Denying Mr. Parks (The Parks #1)

by Lilly James

  Her voice pierced at my headache. I didn’t need it right then; I just needed my bed. I wouldn’t have been pissed at her, really, because she had every right to be angry, but I was furious to suddenly see Julian comforting her.

  “Obviously getting wasted. Look at her,” he butted in, looking at me like I repulsed him.

  “What the fuck has it got to do with you?” I shouted.

  “I’m just stating the obvious,” he went on. “Steph is the one who stays up all night worried sick about you. But you don’t care, do you? You’re too busy getting fucked off your face to bother about how your friend is going to feel. You’re too selfish to even give her a call and tell her where you are.”

  I couldn’t believe he was speaking to me that way when the situation didn’t concern him. “Shut the fuck up, Julian, and go pump some iron. Dickhead.”

  He moved towards me and growled in my face. I didn’t flinch; neither did I step back. “No, but it’s about my friend who I care for.”

  I laughed, mocking him. “You don’t care for her. You just want to get your small cock inserted someplace. That’s why you’re here.”

  He flinched a little, telling me I was right, but then he straightened himself out. “Fuck off, Evey. You have no self-respect, and you treat Steph like shit. She does everything for you, and this is how you repay her? You’re a hard-faced, selfish bitch. Look at the fucking state of you.”

  “You have no idea why the fuck I am like I am, you jumped-up, grenade-looking prick.” I turned my back on him before I lashed out, holding my pounding head, but he continued to jeer after me.

  “You’re nothing but a drunken, alcoholic slut.”

  Steph gasped at what he’d called me, but she made no attempt to shoot him down. I didn’t care. I could do it myself. I turned my whole body around furiously and swung for him, catching him in the lip with my fist.

  Julian wiped at the blood with the back of his hand. “You’re fucked up. Do you know that?” He stormed out of the flat, and when he was gone, I glowered at Steph. She was crying silently, but I was too angry to rationalize.

  “You would let him speak to me like that?” I argued instead of explaining what had happened. But instead of arguing back, or sticking up for me, she looked at me with eyes that were hurt, distant, and full of exhaustion.

  “He’s right, though. Go get yourself cleaned up and get sober. You disgust me when you’re like this.” She wrapped her arms around herself and headed for the front door.

  “Steph,” I called before she went out, desperate for her to stay. Her body sagged as she slowly turned to me, and her eyes were full of tears when she spoke.

  “Don’t, Evey. Just don’t.”

  I stormed over to my bedroom door and punched a hole in the wood to vent my anger. Then I screamed because of the pain and dragged myself inside, where I collapsed on my bed.

  ***

  When I woke up, I felt a little better after popping some painkillers and a long soak in the bath. I was one of those people who didn’t ever feel sorry for myself if I was in pain or sick. I carried on like normal and brushed it off. Because I had no reason to ever feel that way. After all, I was the one who brought everything on myself. I was the one who did those bad things that damaged my body even further.

  Wrapped in a towel, I slumped back down onto my bed and reached for my phone when I heard it ring. It was Cheryl.

  “Hey,” I said, a little uneasy, because Cheryl calling me that hour was rare indeed.

  “Morning, Evey,” she addressed me in a flat tone. “How are you?”

  I thought I’d put a stop to the build-up of her lecture and ask her outright. “Steph called you, didn’t she?”

  The long and bereaved sigh she blew made my eyes close with guilt. “Yes. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  My heart dropped and thudded right down into the pit of my stomach, but I wasn’t going to tell her anything. “Nothing is going on. I’m fine.”

  She sighed again, and when she spoke, her voice was tense and full of anguish. “Evey, you would say you were fine if you were on top of the London Bridge when it was burning.”

  “Look, Chez, I don’t know what Steph has told you—”

  She cut me off with a mocking laugh. “I think you do, Evey. You know, you seemed happy when you came to stay with me last weekend, but I knew there was something on your mind. Whatever it is, is it that bad to drive you back to drink?”

