Leaving so soon?" Jarod asked when Parker swiveled. "You're welcome to search my house at your leisure just as you normally do in my absence. If you'd prefer," Jarod added, addressing her by name, "I'll help you look."
Parker resumed her hasty departure.
"Predictable," sang Jarod, mingling in his voice defeat and gentle admonishment. "That's right," he murmured. "Keep running away."
"I don't run away," rebutted Parker, hotly, in full retreat. Jarod was both amused and crestfallen; she was every bit the criminal maintaining her innocence during the commission of a crime, claiming she wasn't running away from him while, quite literally, running away from him.
"Mhm," Jarod hummed. "Keep telling yourself that."
Aborting her retreat, Parker turned to face him. "What the hell does that mean?'
"You know exactly what it means."
"I wasn't running," insisted Parker fiercely, confirming that she did, indeed, know precisely what Jarod meant.
"Oh, no?"
"No. I'm leaving."
"Why are you leaving?"
"I didn't know you were here," she answered stiffly.
"No, I imagine you didn't," Jarod agreed, rising. "The car's in the shop; the crotch rocket I borrowed from impound is parked in the back. What are you looking for, hmm? Porn? Sex toys? Compromising photographs? Compelling evidence of a deviant lifestyle that some family court judge will deem unsuitable for children?"
"Should I be?"
"Is this about Eli? Is this resistance to my involvement in Eli's life? Is it?"
Parker narrowed her eyes. "Are you interrogating me?"
"I'm curious to know why it is you keep coming around, as are the neighbors. Why do you?"
"I shouldn't."
"And yet," sang Jarod, "here you are. You break in, refuse to answer questions or talk. You won't even look at me. You're, clearly, searching for something; it's time to tell me what that something is."
"You," Parker said.
"Me? You search this house for me when I'm not in it. Why?"
"No. Not---not you."
Jarod exhaled a breath of annoyance and folded his arms across his chest. "It's not your fault that you were taught to believe I'm a monster. If you must know, and, evidently, you must, I believe pornography is a poor substitute for the real thing, and, thus far, I haven't found it necessary to procure a sex aid to satisfy a lover.
Also, I'm older than you, yes, but I'm not that old. It isn't necessary to record or photograph any sexual activity, presumably for posterity's sake, that can be reenacted flawlessly.
And last I checked it's not a crime to possess any of those items, not in this state, at least, which makes your search all the more futile."
Mm, file that under Things-I-Never-Needed-To-Know-About-Geniusboy.
Parker revolved her eyes, shook her head in negation. "I'm not looking for dirt. Even if I were, a judge would be incapable of separating Eli and you. We both know that. I-- should go."
"No," argued Jarod, crossly, "but you should answer my question."
"I don't-- "
Parker's voice abruptly dissolved into silence, startling Jarod. She noted the change in him, the smooth transition from inquisitive and ill-tempered to sympathetic. He waited silently, patiently for her to continue.
"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore, and that's your fault," Parker snarled with renewed anger. "I can't believe you did this to me."
"I didn't do anything to you. I did something for my mother. She was shot; treatment was delayed, recovery was slow, challenging. Her physical and mental health sharply deteriorated. How many times do I have to explain this to you? She is my mother. My mother. I thought you, of all people, would understand."
"I understand," asserted Parker forcefully.
"Your baseless accusations and anger are strong indicators that you do not understand."
"No, you don't understand," insisted Parker indignantly, trembling with rage, and Jarod couldn't disagree with her. He understood her anger. He, however, failed to comprehend the violent shudder that Parker attempted to conceal by folding her arms across her breasts.
It occurred to Jarod that the woman should have at least one drop of perspiration on her brow, dressed as she was in black slacks, a gray blouse, and a black suit jacket. The heat wave was unrelenting; he'd simply strolled outside to retrieve the newspaper from the lawn and had returned coated in a sheen of sweat.
"Would you like to sit," offered Jarod, sweetly. "I can hang that jacket up for you."
"No thanks."
