Saved Between the Sheets: An Anthology of Stories that Get to the Point

by R. M. Walker

  I swallowed, staring as the head of his dick appeared and disappeared as he stroked himself. I’d seen him before, and I’d got him off lots of times in various ways, but I’d never stopped to consider his size. Or rather, how his size would fit into me without causing major internal injury.

  “Take your knickers off.”

  He brought my attention to him, and I slid my fingers into the sides and pushed them down.

  “Lowena.” My name was a prayer as he raked his eyes over my body.

  “Then what did you do?” I asked, my voice husky with a passion only Parker could give me.

  “It was what you did,” he mumbled, colour flooding his cheeks.

  “What did I do?” I expected him to say I’d gone down on him or brought him off with my hands.

  “You were sitting with your legs apart, and I watched you get yourself off.”

  I hadn’t expected that or the kick of lust it gave me.

  “Myself? I touched myself,” I asked, making sure we were on the same page.

  “Yeah. You’re so gorgeous when you come.”

  I knelt on the blanket, and he sat up, stroking my nipples. I gasped as sensations spiralled to my core. I’d tried touching my nipples, but it was better when he did it.

  “Spread your knees,” he prompted, leaning forward to kiss me.

  I shuffled my knees apart, and he groaned, his cock twitching. I wanted to touch him, but I needed to see where he was taking me. Or rather, how he’d get me there.

  “Touch—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Touch yourself.”

  I slipped my hand between my legs, my fingertip grazing my clit, and I gasped at the sensation. I stroked myself again, and the air left my body on a shuddering moan.

  “Sit on your butt and spread your legs wide for me, babe. I want to see you,” he whispered.

  An ache started in my entrance as my muscles clenched on nothing. I needed him inside me and all he’d done was graze my nipples. I didn’t know I’d get off on him instructing me what to do, and I wasn’t sure what it suggested about me. But a glimpse of the pre-cum spilling from the head of his cock told me we were both enjoying it. So to hell with it. It couldn’t be wrong if we both wanted it.

  I sat on my butt and spread my legs, bringing my knees up for balance.

  “Oh, fuck me.” He gripped the base of his cock. He did that when he was close to coming too soon. I groaned, the coil of lust tightening inside me at the thought of him coming just by looking at me.

  I moaned as I slid my fingertip around my clit. He watched my fingers, but I watched his face. The lust in his eyes, the tip of his tongue showing between his lips. His elevated breathing, the gasps and pants that left his mouth all made my desire ride high for him.

  “Slower,” he husked. “Don’t come until I say you can.” He tilted his head and stared into my eyes. “Do you like this?”

  I could hear the doubt in his voice, and I lifted my fingers showing him the wetness. “I like—” I stopped, my turn to be insecure.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart, tell me.”

  “I like you telling me what to do.”

  Something sparked in his eyes. Something dark, primal, and it called to something deep inside me. We laid ourselves bare to each other. Not just our bodies, but our desires, our secrets, and our love for each other.

  “You don’t have a clue what I’ve imagined us doing together.” His brown eyes were so dark they looked black, and the intensity in them forced me to draw a sharp breath in through my nose.

  “You could always tell me,” I suggested. I was aching for his touch on my body, and I was desperate to get my hands on him.

  “Shit, you nearly made me come,” he grunted and picked up the foil packet.

  I watched as he opened it and rolled the condom onto his length. My nerves returned, but I needed this. I’d taken part in my fair share of girl talk in school, and I knew it’d hurt. Some of the girls said it only hurt the once, others said it took a few times before they were comfortable with it.

  He raised onto his knees, caught my chin in his fingers and lifted my mouth to his. I sank into his kiss, my hands resting on his waist.

  “I love you,” he breathed against my lips. “If you need to stop, or if it hurts too much, I’ll stop.”

  “It’ll be a good hurt, Parker. I want to share this with you. I trust you.”

  He swore and his kisses were desperate as he laid me on the blanket and knelt between my legs.

