Wicked Series Complete Box Set: An Erotic Thriller

by Parker, M. S.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  A Wicked Lie: Wicked Book 1

  A Wicked Kiss: Wicked Book 2

  A Wicked Truth: Wicked Book 3

  Wicked Series Box Set

  By M.S. Parker

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC.

  Book Description

  My life wasn't perfect but it was close. I loved my job and my husband. We were getting ready to celebrate our first year of marriage and, soon, we'd be starting a family. And then my world imploded.

  Twenty-six year-old Shae Lockwood and her husband have the kind of marriage most people would kill for. Together since college, they're as in love now as they were then. When Allen surprises Shae for their one year anniversary, she has no way of knowing that everything in her life is about to change.

  Don't miss A Wicked Lie, an Erotic Thriller from USA Today best-selling author M.S. Parker.

  A Wicked Lie: Wicked Book 1

  By M.S. Parker

  Chapter 1

  I'd been asleep for at least a couple hours when the feel of the mattress dipping behind me drew me from the darkness. A moment later, I could smell the subtle scent of our shampoo, mingling with his slightly spicier body-wash. I opened my eyes, but didn't roll over. The room was still dark, but the red numbers on the clock glowed. One thirty-two in the morning.

  “Baby, you awake?” His voice was a whisper, but clear enough that I could tell he wasn't drunk. If he'd been sampling some of our vineyard's vintage wine, he hadn't over indulged.

  Not drunk, but definitely horny. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he moved closer to me. A moment later, a hand slid over my hip and down my thigh.

  “Shae, babe, you awake?”

  The hand started to pull up the pale pink silk nightie I'd put on after my shower. I made a non-committal sound as his fingers moved over bare skin. Across my waist and up to cup my full breast.

  “It's late, Allen,” I murmured.

  “I know, sweetie.” He pressed his lips against the hollow spot under my ear. “But I've been thinking about you all day.”

  I wanted to ask him why, if he'd been thinking about me, hadn't he just come home when he’d known I'd be awake. His office for the vineyard was only a few hundred yards from the main house. He could've come up to see me when I'd gotten home from school, or for dinner.

  Instead, I'd eaten alone.

  Again.

  I didn't say anything though. I was too tired for an argument, or even a discussion. I couldn’t remember the last time I wasn’t mentally and physically drained.

  His fingers rolled my nipple even as he pressed up behind me and I suddenly realized that he was naked. His cock was hot and hard against my ass, burning through the silk. I moaned as he began to kiss his way down my neck. I was tired, but my body wanted him. We'd been married for a little less than a year, but we'd been lovers for eight years, and he knew exactly how to arouse me.

  “It's been too long.” His breath was hot against my skin.

  I agreed. With school ending and work at the vineyard picking up, we'd barely seen each other all week, never-mind having the time to make love. My head fell back against his shoulder as he moved my nightgown higher. His hand dropped from my breast and moved down my stomach to the juncture between my legs. His fingers skimmed the thin layer of golden curls he found there, then delved between my folds. With practiced accuracy, he found my clit and began to move his fingers in a quick back and forth movement, sending shivers of pleasure through me. His hips rocked against me, rubbing his cock against my ass.

  “Please, Shae,” he murmured as his fingers steadily coaxed the dying embers inside me to a flame.

  I rolled onto my back, reaching up to wrap my fingers around the back of his neck. In the dark, I couldn't see him, but I didn't need to. I knew every inch of my husband. The sparkling hazel eyes, the tousled tawny hair that never seemed to stay in place. His strong jaw and the nose that was just a tad too long to be perfect. His long, lean body, strong fingers.

  I pulled him down to me, his mouth easily finding mine. His tongue traced my lips before slipping inside. I ran my free hand down his chest, lightly scratching his nipple with my nails before wrapping my hand around his cock. He groaned as I gripped the base of him tight.