"I'm going to bring you a glass of water," Jarod said, taking a single step before Parker cried, "I don't want water. I want answers and," she drew a breath, exhaled damn it. "I don't want to sit," Parker stammered, composing herself with enormous effort. "You fixed the door and gutters. I didn't ask you to do any of those things.
You think you can come back, and fix everything. You can't. And- and Eli talks about you constantly and-- it's like," Parker faltered, shook her head, "it's like he's talking about a stranger. A stranger is taking both of my children to a pop concert next weekend. A stranger gave my child a drafting table. I- I share a child with a stranger. A dead stranger."
"A stranger," Jarod repeated with a sharp breath. "No, you don't," he asserted incredulously. "Eli has visited me every day this month, and, unlike you, he actually speaks to me and listens; he engages in conversations with me rather than running away in the middle of them because he wants to know me. You already know who I am. You know me."
"I knew Jarod-the-boy. I know what my father wanted me to believe, and how I felt about you— or at least I sometimes knew how I felt," Parker explained softly. "You've been out of my life longer than you were ever in it."
"I was never out of your life. I checked in, kept tabs, I was-"
"Dead," Parker shouted. "It doesn't get any more out of my life than that."
"I'm still here."
"No, you died, and I grieved. I didn't know you were alive, I didn't know you were checking in- and I— god, I don't even want to know what the hell keeping tabs entails. You come back and act like nothing at all has changed-- because nothing changed for you.
You arranged this little surprise party, shouted "surprise," and you have the audacity to be appalled and offended to discover that I'm surprised.
Everything changed for me. And I don't-- I don't know why the hell I'm here. God," she groaned, wearily. "I want substance, truth, something more than your bullshit excuses, and the incessant procession of pretenses, masks. The real you has to be around here somewhere-- in a stack of photo albums buried beneath winter clothes in the back of the closet or in the attic packed away inside a box labeled miscellaneous, or- or-"
Or maybe standing in front of you.
"So you're searching for the quintessence of Jarod, what makes me me?"
"Sure," Parker answered with a noncommittal shrug, with absolutely no conviction. "Why the hell not? That makes as much sense as anything else does right now."
"It's nothing concrete, tangible?"
"Apparently not, Genius. Or maybe it is. Or maybe I'm looking for the part of myself that died when your boat exploded, and this isn't about you at all. This is a waste of fucking time."
"Please, have a seat. I insist. You seem-- distressed."
Parker laughed softly. "Then at least one of us is exactly what we seem to be."
"I see," remarked Jarod dryly, returning to the sofa and sitting, and dropping his head into his hands. "I haven't lied to you or pretended to be someone I'm not. I've never done that with you. I didn't want to hide from you; I wanted you to know the truth.
It was important to me, essential, that you remembered the truth, remembered the real me, that you knew me. And it still is.
And now you're telling me that you don't," Jarod continued through clenched teeth, his voice thick with pain. "How dare you," he said, admonishing her softly; the tenderness of his tone did absolutely nothing to alleviate the sting of his words.
"Jarod," began Parker, contritely.
"No," interrupted Jarod sharply, lifting his head and meeting Parker's stunned gaze. Jarod pushed tears from his face, inquired bitterly, "Did you even read the letters you confiscated from my home?"
"Some," Parker stammered. "And all I could think was who the hell is this guy? You never said any of those things to me."
"No, I didn't. I couldn't --not aloud, but I managed to convey my feelings for you, and don't," Jarod added with a savage snarl, "even dare try deny it. You know exactly what my feelings were," he said, addressing her by name, "and we both know what your feelings were, too, in Glasgow, or do you need me to refresh your memory?"
Parker blanched, stiffened, drew a sharp breath; hastily, she hissed, "I don't want to talk about that."
"Mhm, now there's a shocker," Remarked Jarod, sardonically. "We aren't dissimilar, you and I. Your reaction to my letters was precisely my reaction to you sobbing all over my headstone. Naturally, I was appalled by the severity and duration of your grief. And doubtful."
"Doubtful," Parker repeated, narrowing her eyes.