  Carding his fingers through my hair, he slid his other hand to cup me. His fingers grazed my clit as his tongue met mine. I cried out into his mouth as he stroked my nerves away. He moved his fingers to my entrance and circled them agonisingly slowly. He always stroked me like this, slow at first, one finger exploring me and then more until he had three fingers inside me. I bucked my hips, demanding more. He avoided my clit and kissed me as if his life depended on it. Mine did.

  He slid his fingers free, and the tip of his cock nudged against my opening. My body was more than ready for him, and he groaned, making small thrusts and moving deeper each time. I held my breath waiting for the pain, the pouring blood, or something equally horrific. It never happened. There was no pain, just a sense of immense fullness. Of being stretched to the limit, a delicious limit. And when he rotated his hips in small circles, he made me see stars. He was panting, sweat dripping from his forehead as he strained to control his movements.

  “God, Lo, say something,” he groaned.

  What did he want me to say? I didn’t have the answer, so my body replied instead. My legs went around his waist and I lifted my hips.

  He slid in further, and it stirred something in me that caused me to cling to him with a moan of ecstasy. His control broke, and he pulled out before driving back in. Something sparked inside as he rubbed against it, and I arched, trying to experience it again.

  I sobbed his name as he increased speed. There was nothing but him, filling me, taking me apart from the inside out. His fingers worked between my hips, and when he rubbed my clit, I saw stars and exploded around him. I clawed at his back as wave after wave of fire crashed over me. He roared in my ear as he came with me, adding to the immense rush of pleasure.

  “Perfect, so perfect.” He panted against my throat as we clung to each other, letting the glorious feeling settle over us.

  He twisted to the side and dealt with the condom and then he was back, pulling me into his arms and kissing my face.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  I caressed his hair, shaking my head. “Not at all. Not even a bit. I was expecting it, but it didn’t.”

  “Good. It worked.”

  “What did?”

  “I read that if I stretched you every time I got you off, you wouldn’t tear the first time.”

  “You… read…” I faded out, as my heart leapt in my chest

  “I did some research.” He shrugged in my hold.

  I sat up to look at him. “You did that for me?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Lowena. Ever. Plus, I figured if it was good for you, you’d let me do it again.” He smirked at me, and I laughed before kissing him.

  We kissed for a few minutes, and then I lifted my head to look into his eyes. “I love you, Parker McGowen. There will be no one for me except you.”

  His lips curved into a smile that reached his gorgeous eyes. He shone with happiness, and my heart thumped in my chest.

  “I will hold you to that, Lowena Penhallow.” He kissed me and then growled, pouncing on my neck.

  ***--***--***

  I woke to a soaking wet pillow and my eyes heavy and gritty. My dreams were crowded with Parker, pain, fear, and death. I hadn’t dreamt so vividly for a long time, and at least I wasn’t throwing up as I’d done when I was seventeen. I never talked about those dreams to anyone. Not even my parents. They wouldn’t have moved to Grandma’s if they’d realized how broken I was. But Grandma needed them more than I did now she was older. Whilst the
older I got my dreams grew less frequent.

  Until last night.

  Until I found out Parker McGowen had moved into the chapel.

  I rolled onto my side and eyed the glowing red numbers of my digital clock. It was two minutes past the unholy hour of six am. I wouldn’t be able to sleep again now. And I refused to lie around wallowing.

  I’d cried enough for Parker, and I’d cried far too much for myself.

  I had a shock yesterday—understandably—it wasn’t what I expected whilst getting my shopping. But that was yesterday, and this was a new day. I’d get on with my life, just as I’d been doing. I had deadlines to meet and money to earn. And I’d deal with Parker if I saw him.

  ***—***—***

  Ten days passed, and I still hadn’t seen Parker, not that I was counting. Although, not leaving the cottage might have had something to do with it. I was on a deadline, and it was easy to work every hour god sent so I didn’t have to think. But after a few meals of tinned soup and stale bread I had to relent and make the trip to the shop.

