Regardless, he loved it. He could not fight picturing her bent over his bed in much the same way, as he flipped her skirt up and slowly drew down silky panties, eager to feast on the vision of that juicy, round ass. His cock stirred in his jeans, and he realized she’d straightened, looking back at him.
She cleared her throat.
Well done, Parker. Caught drooling over her ass like a fifteen year old.
“Is that all there is to it?” Her smile was mischievous.
Clever girl.
“Oh — well, you need to use that damper to keep the stove from getting too hot. If it does, you’ll have a flue fire and probably burn the whole place down.”
“Shit, maybe I can just use a heater then?”
He shook his head. “This is it, Ashley.”
“Guess I better hope it stays warm this fall,” she muttered, stepping past him into the dining area that opened off of the living room. It was a great room, really, no walls separating the areas.
He walked her through the rest of the house, making sure to check the lock on the basement door as he passed it in the hall. No sense in dropping her in the deep end right off the bat.
“Where’s that go to?” She stopped by the door.
“Oh, that’s where all our crap is stored.” He turned to look back at her. “Basement. We didn’t have time to move it out of here completely. Didn’t think that ad would be answered so quickly.” He grinned at her. “Thank you, by the way.”
She nodded, smiling back.
As she walked past him, Parker watched her gaze linger for just a moment on that hallway door, before walking into the bedroom.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“We were going to move this out too, but Erik thought … well, he thought you might like it — if you don’t have a bed already.”
The bedroom was dominated by an old-fashioned four poster bed, complete with canopy. There were even lavender curtains, tied back with sashes to either post at the headboard. The deep cherry wood was dusty, but Parker thought the bed was in remarkably good shape considering how old it was.
“Oh, I’ve got one.” Ashley ran a hand up the contours of one of the carved posts. “But it’s nothing like this. Let me think about it, okay?”
Parker nodded. “Sleep on it tonight. If it’s not everything you’d hoped, Drake and I will drag it out of here tomorrow.”
Ashley cocked her head, shooting him a doubtful look.
“Yeah, Erik might have to help too,” Parker said, chuckling.
Cheeky thing. She was looking more irresistible by the minute.
Ashley looked over at the door opposite the bed. “How about that one? Is that a bathroom?”
He shook his head. “More … stuff. My stuff, actually.”
“Did you used to stay in this room?” She ran fingers along the diaphanous lavender fabric draping the bed. “Doesn’t really strike me as a man’s room.”
“Well, it wasn’t just me.”
He saw her bright cheer dim ever so slightly, before the realtor veneer kicked in once more. “Oh, I see. Didn’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Didn’t work out, simple as that.”
She nodded, looking at the bed again, leaning a hand against one of the posts as if to test its strength.
He didn’t know what he was doing straying into a topic like this, but he found he didn’t have to be evasive. She was a woman, she’d obviously understand. Sometimes people just don’t … mesh. He knew he was being an idiot.
“Look, you probably have things you still need to get moved. I left the keys in the kitchen. I’ll just let myself out.”
“Wait, Mr. McCready — Parker.”
He stopped in the doorway to the hall. He liked the way she’d said it. Respectful. He’d like to teach her more respect. He had a feeling he’d like that very much indeed.
“I haven’t even said I’ll take it.” She folded her arms over her chest again.
Another thing outlawed if you were mine, my dear.
“Is there really a question? It’s perfect for you.” He leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his crisp button down shirt.
“Well, how about the rent? What are you asking?”
“What can you afford?”
The giddy little boy in him would have let her rent it for a dollar if she’d asked. He wanted her around, that was for sure.
She looked down a moment, then clasped her hands together in front of her thighs.
So many self-protective gestures. Out of her element here.
He found he didn’t mind that at all. Keeping a woman — his woman, especially — off balance, was a good thing. It helped emphasize who was really running the show.
“I’m really not sure, yet. I have a little left from the move. But, I … “ She looked at the bed again, a crease in her pretty brow.
“We’ll work something out,” Parker said. “We can always barter or something right?”
She laughed. “Sure, what can I sell you in lieu of money? Do you need a maid?”
“When Erik stays here we do. The kid’s kind of a slob.”
Very nice. A maid. A tight corset, those boobs spilling out of a starched white bodice, the too-short skirts. Watching her totter around on ridiculously high heels. Her downcast eyes as he berated her for not cleaning to his standards.
Jesus, you need to get laid, pal.
“Look, I really like it, it’s just—”
“How about we talk about it tomorrow? I’m grilling some steaks for dinner. You aren’t a veggie or anything are you?”
Ashley snorted. “Does it look like it?”
Despite the deadly curves of those hips, she looked quite thin. Too thin, by a comfortable margin. He’d like to see her filled out more, in all the right places. Preferably with no clothes on.
“You look like you could use a steak or two.” He regretted it as soon as the words left his lips. Too familiar. She was already uneasy. Being too pushy was bound to scare her off.
But she didn’t seem to mind. Just blushed again.