"You'll have to forgive me if the memory of Scotland on infinite loop in my mind significantly diminished the sincerity of your sobs: our intimacy, the limo, you jerking your hand from mine, being led away from you in handcuffs. We almost kissed. That was a pivotal moment abounding with possibilities-- or for me it was; for you it was a reprehensible indiscretion, weakness. You saw your ruin when you looked into my eyes. In your eyes I saw the rest of my life with you at my side."
Parker averted her eyes, studied hardwood flooring.
Walnut?
Pine?
Cherry?
Whatever your species could you please split the fuck open and swallow me alive now?
"After our closeness, after everything we shared you chose the Centre. You've always chosen the Centre."
"I chose to end it," Parker reminded Jarod, crisply.
"Yes, you did," Jarod conceded with a tight smile, "and I'd like tell you that your decision to bankrupt the Centre and bring the Triumvirate to its knees lent some validity to your words and tears. Instead, I believed your conscience was hurting you."
Parker nodded faintly and easily confessed, "I did feel responsible; I have a conscience. After the goddamned stunt you pulled it's clear to me you don't. "
Jarod's laughter startled Parker; it was strangely absent of mirth, agonized, wrong. "It wasn't a stunt. You're hellbent on clinging to this specific narrative in which I'm the evil antagonist, ruthlessly and perpetually, tormenting poor little you, because believing I'm the enemy is easier for you."
"You think this is easy?" Parker exclaimed, revealing fragility, pain. Jarod opened his mouth to answer but could only stammer her name when she lowered her head and pushed a hand over her brow.
"I'm sorry," Jarod offered at last, helplessly.
"Do. You. Think. This. Is. Easy." Parker sibilated, fiercely enunciating each word, sharpening each letter to a fine point, brutally piercing Jarod's soul with six swift stabs.
Jarod had never intended to hurt her, had swore to himself he never would, and now feared he could do nothing except hurt her. "Answer me," Parker screamed at him, observing his expression of agony, the frown creasing his forehead. He blinked back tears, composed himself.
"It's learned behavior, a comfortable pattern," Jarod answered somberly, lifting a single eyebrow, and continuing with an enigmatic smile, "You never did quite know what to do with me. Did you? I was an unanswered question, one that you never wanted answered, because you're afraid of the answer.
Burying me simplified the complex; when I was alive and the Centre stood, you had to suppress feelings—feelings, that," he added hastily for clarification's sake, "I know you didn't want to feel; believing I was dead, in some ways, came as a relief to you."
An expression of disgust twisted Parker's face. "Relief," she repeated indignantly.
"Relief," affirmed Jarod. "You no longer had to conceal your feelings for me and you also were never coerced to confront your feelings for me. I know hard it was for you; I've always known.
Your father taught you to question your intuition, told you I was your enemy, and that you couldn't trust your own memories--- of us, and that you couldn't trust me.
Don't you find it odd that the only embrace we've ever shared as adults occurred only because you believed I was my brother?"
"Stop talking," Parker demanded.
"And we both know you were enjoying dancing with me-"
"Jarod," cautioned Parker sharply.
Jarod slowly extended both hands in surrender and whispered her name. "Retract the claws. Okay? Relax. Please. Just-- relax. It was a platonic embrace and a too-brief dance. We both survived."
"Be careful about leaping to premature conclusions," countered Parker, coolly.
"I can assure you that I approach every conclusion involving you with incomparable care. I know you have a code; you only take life in self defense. Besides, you don't want to kill me."
"I don't?"
"No, you don't. You do, however, want these threats of bodily harm justified. You want everyone to agree that you have every right to wound and kill me. We both know why you're here."
Parker laughed quietly, and elevated both eyebrows. "We do?"
"Mhm."
"What," Parker snarled. "What the hell are you waiting for mm? A drum roll? Tell me," she demanded.
"You're searching for a legitimate reason to hate me, something more than because Daddy told me to; it's what you're accustomed to. You were trained to do it; there were straightforward doctrines, a definitive vocabulary. You know exactly how to hate me, even if you never really did.
I know you never did," concluded Jarod softly, punctuating his words with an amiable smile. "And I know you're probably extraordinarily puzzled that you instinctively trusted me when I surprised you in your garden. You didn't know it was me but you made a judgment call and you were correct.