  I wanted to tell her yes. I wanted to tell her I met a man that spiked feelings in me I needed to remain blunt. That I had met a man who, for some reason, wanted me. Desired me. And that perplexed me the most. But the icing on top of a very messed-up cake was that I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I was being pulled in two directions. The right direction, where I could keep a clear head and keep my feelings bottled up, and the wrong direction, where I would fall for his charm, his looks, his words and erotic actions. Sometimes when I looked at his face, I saw that four-letter word I didn’t believe in, and sometimes I felt safe, wanted, and protected. But those were all false. False hope and a false life I couldn’t lead. A life where I was finding comfort in being punished by a man who enjoyed giving it. Did I want to tell her it wasn’t a reason I was falling back to my old habit but a person? A man. Wade Parks.

  Yes. But I didn’t.

  “I’m not drinking again. Steph’s just being a worrier. You know how she is.”

  Her sigh was tattered. “I know Steph can be dramatic, but I also know that all she wants is the best for you. She has done her bollox for you, Evey. Be careful not to forget that. And be careful not to forget about all the pain that comes with bad habits.”

  I rubbed at my aching head and drew in a breath. “I know.”

  Cheryl swallowed hard, and I knew she was crying, which killed me inside. “Just know this. I pray for you every single night, Evey, and I hate myself for not succeeding in my goal to get you better, but I feel there is no more I can possible do to help you.”

  I sucked in a gut-wrenching pain in my stomach before answering. “You’ve done everything you could for me, Chez. And I am grateful for you every day of my life.”

  “You know where I am if you need me. I will always be here for you,” she insisted.

  “I know,” I agreed on a whisper. After hanging up I suddenly felt the urge for something I needed after hurting the two women that loved me. And it wasn’t another drink. It was punishment.

  I picked up my phone and went through my missed calls and messages. I had twenty-three from Steph from the previous night and thirty-six from Parks, all asking where I was. Really? I ignored them all and simply texted Parks back.

  I need to see u.

  He called almost immediately, and I answered on an eye roll.

  “Where the fuck have you been, Evelyn? You don’t answer my calls, and you think that’s okay? I searched around most of fucking London for you last night to no avail. Where the fuck have you been?”

  Jesus, he was wrathful, and I had no idea why. He didn’t care about me. “You looked for me?”

  “Of course I fucking did. Where have you been?” he stressed for the third time. His strained, tight tone was that of a man who hadn’t slept from worry.

  “It doesn’t matter. I need to see you.”

  He sighed harshly. “If you do that to me again, I will have someone follow you twenty-four-seven, Evelyn. I cannot rest when I don’t know your whereabouts.”

  He remained acrimonious and persistent. It didn’t help my pounding head. I slumped down onto the sofa, exhausted from his scolding. “You can’t get someone to follow me. What is this? Stalkers ‘R’ Us?”

  “Were you with another man?”

  I could tell his jaw was clenching. My mouth fell open from his senseless accusation. “With another man? You know what, forget it.” I went to hang up.

  “Wait.” He sighed after a deep pause. “Come to my office when you arrive at work.” Work? How could I go to work? I wasn’t in a w
ork mind frame. Neither was I in a mind frame to deal with Pat and Carla. If I went to work, I would be serving time in prison for killing one of those bastards.

  “I won’t be at work today, Parks.”

  His angry groan made me frown, but he didn’t follow it with a reprimand. “Then Cleaver will pick you up this evening. And Evelyn…” He paused, exhaling his torment.

  “Yes?” I whispered.

  “Please don’t do that to me again. When I couldn’t find you…” He paused again, and I waited for him to finish. “It doesn’t matter.”

  I pressed the phone to my ear even after he hung up, holding on to his words. Holding on to the feeling in my chest at hearing his declaration. But I couldn’t afford to clutch at unnecessary infatuation. I needed to pull myself together.

  After pulling out my chest of drawers, I had a quick look through my Ann Summers lingerie and picked up a black-lace, crotch-less bodice. I put it on under pink skinny trousers and a white T-shirt, then pushed my feet into heels. I combed my hair up in to a high ponytail—because his enjoyment from pulling at it whilst giving me my punishment turned me on immensely. I was also turned on thinking about my punishment. Not just because it felt liberating but because of the way Parks’s breathing picked up when his palm came into contact with my bare skin; because of how hard his cock felt when he pressed it up against my backside to show me what I did for him. I was turned on thinking of how authoritative he would act, how dominating and controlled he would be. I wasn’t afraid of this sort of intimacy with him because it wasn’t for pleasure, feelings, or love but for punishment. It was to show me how much of an arsehole I was and to teach myself a lesson, and yes, I needed that.

