Most of all, telling him had allowed her to look at herself, and her needs, again. She’d spent so much time trying to anticipate or fend off Terry that she’d forgotten how to get in touch with what she needed, what she really wanted.
As she knelt there on that floor last night, she’d had a glimpse of it — and it scared her. The depths of what she might want, what she might ask of another. It reminded her of the fantasies she’d shared as teenager with her then best friend Megan. Her friend’s fantasy was the chaste knight in shining armor rescues the princess stuff.
Hers was the same — except that after the knight rescued the princess, he imprisoned her in his castle, chaining her up and having his way with her whenever he desired, spanking her when she was bad.
When confessing the fantasy, she’d left out most of the naughtier bits, of course, but did include the imprisonment in his castle detail. She could still vividly recall the look of surprise and mortification she’d seen on her friend’s face. She’d had to laugh it off as “just kidding,” but she’d quickly learned that it was better to just go along to get along. Better not to scare the kiddies that way.
From that day forward, until she was an adult, and realized others harbored similar twisted fantasies, she’d felt like a deviant. A freak. It hurt, not being able to say that the wedding fantasy held no appeal for her unless she was in chains, kneeling at the altar, sucking her groom’s cock before all gathered as witnesses to her devotion to her soon to be Lord and Master.
No, best not to share that one with the girls!
The yipping and baying returned suddenly, much louder. She listened to it, scrunching down under her covers involuntarily at the disturbing sounds. As it got even closer she heard an unsettling crying mixed in. It was actually starting to freak her out a little bit.
“What the hell is that?”
The cacophony seemed to pass right under her window, then circle her house. She reached for her cell, about to call Parker, when she heard the comforting bellow of Jed’s woofing. He barreled by her window, the sounds of his paws pounding the grass as he sprinted by, unmistakable even through the closed window. The baying and yipping quickly receded. She guessed that whatever it was, it didn’t feel like tangling with 120 lbs of canine. Problem solved!
“Go get ‘em, boy!” she whispered, smiling and pulling the covers around herself.
Now, if there were only a quick solution for a wet, throbbing pussy.
***
Breathing in the crisp morning air between sips of his coffee, Parker sat on his porch. The warmth of the mug felt wonderful against the cut of the cold air on his fingers. Jed curled up next to him on the floorboards. He’d heard the dog chasing the coyotes again last night. Jed was a good boy.
Parker knew he’d done the right thing. It may have been the ethical thing to do, but it left him with a horrendous case of blue balls that had him jerking off in the shower that morning just to help defuse some of the ache in his testicles and lower abdomen.
She simply wasn’t ready, despite how hot her defiance made him.
The front door opened, and Drake walked out, his green rifle bag over a shoulder. Jed stirred, his long, pink tongue lolling out, and Drake ruffled the fur atop the dog’s massive head. “You get any of ‘em last night, boy?”
Jed woofed, the deep sound jarring in the still of the morning. Drake smiled and patted him, sitting down on the bench, laying the rifle across his thighs.
“You heading out?” Parker sipped from his cup.
“Gonna try Foster Creek wash.” Drake patted the rifle bag. “Erik said he wanted to fire off a few from this behemoth, so I want to be sure I find a spot where it’s safe before I take him shooting.”
“Why so far? Hell, you could probably shoot here, if you’re careful.”
Foster Creek wash was just east of Chief Joseph Dam, a forty five minute drive north along the Columbia.
Drake shrugged. “I went shooting there as a kid a few times. Nice to go back once in awhile.”
Parker nodded over his cup. Drake had lost his Dad — an expert shooter just like his son— a year ago, and Parker could tell he still missed him, even if his dark, stone-faced friend did his best to hide it.
“Before you go, we probably should talk some.” Parker set his mug down on the arm of the wooden bench.
Jed woofed and got to his feet, bolting off the porch. Parker wasn’t sure if it was that supernatural dog hearing picking up coyotes again, or the voices in Jed’s cinder block of a head.