You have reliable instincts. You always have. I know you didn't trust me to keep your visits with the bunnies secret; you didn't trust me at all, in fact, but you trusted your instincts and you were right to trust them. I kept your secret; I lied to Sydney when he questioned me, and I was punished.
You trusted them again the evening we danced; it was instinct and it felt right because it was right; so right, in fact, that you were going to suggest a hotel ---until you discovered I was your partner. You rejected your instincts, blinded yourself to the truth; you didn't want to see it and I know you don't want to hear it. But you sure as hell felt it."
"All right," rejoined Parker, coolly.
"All right?" Jarod repeated with some increduilty. "You're not going to deny, scream, spit, hiss, claw, hit, kick, kill me?"
"You said killing you would violate my code," answered Parker, softly, dropping her hands at her sides.
"True," Jarod agreed. "I imagine you're considering making an exception this one time just for me."
"You have a hell of an imagination, Jarod."
"You don't know the half of it."
Parker laughed. "I'm not certain I want to know."
"And I'm not certain you don't want to know," countered Jarod softly, rising once more, and advancing casually. "My God," he murmured quietly. "It's possible that I've completely misjudged your true intent."
"We've already established that."
"We haven't, however, established your reason for being here; we cannot unequivocally determine the truth until all of the questions have been asked."
"Don't you find interrogations fatiguing?" Parker asked. "Or do you get off on hearing yourself talk?"
"Your interest in what gets me off is rather intriguing," answered Jarod, flippantly, "not to mention flattering. One final question," vowed Jarod sweetly. "Are you here because you're curious to know what would have happened had you suggested that hotel? If we hadn't been interrupted in Carthis? Is that," he asked, softly, sidling close to Parker, and briefly dropping to his gaze to her lips, "why you're here?"
"No," answered Parker, honestly, "but it's as good a reason as any."
"Is it," Jarod hissed, his eyes suddenly hard, inscrutable. "Are you sure about that," he asked, clutching Parker's shoulders and abruptly hurtling forward, ignoring her throaty cry of surprise at being propelled backwards in a peculiar semi-dance—eleven steps specifically, in reverse—that ended as abruptly as it had commenced, and with her back pressed to a wall.
There, Jarod slackened his grasp, stroked her shoulders, neck, collar bone. When his fingertips collided with her blouse he didn't hesitate to loosen buttons, continue his exploration.
Jarod was waiting for an answer; Parker had either forgotten the question or believed it was a rhetorical one.
"If you're not sure," Jarod explained, carefully, staring steadily into Parker's eyes, his voice consistently calm and his resolve never wavering, not when he tugged on the under band of her bra to gain access to her breasts nor when he pushed his hands beneath the under band and into her bra and cupped her breasts in his palms, stroked her nipples, "the door is now precisely and conveniently one step to your left; all you have to do is open it and leave. I can assure you that I won't try to stop you."
"What happened to one final question?"
"That was a rough estimate."
"I see. Why in the hell would I leave?"
"Because it's easier, safer," Jarod answered, simply.
"Easier?"
"You found an almost kiss and dance incomprehensible, and neither of those involved disrobing," he added, his eyes large, incredulous. "Now, shall I open the door for you?"
"In that case," Jarod remarked lightly, extending one hand and locking the door. "Oh, and if you think my hands are nice you're going to love what I can do with my mouth," he murmured, dropping to his knees and fingering the zipper at her waist, tugging it down.
He pushed his hands into the waistband of her slacks and felt the garment drop without any further coaxing. And Parker resisted the odd, unexpected impulse to reach down, retrieve the garment, conceal herself, leave.
She warred with the absolute wrongness of what they were doing, felt that they were obliterating the laws of man and nature and gods instead of simply defying rules contrived by a crime syndicate that no longer existed.
Parker was appalled that her instinct would, for the first time in her life, steer her away from something as natural, healthy, and enjoyable as sex. She was even more appalled that she was choosing to ignore those instincts.
She felt Jarod hands on her bottom, kneading. Just hands. Parker consoled herself, pushing her own hands through Jarod's hair. They could belong to anyone.