  As precise as clockwork, Cleaver was outside the flat at five thirty. We drove for the first ten minutes in silence, probably because I insisted on sitting in the front and he didn’t like that.

  I got to the WParks Hotel and also rode the elevator up in silence—well, I wasn’t going to talk to myself—and only had to knock on his door once before he opened it.

  “Evelyn.” He acknowledged me with a stern nod and straight lips, and his white shirt and light grey suit trousers got my attention. But he wasn’t happy to see me. His gaze was so searing, I could feel it.

  “Go to the bedroom, get undressed, and wait for me. I want you bent over the bedframe. Understand?” I nodded on a deep gulp. He had always been firm and withdrawn when he was about to punish me, but he never seemed as cold as he was in that moment. I had also noticed handcuffs hanging from his trouser pocket. I dragged my alarmed eyes away from them and rounded him, lightly dragging my feet to my destination. He gave my arse a hard slap as I went, so I paused, relished the sting, and carried on walking.

  After getting to the bedroom, I quickly stripped down to my bodice and waltzed to the bed. Wrapping my fingers around the bedframe, I positioned my legs apart, bent over with my arse sticking out, and waited.

  The more I waited, the more I became breathless and panted with anticipation. After what seemed hours, I heard him walk into the bedroom. My head turned to look at him instinctively. He had stopped in the doorway to take in what I was wearing, and I caught his lips parting whilst he inhaled; saw his eyes were dilated and dark, even more intense and cold. His detached demeanour made me waver slightly, but I guessed it was because he was in his dominant-trance state. He was never going to act with affection when I was receiving punishment. He was impatient, rude, and emotionless then, and I wasn’t at all surprised I found it endearing.

  He twirled his finger in the air to tell me to turn around. That command sent sharp, arousing pulsations throughout my whole body as I did what I was told. I almost kept forgetting I wasn’t allowed to look at him whilst punishment commenced, because that particular command was hard to deal with.

  “You’re not naked for me, Evelyn. But this will do nicely.” I winced as he brushed his fingertips over my hips. When he touched my skin, it was hard to ignore what felt like burning tingles across my body from his contact. And when his touch left me, I felt cold again and wanted him back instantly.

  “Now”—I heard the clanking of the handcuffs—”we’re going to do this a little differently.” He brought them around so I could see them. “Give me your wrists.”

  I held both wrists up, whipped into action by his sharp tone. He hooked one cuff around my left wrist and slid the chain through the metal poles in the bed, then cuffed my other wrist. I was secured in place. “You’re going to be restrained.” His breath misted my ear as he leaned in. “And blindfolded.” He didn’t wait for me to accept, because I was the submissive asking to be punished, so my word to a dominant was meaningless. I watched as a piece of black silk was placed over my eyes so I couldn’t see a thing, but I felt his breath against my ear again. “You want to play games?” he breathed. “I can play them better.”

  I shivered as his breath tickled my ear and sent a chill down my back. “Being blindfolded,” he began before tracing my ear with the tip of his tongue, “will make you focus more on my touch, scent, and sound. I’ve always wanted to put your trust to the test. Do you trust me, Evelyn?”

  I hesitated, and for that, I got an almighty smack across my backside. My body jerked forwards on a surprised yelp, and the handcuffs clattered against the metal whilst he growled, “I won’t ask you again.”

  I whispered yes but also felt confused. I trusted this man, yet I didn’t trust anyone. I trusted him even though I didn’t know him. Not really.

  “Of course you do.” His voice was silky and raspy at the same time, sending me into a spin. I felt him walk away from me, and he was right; my ears had pricked up to hear more, my body had tensed because I hadn’t a clue what was going on around me, and it made me hot as hell.