  Staring at my reflection in the living room mirror, I hardly recognised myself. I looked like hell. No, I looked worse. My face was paler than usual, black circles ringed my eyes, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d washed my hair.

  Snorting, I made my way upstairs. I wasn’t about to face Mrs Teller looking like I’d been dead for six months. The entire village would know by tea-time that Lowena Penhallow was most definitely carrying a candle for Parker McGowen.

  An enormous, cathedral-sized candle that I really needed to throw away. Or melt to the ground.

  When I examined my reflection again, I at least looked human. Make-up was a miracle-worker and so was the shower.

  I picked up my purse and opened the door. The glare from the sun hit me in the face, and I slapped a hand over my eyes as I fumbled for the wall to keep my balance.

  “Lowena Penhallow. Are you drunk again?”

  I heard Mrs Bell’s elderly horrified shriek and winced, keeping my hand over my eyes.

  “No, ma’am. The sun blinded me.”

  “You’d better not be.” She tutted. “Not again!”

  “Once, Mrs Bell, I was drunk once, and it was my twenty-first,” I reminded her for the millionth time.

  I lowered my hand, squinting against the glare. She was already striding up the cobbled street, her cane tapping as she went.

  “One too many, Lowena,” she called, not slowing, or looking back. “My roses have never been the same since.”

  “Sorry, Mrs Bell,” I called as she went into her cottage three doors up.

  “So were my roses!”

  I laughed, I couldn’t help it. She would remind me until her dying breath, and then I expected her to haunt me about it forever more.

  I turned to go to the shop and stumbled again. It wasn’t the sun this time. It was Parker.

  A man version of the boy.

  He was standing with Ted outside the shop, listening.

  Heat flooded my cheeks, my heart hammered in my rib cage, and I wanted to retreat into my safe cottage. But I knew eyes would be watching, I could practically hear the curtains twitching across the street. The nosiness wasn’t malicious, it never had been. I’d just had enough pity to run a parade, let alone a party

  I plastered a smile on my face and avoided eye contact. “Ted. Parker. Good morning.” I kept my gaze on his long, lean legs. They hadn’t changed, except instead of jeans he wore tailored trousers which fitted him perfectly.

  “Morning, lass,” Ted spoke up. “I was telling Parker here that it’s good to see someone in the chapel at last.”

  “Yes.” I smiled in the direction of Parker’s belly button and inched towards the shop door.

  “Hello,” Parker murmured.

  His voice was as toe-curlingly deep as I remembered, and my stomach flipped in response. A snorted giggle slipped free, and I hated myself, so I resorted to what I did best.

  “It’s been well done, or so I’ve heard. Isn’t that right, Ted? Seeing as it was empty for so long. We thought it would stay that way, didn’t we, Ted? But it hasn’t. Isn’t, I mean, won’t stay that way. Now it’s been bought. By you. But, of course, you know that. Considering it was you that bought it, that is.”

  Shut up, Lowena! Shut up!

  I couldn’t look at him. That babble of nonsense was ridiculous, and it stomped on any hopes of playing it cool. “Yes, well—” I opened the shop door, managing to get my gaze to the tie around his neck. I stumbled, Parker in a suit?

  Ted caught my arm, and I gave another ridiculous laugh. “Nice to see you—both.” I went in, cursing myself to kingdom come.

  “Is she drunk?”

  I heard Parker ask Ted and my mortification was complete.

  “No. Not drunk.”

  I closed the door, wanting to collapse in a heap, but Mrs Teller was already bearing down on me.

  “Lowena! You’re as white as a sheet. Are you okay? I knew I should have checked on you sooner. Ted said you were working, but I shouldn’t listen to that great oaf. Oh— Is that?”

  She stepped from the window and faced me. “Do you need a chair?”

  “I’m fine. Just got me by surprise.” The concern in her eyes was almost my undoing, and I looked away, determined not to cry.

  The door opened, but it was only Ted who came in and it both relieved and disappointed me. And that irritated me. Two seconds back in the village and already I was floored by him. Something would have to change.