  Damn. He hadn't been kidding, I thought as I stroked the full length of him. He was practically throbbing in my hand. He had to have come straight out of the shower with a hard-on. He'd never been one of those men who acted like he needed to have sex every day, but despite how long we'd been together, we had a healthy sex life.

  His fingers slid inside me, carefully stretching me even as his thumb kept up the steady friction on my clit. His free hand bunched my nightgown even more until his mouth found my breast. I could feel myself getting wetter as his lips fastened around my nipple.

  “Allen,” I breathed, my back arching.

  The hot suction made a straight line from my breast to the place where his fingers were keeping up a steady rhythm. I reached out towards my bedside table, fingers fumbling for the drawer. Even as one half of my brain registered the heat building in my belly, the other half was rummaging for a condom. My fingers brushed against the cool plastic of my vibrator before finding what I was looking for.

  His fingers slid out of me and plucked the little packet from my hand. A moment later, I heard the wrapper tear. I shifted towards him as he raised his head from my breast. I couldn't see him, but I knew his body well enough to easily adjust myself so that I was right where I needed to be when he moved on top of me.

  He groaned as he eased inside, rocking his hips to make sure I was ready. I slid my hands down his broad, muscular back and gripped his ass, pulling him towards me. I caught my breath as he surged forward, filling me. I flexed my fingers, encouraging him to move. His lips found mine as he began to thrust. His first few strokes were slow, as they always were, giving my body the time to adjust. He'd been my first lover, my only lover, and he'd been a wonderful instructor. He knew my body almost better than I did, knowing just exactly where to touch to turn me on, to drive me towards climax.

  My tongue twisted with his, drawing it into my mouth. I sucked on it and felt his body tense for a moment before he picked up the pace. I shivered as he drove in deep, sparking pleasure all across my nerves. His lips moved from my mouth to trail down my jaw, my neck. They were soft, open-mouthed kisses that sent heat slithering across my skin.

  “I've been dreaming about this,” he moaned into my ear. “Being buried in your sweet, hot pussy.”

  My hips rose to meet his, my body instinctively knowing exactly how to move. Our bodies danced together, a dance we knew well and enjoyed. I could feel my orgasm approaching, the tightening in my belly. Even as I approached my release, I felt his hips stutter and knew he was close.

  As he knew my body, I knew his. If I'd had him in my mouth or hand, I would've felt his cock twitch, his balls heavy.

  “Come on, baby,” I murmured, raking my nails lightly up his back. Never hard enough to hurt, just enough to feel. “Come for me.”

  “You first,” he said, his voice harsh, rasping. “Touch yourself, babe. I don't think I'm going to last much longer.”

  I slid my hand between us with a skill that came from years of practice. It d
idn't take much, just a few quick strokes even as he jerked his hips against me. He came with a rough grunting sound and I followed a moment later with my own soft sigh.

  He slumped onto me, his weight familiar and solid. The feel of home. I pushed his still wet hair back from his forehead and kissed his temple. It didn't matter that sometimes the sex was predictable, or that he sometimes spent too much time at the vineyard. He was mine and I was his. I loved him.

  “I've missed that.” His breath was hot on my neck. He moved, sliding out of me even as he kissed my shoulder. He rolled onto his back, still breathing heavily as he pulled off the condom and tossed it into the bedside trashcan.

  “Me too.” I smiled even though it was too dark for him to see me.

  We lay there together for several minutes, not speaking, not touching, just being. Finally, I climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom for some clean up. When I came back out a few minutes later, I let the light from the bathroom stay on a bit longer. It shone right across the bed, revealing the face of the man I'd loved almost from the first moment I'd seen him.

  I could still remember it, the first time I’d met the man I eventually married. I'd been born and raised in a small Utah town, so coming to UCLA had been a bit of a culture shock for me. I'd still been adjusting to my new life, even after two weeks, and I'd managed to get myself lost.

  Again.