“Guess he didn’t feel like talking,” Parker said, shaking his head with a smile.
Drake glanced up the driveway at the guest house. “Did you?”
“She’s not ready, Drake. She told me—”He cut himself off, thinking better of it. “I think you should let her tell it to you. In her own time.”
Drake sat back, smiling, the wood of the bench creaking. “You going wobbly on us, Parker? I figured you’d have her eating out of your hand by now. Literally.”
“I told her about you.”
Drake’s head snapped over to Parker. “What? Why?”
He picked up his mug again, holding up a hand to Drake. “Relax. I didn’t say much. Left it ambiguous, really.”
“Jesus,” Drake muttered, running fingers through his dark, close-cut hair. “Do you want to scare her off? She’ll think we’re psychos.”
“Well, maybe she’ll think you’re a psycho. She rather likes me though.” Parker’s eyes danced over the steaming mug.
“Fuck you,” Drake growled.
“I think we’ll have to take this slower than we planned, Drake. Believe me, I’d like nothing better than to have our very own little slave girl waiting on us hand and foot here, but I think it’s way too soon. Not after last night.”
He imagined sitting in this very bench, looking down upon her as she knelt between his spread thighs, his hard cock mere inches from her plump lips. Her lovely hazel eyes upon him, eager. Waiting for his permission to take that cock into her mouth.
Someday soon, Parker. Don’t lose hope yet.
“Maybe I should talk to her, since you can’t seem to handle it.” Drake set the rifle butt on the floorboards with a solid thunk, holding the weapon vertically between his legs.
“No, not about this anyway. Let me take care of it. She just needs time, to get used to the idea.”
“She didn’t know did she?”
Parker shook his head. “She had no idea.”
“Did she say anything? About me?”
“Nope.”
“Do you still think you could do it — assuming she eventually agrees?”
“Share her?”
“Yeah, I do.”
They’d both wanted to do it — sharing a sub — but neither had ever explicitly brought up the idea, until Drake’s relationship with Kimber started to fall apart. It was highly unusual — some of the other Doms he’d known over the years would have told them they were fucking crazy to even consider it. That jealousy would eventually rear its head, ruin everything.
But it wasn’t like that with either one of them. Not since that day so many years ago. As Parker had laid on that stretcher in the windblown hold of the HH-53 Pave Low, the brilliant green of the jungle canopy stretching as far as the eye could see below them, the roar of rotor wash and screaming engines deafening him, he’d made that pact with himself. Somehow, he’d repay the debt to the man crouched next to him that day, frantically trying to staunch Parker’s bleeding, the man who’d carried Parker’s broken, bullet-riddled body back to the chopper. Medical Sergeant Drake Woodson. The man who’d saved Parker’s life.
“We’re both on board, but if you freak her out, she’ll run, Parker. You should’ve asked me before bringing it up with her.”
“She actually reacted quite well, all things considered. You’re gonna have to trust me, bro.”
“Well, fuck. This is just perfect, Park. We think she’s the one — and she’s not even interested in me.” Drake
stood up, slinging the bag over his shoulder again and zipping up his dark tan coat.
Parker smiled. Ashley wasn’t the only one who had no clue. He knew how she felt, even if she didn’t say so in words. He’d seen the way she looked at Drake that first night they’d all had dinner together. There was no mistaking that look.
“Bring us back some venison,” Parker called, as Drake clomped off of the porch.
“I don’t shoot living things anymore, Park. Remember?” Drake climbed into his truck.
“Then bag us a nice big pizza,” Parker muttered to himself as Drake backed out of the driveway.
Chapter Twelve
She wasn’t sure what to expect the day “after,” but it sure as hell wasn’t that. She shuffled through the kitchen, clutching her comforter around herself, the morning sunshine a slash of harsh illumination across the kitchen floor.
