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“I’m sorry, Gem!” Parker shouted from the other end of the door. “I didn’t know you were home!” I heard the panic in his deep voice. How much did he see of me, besides my empty floating bottle of red merlot? He was flustered, almost stuttering into nonsense, “Good night!” He shouted, shuffling back to the room rather quickly, before slamming the door. I crossed my chest, still covering my erect nipples from the pulsing orgasm that tingled on the tip of my clit.
“Goodnight!” I finally coughed, still partially covering my mouth. I leaned back into the tub, allowing the silence to settle. What the hell just happened, and why the hell was Alejandro invading my thoughts! I sunk into the water, hued with burgundy, muddied by my spilled merlot. Just when I thought the night couldn’t get crazier, I had to take a bath.
CHAPTER 15
Mornings were determined by a few things, quality of sleep, and the type of hair you wake up with. Today, I knew both would be bad. Last night was odd to say the least, but my dreams were pure chaos. I was exhausted, physically worn from running in a nightmare, chased in The Met by Parker’s big penis. I was awakened though, startled by the clicking heels of Parker’s leather dress shoes.
Immediately, I was rushed with a sense of fatigue, knowing I’d have to see him in the light. He sounded busy out there, playing jazz on a speaker, clanking in the kitchen. Was I blowing this out of proportion? We were both adults, contrary to the glittered stars on my purple robe. I hadn’t truly thought of last night, what I heard Parker do, or why Alejandro invaded my mind.
Tightening my robe, I slipped my head out the door. I hadn’t figured what I would say or do, but I left regardless, patting the frizzy rats’ nest that appeared on my head. Maybe if I pretended to be extra sleepy, I’d enhance that whole I-don’t-care-that-I-saw-you-naked-vibe. I shuffled down the hall, squinting my eyes, committing to this awful new plan. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had as I entered the living room.
Parker leaned against the counter, hair mussed back neatly, eyes fixed down on a plate. His manicured face and tailored grey suit stood in opposition to my robe, reinforcing the idea that rushing out to confront him was a bad decision. He seemed so focused until hearing the soft shuffles of my fuzzy slippers.
“Good morning, sunshine!” He practically chirped, or tried to, given how thick his voice was.
I panicked, sticking too confidently to my sleepy persona. “Yo.” I embarrassingly half-waved, my eyes squinted. I cringed internally. Yo? I didn’t look sleepy, I looked stoned. Parker shot an odd look, unfamiliar with this hip, sleepy Gemma.
“Umm…” he laughed, nodding toward the dining room, “have a seat.” Parker gestured to the dark table, motioning to my mug filled with tea. “I steeped it for you. Four drops of honey, no sugar.”
“You know me so well,” I chuckled, taking my seat. This wasn’t bad at all, despite my minor turbulence, I think I could actually pull this off. Parker came back around as I took a sip, quietly burning my mouth.
“Something to say sorry.” He announced, placing a plate in front of me with a large bagel.
“It's just a penis, Parker. I’ve seen plenty before. We’re adults.” I waved him off. He hesitated to respond, still standing by my side. His package was literally in my face, teasing me not to look. I stretched my neck, avoiding a curious peek.
“Umm… this was for missing the play,” he adjusted the weight on his feet, unsure of my assumption, “not… for the penis.”
I took another sip of tea, pretending I didn’t hear, “Well, it looks delicious,” I added, but clarified, “the bagel that is, not the penis.”Fuck. “That was rude. I mean the penis was great, but I was talking about the bagel.”Somebody please stop me. I reached down, taking a massive bite. A part of me hoped I’d choke, at least it’d stop me from opening my big mouth again. I chewed as Parker sat down in front of me, “I forgive you.” I said mid-bite, looking down at my plate. Parker smiled at my timid response.
“I didn't hear you come in last night.” Parker, being Parker, saved me again, avoiding the obvious blunder of my words.
“It was late. I thought you were asleep.” I replied. He certainly wasn’t asleep, if anything it was the opposite. “Is Camilla still here?” I asked, realizing I just admitted to knowing she spent the night.
“Camilla?” He scratched his brow with a sturdy finger, “You knew she was here?” For the first time in a long time, I saw him wince, clearly not proud of the idea of being caught. I owed him the courtesy he’d given me, so I spared him.
“Oh! I only guessed. I thought I heard her voice this morning. I assumed she dropped by before work.” I shrugged, hoping it helped. I stared a little longer, noticing a red line along his neck, small but visible. A scratch mark from Camilla?
“What else did you hear?” He asked, his tone prying like a lawyer to sniff me out. That was a big question, one I wasn’t going to answer honestly. I heard everything, the bed against the wall, the screaming orgasm Camilla cried. Even Parker, his deep moans and grunts, were a stifling roar. I never heard anything like that before, and I certainly never made those noises myself.
The last time I had sex was with David Myers, a rather unassuming tax accountant from Midtown West. He was a sweet guy, but texted in all caps, a habit I didn't much care for. While we were together—though brief—I never had an orgasm, and in reality, it never felt good. The saving grace of our relationship was his hair, a lot of which reminded me of Parker’s, the color and style. Even before David, I wasn’t with many other men, and maybe Parker knew this. I wasn’t Camilla, the vixen sinking her claws into him.
Suddenly, this made me feel more self-conscious than it should have. Last night I listed the possible reasons why Parker and I weren’t together, but never once assumed it was because I was some inexperienced little girl. Is this how he saw me, his butterfly? My awkward morning turned into a sad one, once again feeling like a non-sexual being, a sister to the man I loved. He probably couldn’t imagine sex with me, orfucking,a word I rarely used, unless apparently with the aid of Alejandro. Why was I thinking of him again? I didn’t appreciate his presence last night, in my mind, playing along with my dirty fantasy. He called me a good girl, but not like how I imagined Parker saw me. He was delighted by it, and in a lot of ways, wanted to break me from it, to mold me into his own girl.
“Besides the barging door?” I replied. “I heard nothing. You took me by surprise.” I widened my smile, hoping to cover the disappointment I felt. “I hope you didn't see anything.” I added, distancing myself further.
“And what if I did?” he asked confidently, even quietly like a secret. “Like you said, we’re adults. I can handle it.”
I hid the obvious lick of my lips, dabbing them with a napkin. Though unintentional, his question gave me the blood pumping surge of sexual joy. I only wished I felt sexy. Instead, I was dressed like a child on Christmas morning, unmatched to his dapper display. He took a sip from his beige mug, a gift I’d gotten him that read, ‘This coffee’s too hot, I’m suing.’
“Yes, we’re adults.” I agreed, attempting to correct the perception I had of myself. Parker was right, but how honest was he in his ability to handle adult things? Adults did a lot, such as sleep with their girlfriend and not try to hide it. Did he sleep with Camilla because he thought I wasn’t here? And if I had been here, would he have resisted?
“Well, I was thinking of you.” He replied, as if the meaning extended all the way into the sheets of his bed.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“Last night, Mila took me by surprise. I thought it was just a favor, picking up her parents, but when I dropped them off, it was for a party.”
“Your favorite.”