  After a few moments he was back behind me and slowly began to glide something up the inside of my leg. I flinched slightly when the item came into contact with me, and I gained another spank for that. He moved his hand across my cheek forcefully, making my body jerk forwards again. The slap echoed around the room, and metal clanked against metal.

  “Trust,” he hissed, bending down to whisper in my ear. “You trust me, so you have no need to flinch.”

  I did trust him, but it was so fucking hard not to flinch when I had no idea what was in his hand. He took another step away from me, then ran the object up the back of my legs and into the middle, forcing them to open wider. I then realised he was holding a riding crop. Shit. I heard my own breathing. Could feel my heart pumping. Feel my chest rising. All I was focused on was what his next move was going to be.

  He ever so slightly brushed the folded leather tip across the apex of my thighs and aimed for my aching sex. The flesh between my legs clenched perversely, begging for attention. I moaned as he moved slower over that part of my body, but he soon removed the crop from my flesh and lightly flicked the tip across my backside. It didn’t hurt, but I knew it was a small warning to be quiet.

  “You didn’t have my permission to make a sound.” He took hold of my ponytail, wrapped the hair around his wrist, and yanked my head back. He skimmed his lips along my exposed throat as he spoke. “But you have my permission to tell me why you need this punishment, Evelyn.”

  I whimpered at how close yet so far away his lips were to my skin, only brushing against me.

  “Because I’ve been bad, Mr. Parks.”

  “A bad what, Evelyn?” He breathed hard, eager for my response. It was an incredibly erotic sound and one I needed to hear, so I played along.

  “A bad girl.”

  His groan was back again, making my cleft water. “And why is that?”

  I had my eyes closed under the blindfold, but I scrunched them up a little more before I spoke.

  “Because I have an impulsive way of thinking. Because I act reckless and careless and dumb.”

  “And?” he urged, tightening his hand around my hair.

  And? Wasn’t that enough? “There’s no more,” I told him.

  He pulle
d my hair tighter, making me gasp. I felt the crop leave my thighs as he swung it back into the air. It struck my arse harsher when he whipped it down that time. The leather tip made a cracking noise that made me grimace and hiss. I bit down onto my bottom lip and clenched my fists around the bedframe instead of crying out. The pain was a welcome one, and I weirdly, instantly craved more.

  “That’s the wrong answer, Evelyn,” he purred into my ear salaciously. “You paraded your body around another man. You withheld a climax from me. You also went missing. So you will be punished. Ready?” he asked, like he always did.

  “Yes,” I told him on a breath, and he released my hair. My head bowed down as I adjusted my stance. My legs were apart, and I was bent over slightly, shoving my arse out for him.

  His breathing picked up behind me as he slid the long stick of the riding crop across the curve of my bum. He growled, then flicked the crop painfully across it. I bit my lip and clenched my eyes shut as another strike came down at the exact same spot. It was painful, but the pleasure overpowered the pain. He was overpowering me the most, definitely doing the job he was meant to a thousand times over. Changing course, he twirled the leather tip around my other cheek, then took it away until it came stinging down again, making that cracking noise every time.

  “Jesus,” I hissed as the sting from the leather throbbed, causing him to crack it across me again.

  “Quiet,” he bellowed.

  I took the pain without complaint from then on and came through each strike with clenched knuckles and bitten lips. It felt excruciatingly good and seemed to become my reparation. It also seemed to satisfy Parks to punish me this way. Every time he cracked the crop against me, he would grunt in erotic contentment. His gasps were increasing and his hunger was heightening.

  After another five times, I heard him throw down the crop. “That’s enough.” With that proclamation, he took hold of my hips ruthlessly and yanked me back before pushing his masterful cock into me. My yelp echoed around the bedroom at the welcome force and at the pain the top of his thighs gave my sore backside when they collided. He felt different, more brutal, and more determined. This was for my punishment but for his pleasure as well, and fucking me this way proved it. I was still handcuffed, still blinded and having the hell fucked out of me. He was so deep, plunging so hard it was borderline painful, and that’s what I craved. Sweat misted my skin, curses left my mouth, and his adept, aggressive dirty talk sent me into a word of explicit fantasy.