  I'd been standing on the sidewalk, overly conscious of the precious minutes before my next class ticking by. I’d been trying not to cry when I'd heard a gentle voice asking if I was okay. When I'd looked up, I'd found myself staring at the kindest face I'd ever seen and everything had come crashing in on me. My mother's recent cancer diagnosis, being away from home for the first time, struggling to pay my tuition and keep up with classes that were promising to be difficult...all of that and the fact that I was probably going to be late to my Introduction to British Literature class had been too much.

  I'd started to cry and, instead of bolting – or trying to take advantage – like most men would've done when confronted with a sobbing co-ed, he'd taken my elbow, led me over to a bench and sat down beside me while I spilled out everything that was wrong.

  I hadn't made it to class that day, but Allen had known the professor and I hadn't gotten into trouble. It had been nearly half the semester before he'd asked me out on an official date, but he'd looked out for me from the moment we'd first met. He'd shown me around the campus, giving me hints of shortcuts and quizzing me until I'd known where everything was.

  When his graduation had drawn closer, I'd been scared that he would be heading back to Texas where his family was in the oil business. Instead, he'd rented an apartment just off campus, making plans to go into business for himself. When, a few months later, he'd inherited the vineyard in St. Helena, he'd given me the apartment. Despite the distance between the vineyard and UCLA, he'd come down to see me every other weekend.

  It was funny, I thought as I turned off the bathroom light and waited for my eyes to adjust. Funny how long eight years sounded, but how short it had seemed. When I looked in the mirror, I saw the same golden hair – though with a different haircut – and the same cobalt blue eyes. I'd always been curvy, but the years between eighteen and twenty-six hadn't put much weight on me. Allen was almost thirty and had a bit of his decade weight, but walking the vineyard had kept him lean.

  While I'd been in the bathroom, Allen had crawled under the covers and had them rolled around him like a cocoon. I sighed as I climbed into bed and grabbed the edge of the sheet and blanket. I gave them a sharp tug and rolled my eyes when Allen snorted in his sleep. I pulled harder and he rolled towards me, releasing enough of the covers for me to get underneath.

  The bed creaked slightly as I settled into my usual position on my side. I felt Allen bump against me as he moved closer. His hand curled over my hip and he sighed, dropping into a deeper sleep. The sound of his steady breathing and the after-effects of our love-making lulled me into my own slumber.

  I was safe and I was loved. As long as Allen was at my side, I could sleep.

  Chapter 2

  One and a half weeks, I reminded myself as I dabbed my forehead with a tissue. One and a half weeks and I'd be free for nearly three glorious months. I loved my job, but I was definitely ready for a break. Especially now. Less than two weeks left in the school year and the air conditioning had gone on the fritz. And, of course, this had to be one of the hottest Junes on record.

  I pushed back from my desk and walked across to where the fan was sitting in my open window and closed my eyes. The air outside was just as hot and humid as it was inside, but at least the fan created a breeze. As stifling as it was now, it had been worse an hour ago when the room had been filled with twenty-four sweating and irritable second graders. They'd even been too lethargic for a second recess.

  I blew out a long breath and turned away from the window. Principal Sanders had asked all of us to stay late at least three days a week for the last month of school in case any parents wanted to come in to see how their kids were finishing up the year. Technically, that's what the parent-teacher conferences we'd had at the end of April should've been for, but I knew where he was coming from. Our parents were notorious for waiting until the last minute and then complaining when something didn't go their way. So far, I'd been lucky. None of my students were failing and the two who were close had actively involved parents who didn't blame me.

  That didn't mean I didn't have work to do, however. Sitting on my desk – with a very reproachful air – were papers from yesterday and today that needed to be graded. The year-end spelling test as well as a set of math exercises and three sets of reading homework from students who'd been out sick on Monday.

  As I thought it, I automatically reached for the hand sanitizer I kept on my desk. I replaced the large bottle at least three times a year, but it was worth it. I'd managed to only get sick once this year and I wasn't about to risk it this late in the season. If I could make it through next week, I'd most likely be good all summer, and with my wedding anniversary coming up, I definitely didn't want to be ill.