Jarod tugged down the nude panties—rather than shred them—and inhaled slowly, grunting his approval, and then smiling covertly at the distinct hitch in Parker's breathing when baritone vibrated flesh.
Rising to his full height, Jarod disrobed and simply pushed aside his clothes with his toes when they pooled at his bare feet.
"Now you know," Jarod announced with a playful smirk.
Parker, staring steadily at Jarod's erect penis, hastily lifted her gaze to his face and blinked wide in surprise. "What?"
"Now you know that the answer to that silly boxers or briefs question is neither. You seemed rather interested," Jarod said, lifting her breasts from bra cups, and then seemingly seeking permission before lowering his mouth to her chest.
"Oh, make no mistake, Genius," said Parker, lasciviously, reaching between their bodies and grasping the aforementioned appendage, "I'm interested."
Jarod, pushing his lips over her breasts, doing nothing more than simply breathing and observing her areolas contract and her nipples harden, exhaled a low moan. "What did I tell you," he murmured against her chest, boastfully. "Was I right about my mouth or what?"
"Mm," sang Parker blithely, "it's impossible for me to definitively answer that question until additional research has been conducted."
Jarod, lazily circling a nipple with his tongue, indistinctly acknowledged Parker's answer; the movement of his jaw inadvertently aligned his beard and sensitive flesh.
The contact was, surprisingly, not unpleasant.
"So," Jarod said, sinking to his knees, "you need more data, huh? I think," he added playfully, kissing the back of her knees, and her thighs, and then gently parting her legs. "I can do something to expedite that for you."
He thinks?
Jarod licked into her greedily and slowly, repeatedly, each time lengthening his tongue's stroke.
When her breathing became deeper and rapid, he dropped his left hand to her labia, pushed a single fingertip into her vagina, and initiated the same unwavering rhythm he had moments earlier with his tongue.
Jarod tightened his hold when she came; he remained oblivious to black painted fingernails drawing his blood and stopped only when she began pushing at his shoulder and finally murmured, breathlessly, "Enough."
"Blasphemy," Jarod retorted. Enough? What the hell is enough? He released her hips, rose.
"Condom," Parker reminded.
"This," Jarod explained, lightly stroking, and then, parting, her labia with two fingers, "doesn't require a condom. "See," he said, pressing gently, but steadily, advancing the digits into her, and, to his dismay, encountering substantial resistance. "Is this okay," he asked when she sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and closed her eyes.
He recalled her reaction to almost kissing him, jerking her hand from his in Glasgow, their dance and its abrupt end. Parker's body, Jarod believed, had been rejecting him for decades, and seemed incapable of doing anything else. He feared she was unalterably accustomed to resisting him. "Look at me," he pleaded.
"Shh," Parker hushed him gently. "God," she moaned, arching her body, and then murmuring unintelligibly when he slowly withdrew his fingers.
"But-- uh," he explained, "it's just that you're rather-"
"Yeah," interrupted Parker tartly. "Take a good long look at this body, Genius; everything about it is taut and tone."
"Point taken," Jarod agreed.
She is tension incarnate.
Jarod moved slowly across the room and deposited Parker on the arm of the sofa, removed the jacket, blouse, and liberated her breasts.
Flawlessly.
His words returned to her; Parker had listened with skepticism, disinterest, revulsion. Suddenly, she had a sneaking suspicion that Jarod had not been exaggerating.
"Condom," he affirmed, pulling open an end table drawer and retrieving from it a condom. "Are you comfortable?" He asked, solicitously.
Parker stared at him in stunned silence, and finally mustered a tremulous, "Are you insane?"
"Who isn't," Jarod answered, sheathing himself.
We both, clearly, are insane.
Jarod's unease evolved into astonishment when Parker parted her labia, invited him inside.
Your move, Genius.
Jarod accepted her invitation, filled her completely, observed her abdomen shudder. "God," she murmured.
"Is that," Jarod said with some uncertainty, pushing a hand over her left breast and squeezing her nipple between his fingertips, "a good thing or a bad thing?"
"Yes." Parker exhaled.
Bending over Parker to worship her nipples, Jarod wasn't anticipating her arched hips, her rapid and enthusiastic upward lunges. The pair fell wildly out of sync and their bodies misaligned.