Ashley felt like she’d gotten about two hours of sleep. Perhaps it was the fevered dreams she’d had once she’d fallen back asleep. The strong, merciless hands, taking, hurting. The thick cock stabbing deep, taking her breath away with the dark pleasure of her yielding. Her cries, his roar. The sting of her scalp as her hair was yanked. She’d plead, her eyes leaking tears as her cunt leaked juices. His hand had slapped her face once, twice, her ears ringing. She couldn’t remember the face. Was it Terry or Parker? Did it matter to her body? Her nipples had ached, her pussy wept.
No, it didn’t matter.
Later that night she’d woken again, tears on her cheeks, trembling, the core of her a molten furnace. The force of her desire confused and shamed her, but it was only in her dreams, that her true needs asserted themselves. Since Terry.
Then she’d laid in her bed, cursing herself with every profanity she knew, willing her mind to purge itself of those needs. Rid itself of everything, and find the oblivion of rest. It worked eventually, but over and over, her mind came back to him.
Parker.
She wanted to trust him. She had to, or Terry would have won. But it was so hard. What would happen if she were hurt again? Could she take it? Live with it so soon after? Then she thought of his quiet, calm voice, the flash of those cold eyes, at once inviting and threatening. The powerful muscles of his arms straining against his shirt, imagining what it would feel like to be subject to their strength. Enveloped in it. Lost in it.
Then she’d drifted away, smiling, at last.
Ashley was going to head back to the bedroom, determined to sleep longer, despite the cursed brightness of the morning, when she saw it.
An envelope.
It was laying on the foyer floor, next to the door. She put the coffee on, and walked over to it. She stood a moment, staring down at the innocuous off-white rectangle laying on the floor.
“Do I want to open it, or start a fire?” She glanced over at the squat iron form in the living room, her only hope of staving off the bone-chilling cold of the morning.
Heat would come first.
She’d gotten good at stoking the thing, and before she knew it the stove was roaring nicely. It was only the first week of October, but so far autumn had been unusually cool — at least that was what her boss had told her. Ashley thought it was still pretty tame, compared to back east.
Changing into gray sweats and a dark long-sleeved shirt, she picked up the envelope, and plunked down onto her new couch. Tara had talked her into it, reminding her that it would get old real quick sitting on the floor. She ripped apart the envelope, and opened the neatly folded paper inside. She had to concentrate on stilling her racing heartbeat as she read:
Ashley,
I’m going to be gone all day today, but I have something for you. Another choice. When I get back tonight, I’ll be knocking on your door at 8 o’clock. I want to find you in the tightest pair of jeans you own. If you don’t own any, you are to drive into Wenatchee today and buy a pair. There’s enough in the envelope for you, in that event.
She ran her fingers into the open envelope, finding four, one hundred dollar bills. “Jesus, this would buy something alright.” Ashley continued reading, biting the corner of her lip.
Your choice: lock your door or don’t. If locked, then I’ll have your answer: nothing more. If unlocked, I expect to see you standing in the foyer, in those jeans, your back to the door, your hands clasped behind your head. I leave it up to you what to wear for a top. Make it easy to remove, as you won’t be wearing it long. I want you barefoot. Leave your hair down, and loose.
If you do this, we go further. It is your choice, for now.
Parker
PS - If you drive, you’d better be wearing your seatbelt.
Licking her lips, she realized her mouth had gone dry. She placed the letter on the couch next to her, on top of the bills. She put her hands over her mouth for a moment, her eyes wide. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the flames inside the stove. The faint pleasant tang of wood smoke scented the air.
Ashley stood and looked down at the letter once more. “Guess I’m going shopping today.”
***
Maybe she felt a trifle guilty spending his money, but she loved the jeans she bought with it. Now she just had to drum up the courage to actually wear them. One of the nice things about not eating enough was that her ass had somewhat come back under control. It was usually an embarrassment to her. It didn’t matter how much men looked at it (a lot), or how many of her lovers hadn’t been able to keep their hands off of it (most of them); she still didn’t like it. She’d always wanted to be sleek, athletic, but mother nature had given her something else entirely.