  I glanced at the clock as I sat down again. Allen was supposed to pick me up in a half hour for us to go on our weekly date night and I was starting to regret asking him to meet me here. I seriously needed a shower. There wasn't anything I could do about it though. I'd caught a ride with the art teacher, Gina Edgars, this morning so that I wouldn't have to worry about leaving a car at the school. Now I was stuck, unless I wanted to ask one of the other teachers for a ride home, and that wasn't something I particularly wanted to do.

  I loved teaching and I loved my students. The principal was nice enough and I got along well with Gina who lived across the road from me with her long-time girlfriend Junie, but the rest of the faculty was a different matter altogether. I was the youngest of the teachers by fifteen years and that gap was the least of the reasons the other teachers weren't that fond of me.

  They didn't dislike me, exactly, but they'd always been a bit stand-offish. A couple of them had known Allen's uncle and the kind of family Allen had come from. Those ones tended to be of the same opinion as Allen's family, that I'd been attracted to the money. The majority, however, just didn't seem to get me. They didn't approve of some of the more creative ways I had of teaching, my tendency to go against the norm when it came to curriculum and teaching style. They were polite enough, I supposed, but they did have a bad habit of giving me disapproving looks whenever they saw my students' desks out of rows or heard about me trying something new. They didn't know how to talk to me, and any attempts I tried to make always ended up being met with awkward silence. Even after three years here, I sometimes still felt like an outsider.

  I shook off the thoughts and turned my attention back to the papers in front of me. I wanted to get as much as possible done before Allen arrived. Maybe I'd suggest we go for ice cream in a nice, air-conditioned building so I could cool off and hopefully manage to make myself presentable be
fore we moved on to whatever activity he'd planned for us before we finished the evening with dinner. It was his week to come up with a date idea, but I doubted he'd mind the ice cream suggestion. We both had a weakness for double chocolate chunk with sprinkles.

  I went through each of the tests, falling into the rhythm of grading their spelling efforts, my eyes seeing the shapes of words rather than the actual letters. While I wouldn't be missing a few months of not having to grade spelling tests scrawled in typical second-grade handwriting, I had to admit that there was something comforting about the monotony of it.

  “Shae.” A voice came from the doorway and I looked up. Gina was wearing one of her signature paint-splattered floral dresses and she still had a paintbrush stuck in her dark brown curls. “I know you said Allen was coming to get you, but I figured I'd stop by and find out if you needed a ride anyway.”

  I looked at the clock, surprised. I hadn't realized how much time had passed. I frowned and picked up my phone. No messages from Allen and he was late. Again. He hadn't come home on time for the past two weeks.

  “Is everything okay?” Gina came into the classroom, a concerned look on her face. While she wasn't quite old enough to be my mother, she had definitely taken on that kind of role, always checking in on me.

  “Yeah,” I said. I rubbed my hand over my face and grimaced at the feel of my skin. My blouse was sticking to my back and I didn't even want to know what it would look like if I raised my arms. I reached for my bottled water and made a face as I swallowed the tepid liquid.

  “So Allen is coming?”

  I looked at my phone again, willing there to have been a message in the past few seconds. “I guess not.” I stood, trying not to let my frustration bleed through to my voice. “He probably just lost track of time.”

  I could call him, I supposed, and remind him of what today was, but I didn't want to sound like I was nagging. I knew he was busy preparing for this year's crop. Contrary to what most people thought, farming of any kind didn't consist of planting and then doing nothing for months before harvest. I wasn't involved in a lot of the day-to-day workings of the vineyard, but I'd seen enough over the last six and a half years to know that it was a full-time job. Equipment preparation and repairs. Scheduling and hoping that everything happened on time. Watching weather reports. Dealing with insects and rodents. Hiring the right people.