  “I’ll come back later,” I told Mrs Teller. I couldn’t face hearing whatever Parker and Ted had talked about, and I knew it would be the first thing he’d want to tell his wife. He was where she got most of her gossip.

  “Don’t you worry about that. Give me your list, and I’ll have it brought up later.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate it.” I relinquished the death grip I had on the crumpled paper.

  “You’re one of ours. We look after our own,” Ted told me, patting my shoulder.

  I gave them a thin smile and cautiously opened the door. Peeping out, there was no sign of Parker, and I left determined to hide in my home. My feet had different ideas and took me to the beach. Obviously, my brain wasn’t done torturing me.

  The tide was in, and there were no tourists about. It wouldn’t be long, though. The tide would turn, and they’d arrive, loaded down with enough items to build a home on the beach. They’d make fortified campsites and stay there for the day, watching their kids playing in the sea. The sun would set, and they’d pack up and go back to their caravans for the night. I envied them.

  It was a beautiful beach. Picture postcard perfect. With golden sand along the shoreline, turning to pebbles farther up. The tide retreated a long way, revealing rock pools waiting to be explored

  I wandered to the edge of the rocks and sat overlooking the sea. Most of the times I’d come here it soothed me. Today it made me agitated.

  “How many did it take?”

  I almost lost my perch. I hadn’t heard Parker come up behind me over the cries of the wheeling seagulls and the crash of the surf.

  “What?” I couldn’t look at him, not yet.

  He perched beside me, and I stiffened. He still smelt of Mountain Pine, and it still made me want to melt into his arms. I didn’t.

  “How many did it take to anoint Mrs Bell’s roses with vomit?”

  “Two,” I admitted

  “Two? Whiskey?”

  “Wine.”

  “Ah, a lightweight.” He chuckled, but it held little humour and a lot of pain I didn’t want to hear.

  “Why have you come back?” I demanded.

  “Always direct,” he muttered.

  I turned to him, bracing myself as I took in his adult face. He was still Parker with his long Roman nose. But he’d grown into it somehow. It gave him an aristocratic appearance, and the stubble on his chin added to the dark edge in his face. A few crow’s feet lined his brown eyes.

  I had m
y own set hidden by the wonderful miracle of foundation.

  He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair was shorter, cropped close to his scalp, and while I missed his long black strands, I had to admit it made for a devastatingly gorgeous Parker.

  Damn it.

  Why couldn’t he have grown a wart or two on his nose? Or developed acne that pockmarked his skin?

  I was fooling myself, though. He could have warts, scars, even lost an eye somewhere along the line, and he’d still be gorgeous. He’d still be my Parker.

  Except he wasn’t. Not anymore.

  “I’m hurting you, aren’t I?” he murmured.

  I wanted to lie to him, but it was futile when my response earlier shouted it from the rooftops.

  “It brings back memories,” I mumbled and winced when his face whitened.

  “Well, at least one of us has them.” He shifted on the rock.

  “You’ll ruin your trousers.”

  “They’re just trousers.”

  “Expensive ones by the look,” I replied.

  I made eye contact with him, and my shrivelled blackened little heart turned over and gave up the ghost.

  There was no wicked glint, no spark of recognition, no Parker in his eyes. He was a dead soul, a blank mind in an older Parker’s body. My Parker lay in a gully washed over by the waves of the sea.

  It was time to let him go.

  “I should never have left,” he said.

  And that was no help at all in letting him go.

  “Yeah, you should have,” I disagreed. “You were unhappy.”

  “And you weren’t?” He arched a soot black eyebrow at me.

  “Of course, I was,” I replied. “You had a breakdown. If you’d have stayed, I’d be putting flowers on your grave now.”

  “I am dead.” He leant forward, resting his arms along his thighs. His crisp white shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. And damn me, if I didn’t drink in the sight of those muscled arms. I’d always been partial to his arms.

  “I’ve been living half a life for ten years. Pretending. I can’t do it anymore.”

  “So you came back… for what?” I asked. “To remember? I think if it was going to happen, it would have done ten years ago.”