“You come on by. You don’t even have to eat. Just a drink or something. We’ll work out the rent situation. I’ve been in a jam before — I know what it’s like.”
“I guess I can do that.” She smiled up at him.
“Seven sound good?”
“I’ll be there.”
Parker knew he’d be counting the hours.
Chapter Four
It started because she wanted it to. When a girl marries a boy she’s supposed to be able to let her guard down. Be herself. Tell her husband what she wants, what her fantasies are. Share herself.
“Open up bitch,” Terry said, his hand twisting in her hair. She gasped with the burn in her scalp, and he took the opportunity to plunge his cock between her lips. Driving, driving back to her throat. He wasn’t particularly large, so taking all of him was doable, if she could suppress her gag reflex.
She knew from hard experience that making her gag and cough only turned him on more, so she’d learned to just deal with it and get it done as swiftly as possible.
“Fuck. Watch the teeth!” He shook her by the head, like someone shaking a puppy by the scruff of the neck. She squealed around his cock. It felt as if he might rip her hair clean from her scalp.
Quickly, Ashley.
She’d learned the hard way what he liked, so she did it, her vision blurring with tears, eager to put an end to it. Sometimes he’d be more gentle after coming. Sometimes.
After a few minutes of bobbing her head, her lips almost numb, he pulled out. He held her by the hair even tighter, and she craned her head back to try to alleviate the pain. She closed her eyes knowing what was coming. Terry seemed to think all women liked receiving the “money shot,” liked the slimy gouts of semen splashed across their faces.
“Whore,” Terry grunted as the last of his seed dribbled out, his cock already deflating. He stood there and looked at her a moment, eyes g
leeful. Not a hint of warmth or compassion. She knew he enjoyed her degradation. Under the right circumstances, in her fantasies, she thought she might enjoy it too. But not the way he was with her. It had a hard edge to it that disturbed her, objectification over adoration.
Her phone buzzed, snapping her back to the present.
Thank you, God.
She wiped the tear from her cheek, and snatched up her phone. She didn’t even care who it was. Anything seemed better compared to what she’d gone through with Terry.
She vaguely recognized the number as if she’d seen it recently.
“Ashley Dietrich, how can I help you?”
“Hi.”
“Parker?” She felt the butterflies in her stomach. Christ, she barely knew the guy, but just hearing his voice flustered her.
“Yes, glad I found you.”
“How did you find my number?”
“I looked at my phone. You called me first, remember?”
“Oh, right,” she said, clapping a hand over her eyes.
She got up and walked over to the lone window, the room flooding with light as she pulled the curtains back. “Did you find a buyer or something?”
“No. The place is yours to rent, if you still want it.”
“Good. I don’t think I’d do too well with more shitty news this morning.”
“Oh? What happened, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“Uh nothing, really. Just lost a sale to the competition.”
Not only had Mr. Doctor and Trophy Wife not called her back, they’d actually complained to the regional office about her. They’d said she was making inflated claims about the property. She could only assume it was the Hollywood couple thing, which was completely unfair. It was true! But in real estate perception was reality, and the perception of her … hadn’t been good, apparently.
It was a great way to start a new job.
“Are you still coming by tonight?”
Why didn’t he ask her what she did? Wasn’t that one of the first things you were asked by a guy?
This isn’t a date, Ashley.
“I think so.” She squinted against the sunshine pouring through the window. “Will be moving stuff over today anyway.”
“You shouldn’t be doing that yourself,” he said, voice even.
“Who else would move me in? My ten thousand friends?”
“We could do it for you.”
“Uh, no Parker. I think I can handle it. Everything I own fits into my car anyway.”
Leaning against the cheap desk, she pulled on her nylons. She hated the damned things but it was either those or thigh-highs. Clients already seemed to think she was desperate. Adding slutty to the mix probably wouldn’t help matters.
“What about your bed? Furniture?”
Shit.
“Well, since you so gallantly offered me the use of the bed that’s already there, I won’t need one.”
“Okay, what about furniture though? As pleasant as it is to picture, I doubt you spend all of your time sitting on the floor.”
What the hell did he mean by that?
“I left it at my old place,” she said, not technically lying. “I thought I‘d buy new stuff here. Saves the hassle of moving it.”
He chuckled. “Made of money are you? Or is it the girl who wasn’t sure what she could afford for rent?”
“I … well, it’s not as simple—”
“I have no doubt about that, Ashley. See you tonight.”
She was about to try to explain, put some window dressing on her dissembling. But he’d already hung up.
Who cares, Ashley. He’s just some guy.
But a small part of her did care. Cared that he might think she was a liar.
***
Laying it on a little thick aren’t you, Parker?
He dropped his phone on the dining room table, shaking his head at the astoundingly small amount of table space that wasn’t covered in metal parts. Drake was rebuilding the transmission on his old Dodge, and for some reason he eschewed the nice, big workbench in the garage for … the dining room table.
Parker knew it was risky to call her the next morning. It might seem presumptuous, pushy — or just plain desperate. He didn’t even know what he was going to say as he dialed her number. But he knew one thing.