They both groaned, were, otherwise, silent and still.
"Are you all right?" Jarod asked after several moments.
"I'll live."
"Let's try that again," Jarod said, slowly withdrawing. "All right? And please don't almost fracture my penis again," he added with some levity. "Nice and slow?" suggested Jarod, sweetly, grasping her knees, pushing her legs apart and lifting her crotch to his mouth.
Fucking flawlessly.
Parker clutched a fistful of Jarod's hair, sucked in a breath- and almost forgot to exhale it. She stammered unintelligibly, and, inexplicably, tugged his head towards her and, simultaneously, shoved his shoulder away from her. Finally, miraculously, when he began caressing her clitoris with his tongue, Parker decided on one, no less painful, course of action: she sank her fingernails into his neck.
"Much better, yes?" Jarod asked.
"Mm, getting there," Parker answered softly.
When his fingertips tenderly brushed her brow, Parker opened her eyes, met his gaze. Jarod said her name, whispered it like a prayer, lifted her mouth to his. "Jarod," cautioned Parker, weakly, repeating his name a number of times, the ire and caution gradually dissolving from her voice with each halting breath she drew. "Oh, God," she murmured, breathlessly, against his lips.
They kissed deeply, moving together. When she eagerly bucked against him, Jarod released her shoulder, moved his hand over her body, squeezed her hips.
Steadily thrusting, he released her bottom, cupped her face, felt her gradually increase their rhythm.
Several indistinct words erupted from Parker's parted lips; blue eyes closed beneath a deeply knitted brow and then abruptly widened when Jarod's fingertips tightened, marginally, around brunette locks.
Jarod lifted her mouth to his once more, murmured her name against her lips, and drawled in a voice that was entirely foreign to her, "Ladies first."
"Shh," Parker cried, either in an attempt to utter an expletive or to silence him. Or perhaps to silence the voices in her head.
Jarod moved his fingertips over her lips, down her neck, between their bodies and in tight circles around her clitoris. He watched her face, watched as blue eyes darkened, briefly took on a vaguely vacant appearance. Her fingertips tightened on the back of his neck, sank into his flesh, and a feral cry departed her throat. He drew her closer, felt her entire body spasm, stiffen.
Jarod moved his fingertips over her lips, down her neck, between their bodies and in tight circles around her clitoris. He watched her face, watched as blue eyes darkened, briefly took on a vaguely vacant appearance. Her fingertips tightened on the back of his neck, sank into his flesh, and a feral cry departed her throat. He drew her closer, felt her entire body spasm, stiffen.
"Hmm," Jarod hummed deeply, still thrusting steadily. Parker felt his fingers, mercifully, withdraw from clitoris and travel over her body, squeeze her breast, cup her jaw. She watched his face tense, felt him arch, and shudder against her.
"Oh, oh, god," Parker panted quietly, waiting for an upended universe to right itself again and already suspecting that it never would; the low grunts that accompanied Jarod's climax confirmed Parker's suspicions.
Nothing is ever going to be the same again.
I broke into GeniusBoy's home and I fucked him.
And I liked it.
The bastard. "Need I remind you?" Jarod repeated.
"Yeah, I broke into your home," Parker confessed, stepping into her slacks and thrusting her hands into her blouse. "Payback's a bitch, isn't it, Genius?"
"In light of -- uh very recent events, no, I can't say that it's a bitch at all. Perhaps you'd like to do it again tomorrow. Does the same time work for you?"
Parker's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you'd like to fuck off."
"Very much so," Jarod said, equably. "My place or yours?"
"Yours, asshole," Parker hissed, her words punctuated by the slamming door.
Chapter End Notes:
I'm displeased with this chapter (90% more than I'm typically displeased with anything I write), specifically, in regards to what transpired in Jarod's home: I dislike that Parker was mortified to face-concealing degrees-- just as she was when she and Jarod almosted in Scotland--no, really, there is proof *
Rather than try to salvage this thing in some way (as hopeless an endeavor as that seemed) I decided not to overthink fanfic and I posted it as is (like I always do).
