What She's Looking For (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

S
he woke to the sounds of Jed, Parker’s
huge, jet-black mastiff, running around the house. The clock said 3:12 AM.
Despite his size — he weighed almost as much as she did — he was adorable. What
was not so adorable was Jed’s penchant for enjoying late night sojourns out
onto Parker’s property to chase other animals.

Then she heard it: a far off
yipping, and crying. It was getting louder — or closer. Jed’s bark rattled the
window of her room; he must have been right outside. Then the dog took off,
judging by the sounds of his barking.

“Damn it.” She got up to go to the
bathroom, able to hear the bass of the dog’s bark even as she sat on the
toilet.

Earlier in the evening, she’d hoped
that at about this time she’d be in the strong arms of Parker, snuggling up to
the warmth of his muscled body, feeling his hardening cock against her
buttocks.

Instead, the damned dog had to wake
her up from a sleep fit for the dead. he finished and flushed the toilet,
walking back out to her bed.

Shivering, she slipped back under
the covers, again lamenting the absence of Parker as human bed warmer. God, he
would be nice — she just knew it. She could tell from the bulge in his slacks
that he would be very nice indeed. It wasn’t like it
had
to be big — no
size queen, her — but it certainly was a pleasant bonus!

She suspected a lot of men were
that way with breasts, too. Her mind flitted to the image of Parker’s heavy
cock laid in the cleavage of her breasts. She imagined his gruff command to her
to squeeze his cock between them as he began thrusting, a hand entwined in her
hair, his cruel fingers pinching one of her nipples.

Stop it you dumb broad. Sleep,
remember?

Ashley wasn’t sure she could,
notwithstanding the continued barking outside. The strange yipping seemed to be
getting louder again.

She’d been so fucking keyed up
after Parker left her, that she’d had to bring herself off — twice — just to
get to sleep. As nice as that was, it paled in comparison to a good, hard
pounding, something she’d been
sure
she’d eventually get — until the
night went wrong.

It was her damned emotional shit.
She had to get a handle on it. Tara had suggested mindless distraction through
meaningless sex. While she thought she would have taken any sex, meaningless or
otherwise, after Parker left, she knew that it would be a waste. She needed
more than just a release. She had two fingers and her vibrator after all, if
that was all that was required.

She needed Parker. Needed to feel
him, get behind the façade he kept up at all times. Ashley knew he had feelings
for her. She’d felt the hard evidence of it as she’d hugged his leg like a
lovesick puppy. She needed far more than that though, and the thought made her
shiver.

There’d been the hint of it as he
spoke to her rather harshly. She’d be a liar if she said his harshness didn’t
turn her on though, because it hinted at more, just under the surface. She
wanted to know that if she got under that hard armor of his, if she’d find a
big softie (with one notable anatomical exception), or if she’d find something
else. Something like steel.

She felt shame at what she hoped —
she wanted to find steel. She knew it was wrong, especially considering what
she’d been through with Terry. But she wanted that harshness, wanted to see
just how far he’d go.

Maybe that was what had attracted
her to Terry — that same harshness, that steel. Yes, he’d had it too, but it
was tinged with contempt, selfishness, jealousy. She realized she didn’t
include sadism in that list of negatives, and it made her shudder again.

She knew she was one sick bitch.

But still, she wondered. She could
sense something … else. He held something — maybe a lot of somethings — back.
She wondered if he would ever feel comfortable enough to share or show her what
those somethings were.

Ashley wondered if he wanted to
give her exactly what, deep down, she knew she needed. It had been hard to tell
him what little she had, but in the process of doing it, she realized something
— she felt better. Not just because she’d told anybody, but because she’d told
Parker
.
Somehow she thought, hoped, he wouldn’t be freaked out by it. Maybe, if she was
a really lucky girl, he’d be intrigued.

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

S
he 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.”

* * *