He didn’t want her to get away.
Parker had a pretty good idea Drake was on to her too. Though figuring out what Drake was thinking was about as easy as finding water in a desert with a divining rod, he thought he picked up keen interest there. Something he’d never seen him exhibit with Kimber.
Sure, Drake’s girlfriend Kimber was beautiful and intelligent, but she was missing something. To Parker it was as obvious as a smack in the mouth what that something was. But sometimes Drake, for all his powers of observation, tried especially hard not to see certain things when he didn’t want to.
Parker only wished Drake hadn’t taken the better part of a year to push the issue with Kimber. Life was short — and too often he’d seen it cut shorter for those who didn’t deserve it to be. He just wanted his friend to be happy.
Happiness meant being who you were. Raw, without filters, veneers, or facades. Just you. A person able to reach that state can ask for nothing more — unless it’s to reach it with the woman he loves. Drake thought he’d found it, and Parker was still looking. Erik was too young and dumb to really know what it was — but he was learning.
As Parker spoke to Ashley yesterday, looking down into those pretty hazel eyes of hers, he saw a depth in them. He wanted to dive in, explore — claim.
Her.
He knew it was crazy, but looking at how she stood there, motionless (the only part of her moving was her eyes) stirred something in him, roused the predator. Maybe it was that way for all men when they were attracted to a woman. Maybe his was just a slightly different bent than others’. His was the urge to possess, control — conquer.
Her.
Parker disliked the terms thrown about for what he was: Dominant, Top, Sadist — whatever. He might be all of those things, and none of them. He didn’t really care. His was not an urge to front, to pose, to convince all of his control, his power. The only one he cared to make sure understood his power and control was one person.
Her.
Maybe Ashley was that girl.
Maybe you’re just in a long dry spell, Parker.
He stepped out into the crisp late September morning air. The mornings were the best times to run, when it was cold and quiet, nobody around. A time to think, or just enjoy being alive. He and Drake had developed a path that followed the lot lines of Parker’s property, and it was the perfect mix of hills and flats, open brush and forest. His land encompassed the better part of fifty acres, so he never had to deal with anyone else. Just him.
But during the run, he kept coming back to the same subject.
Ashley.
He was being an idiot, that was for sure, but he kept picturing those beautiful big eyes looking up into his as she knelt, naked at his feet, waiting, wanting.
Obeying.
He’d explored his sexuality with other women of course, but in the most recent years of his life, he’d become more comfortable with himself. Gone were the days as a young teenager wondering if he were irretrievably broken, a sicko. The military helped him a lot in that regard, first and foremost by getting him out of his own damn head. When all you’re concerned about is saving your own ass, and the asses of your buddies, there’s little time to be worried about your psycho-sexual development.
Once he’d retired though — such an odd term for a man not yet even forty years old — he’d had time to figure out who the hell he was. What he was. And soon he realized he didn’t care about the what anymore. He just decided to be Parker. He stopped being afraid of scaring off girlfriends and started being honest about what he wanted. A few broke it off, and a few (shockingly, to him) were quite non-disturbed by his revelations. He’d even had one tell him, “That’s c
alled being a man. We women generally like that.” That had been Sandra, and for a time, he’d considered marrying her. But soon, they’d drifted apart, not bitterly so, just in the way people sometimes do, gravitating toward different paths in life. They’d parted amicably, her last gift to him the name and address for a place in Seattle. It was called Sanctum.
A rather banal name, he’d thought at first, assuming it was nothing more than a dance club. It turned out to be quite a bit more than that, however, and there he’d lost himself in the temporary pleasures, the blissful distractions of a BDSM club. Then one night he’d recognized the bruiser of a man working as head of security at Sanctum.
He was a man who’d once saved Parker’s life. His name was Drake Woodson.
Parker stopped to catch his breath at the highest point of his property. It was a rocky precipice that overlooked the breathtaking expanse of Lake Chelan, far below the ridge. He stooped, hands on his knees as he breathed deeply, the scent of sagebrush and scotch broom mixed with the pines that dotted the hillside and most of his land. He would always love that smell, the memories of his childhood in this part of Washington. He was glad he’d come back after his discharge, and he knew he’d never leave it again.
He started back on the return leg that skirted the western edge of his land, snaking through the thick Lodgepole pine and Douglas fir that made it all but impassable for anything larger than an elk. The darkness of the tree stand lent an even stronger blanket of quiet and calm to the cold morning air. His lungs burned from the harshness of the cold, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Burning lungs meant you were alive, could feel. There was a time he wasn’t sure about either one.
Trudging back up the steps of the front porch, he dropped down onto the top step, his long hands hanging loosely over his bent knees. The pleasant exhaustion following a good run was the best part. To be wrung out, spent, looking forward to a long hot shower.
(Always better with your little Ashley)
It was fortunate he was sitting, for the thought had him almost instantly erect. Another side effect of running; not the perverted mind of course — that was congenital — but the physical … responsiveness. The runner’s high was more than a mental state for him. It had a physical manifestation too.
Trent Evans Page 3