Now she stood in front of her mirror fastening the top button. She was already blushing and she hadn’t even looked at herself yet. She could feel the clutch of the denim at the curves of her buttocks, molding them, and emphasizing their weight in contrast to the narrowness of her waist. She took a deep breath and walked out to the living room, her bare feet padding on the wood floor.
Would he be on time? What a stupid question. She took one last look at her phone — 7:57 — before slipping it into her front pocket. Her heart had begun a steady gallop as soon as she’d shimmied into the snug denim, and standing there in the quiet foyer, her hands in the prescribed position, it felt as if the very room pulsed with her heartbeat. She smiled at herself wondering what he’d think of the shirt she’d decided on. She really loved the shirt, despite feeling like a fossil while browsing through the store where she found it. She was at least twenty years outside that store’s target demographic.
There was the sound of a car pulling up outside, and Ashley stifled a yelp, looking around with an absurd urge to make sure everything was straight and clean. What the hell was she doing?
There was a sharp pair of knocks on the door, then a pause. She licked her lips and tightened the lacing of her fingers behind her head. She didn’t want her trembling to be obvious.
The door opened, and she felt the rush of cold air at her bare feet. Boots clomped behind her and the door closed.
“Hello, Ashley.”
***
Parker was glad she couldn’t see him, because he knew he walked through that door with a huge erection tenting his jeans. He’d been hard and throbbing before he even got back home. He’d hoped she’d take the chance, feared she’d be too scared to, and dreaded the sinking feeling he’d suffer through if that door didn’t open. It was more than just about that door; it was an opening to the next chapter in their lives. Maybe it would be a life together, maybe it would be something even more than that. He had his hopes, but he had to be realistic. Not just for her sake, but for his. He didn’t want any more broken hearts. He’d rather live out his days alone, than feel that again. And he was damned sure he wasn’t going to hurt her either. Not like that motherfucker of an ex.
Keeping a lid on his elation at the unlocked door was almost as hard as stifling the “God DAMN” that was at his lips upon seeing the sight that greeted his entry. She looked even better than he’d imagined she would. He loved
women in tight jeans, and he didn’t even wonder why anymore. It was just one of the many things he liked. One of the many things he was determined to enjoy with Ashley, if he could just figure out a way not to screw everything up.
He closed the door and leaned against it, drinking in her beauty. Oh God, how was he going to do this!
The lush curves of her buttocks beckoned, the cleft clearly delineated by the snug fabric, dividing and emphasizing each individual cheek. He wanted to spank them, and bite them — in that order. He wanted to bend her over that couch and make her cry out as he forced every last inch of his hard cock into her ass. Take her to that dark, confused place where pain and pleasure, embarrassment and ecstasy meld into one heady, intoxicating mix.
He reached out and cupped a buttock, feeling the curve molded to his hand. It was made for his hand.
His.
He squeezed it, and she jerked.
“Be still, Ashley.” His voice was quiet. He hoped she couldn’t detect the strain he felt. He wanted to take her, make her his with every fiber of his being, but he remembered his declaration to her.
Take it slow, asshole. Great plan. Your dick is going to fall off if you subject yourself to much more of this.
Parker walked around her, slowly, his eyes roving anywhere, everywhere. His hand ran across her buttocks to clasp her hip as he stopped in front of her. She had her eyes downcast, her cheeks suffused with that bewitching blush of hers. That blush was a provocation, calling to the predator in him. “I’m glad you made the right choice, Ashley. You don’t know how glad.”
She smiled, but left her eyes down, the lashes fanning her cheeks. His gaze dropped to her shirt. It was a plain black cotton tee, with block white lettering over her prominent breasts:
Trent Evans Page 11