Lost In Mr. Parks (Park #3)

by Lilly James

  He seemed to soften a little at the touch of my hands. “I haven’t seen you all day. And now you’re going out all night?”

  “Aww.” I bent my bottom lip. “Are you sulking, Mr. Parks?”

  A flicker of amusement appeared behind his furious gaze, but he was too pissed off to let it shine fully. “Maybe I am.” He shrugged a shoulder.

  I dropped my gaze to his black tie as I took it into my hands and started to undo it from his neck. “You know what my answer to that is?” I breathed, leaning in, inches away from his lips. His eyes shifted to my lips as he waited eagerly for my answer. “Tough,” I told him firmly. As I turned my attention back to finding something to wear, he caught my wrist.

  “Tough?” He spat out, appalled.

  Oh God. I knew that tone. It told me he was pissed off and about to perform punishment.

  “I don’t have time,” I told him quickly, walking backwards away from him. He started walking into the wardrobe, having me walk back until the backs of my legs hit the chair. He pushed my shoulders, making me have a seat and looked down on me.

  “Tough,” he said, dropping to his knees and prising apart my thighs.

  Oh wait, maybe I did have time.

  “Don’t ever say you don’t have time for me, Evelyn.”

  With his index finger, he pulled across the material of my thong, then swooped down, finding my clit instantly with the tip of his tongue.

  “Baby,” I moaned, arching from the seat, running my fingers through his hair. He licked me so good, kissing at my sex like it was my mouth.

  There was something so sexy and erotic about the way I was sitting in lingerie while he was on his knees, dressed in an expensive suit he’d been working in all day, and sucking at my clit.

  Parks had me building quickly. My whimpers and the way I was grinding against his lips told him so. “Don’t stop,” I breathed, just about to blow, but he pulled away quickly, leaving me panting, confused, and frustrated as fuck. He licked his lips and climbed to his feet.

  “You can’t leave me like this. I haven’t come,” I protested when he turned his back on me.

  He stopped, turned to face me, and shrugged. “Tough.”

  “Bastard,” I mumbled when he left me alone in the wardrobe. Fuck him, I thought. I got to my feet, pushed my thong back into place, and searched out the tiniest dress there was.

  When I was finished getting ready, I went into the kitchen, where I knew Parks was working on his laptop, and as I suspected, he wasn’t happy.

  “Get changed,” he snapped out when I appeared in front of him wearing a red dress that was just below my arse.

  “Why are you being such a moody twat?”

  His brow rose. “Well, my fiancée is going out and wearing something that is shorter than a fucking belt. Get changed.”

  I put my hands on my hips like a bloody sassy teenager speaking to her father. “What if I don’t want to?”

  Parks glanced up from his laptop, a serious look on his face. “Then I will tie you to my bed, stopping you from even leaving our apartment.”

  “That’s…” I tried to think of what it was. “Keeping me hostage.”

  He grinned devilishly. “And I will enjoy every minute of it.”

  “Arrgh,” I screamed at him, turning on my heel and going to get changed. Where the hell had the mouthy Evey gone? No, she was still there. I just didn’t want to be held hostage and have Steph knocking down the damn door.

  “You are so frustrating,” I shouted.

  “You’re just mad you didn’t come,” he yelled just before I slammed the bedroom door.

  I was venting inside, trying to find some way of getting back at him. Dressing inappropriate wasn’t going to work. I figured something out as I got changed into a different red lace dress that stopped just above my knees. I brushed my hair again, letting it flow wavy, and got my bag together. My phone was resting on the kitchen worktop were I left it when I got in, so I took my perfume from my bag and sprayed it on my neck as I passed Parks.

  Just as I’d hoped, he inhaled as I picked up my phone. I pretended I received a text and scoffed as I put it back into my bag. And waited.

  “What?” he said, grumpy as hell, but I knew he was too nosey not to ask what I was scoffing about.

  “Oh nothing,” I threw over my shoulder, turning my back on him. “Steph got a stripper, that’s all. Should be fun.”

  I heard the scrape of the chair legs going back, and even though I wasn’t looking at him, I knew his eyes were boring into the back of me.

  “Excuse me? I don’t fucking think so, Evelyn. You give me that phone so I can tell your best friend that my future wife will not, under any circumstance, be having a stripper.”

  “Why?” I turned, feigning bemusement.

  “Why?” he barked. “You think I want some half-naked dickhead dancing all over my wife?”

  “I’m not your wife yet,” I teased, and he was getting redder in the face. His fists balled.

  “No, but you’re mine. So don’t push your luck, Evelyn. Give me that phone.”

  I held my bag tighter. “Why? Are you scared he may have a bigger dick than you? Because you know, some strip off, completely naked, put cream on their cocks and—” I paused midsentence, suddenly regretting what I’d made up, because he was about to explode.

  “If you don’t tell me who this stripper is, I will personally hunt him down.”

  I burst out laughing. Even though his possessiveness was something I loved, sometimes he took it too far. “Wade, I’m joking. There isn’t going to be a stripper. Unless you want to give me a show?” I winked, trying to lighten the mood, but he didn’t find it amusing.

  He glared at me, a frowned fixed upon his forehead. “You think that’s funny?”

  “Well,” I shouted childishly, “do you think it’s funny going down on me, then leaving me high and dry just because I’m going out?”

  “Oh baby, you were anything but dry.” He flashed a heart-stopping grin.

  I widened my arms as I yelled, “Oh fuck off.” Why did he get under my skin in more ways than one? He frustrated me. Pushed my buttons. Turned me on. Got me hot under my dress and aching for him even though I could have killed him. God, angry sex was so what I wanted right then. I craved to have it, ached to pounce on his dick and maybe slap him for his cheek while I was at it. But I couldn’t. I had to leave.

  “You want to fuck me, don’t you?” he purred, fully aware of my thoughts as I turned on my heel.

  My back remained to him. I couldn’t look him in the eyes when I lied. “No.”

  “Yes, you do,” he breathed out huskily, and I could feel his eyes on my arse. “Let me fuck that ass.”

  “Ha,” I threw over my shoulder. “No. But you can watch it as I leave.”

  He chuckled, and he didn’t stop there. “You want my cock inside your sweet body. You want my hands all over your skin, my tongue licking across your perfect tits.”

  “Maybe I do,” I answered breathlessly, then straightened out my back. “But I’m leaving. Bye, Parks. Make sure you think of me when you wank off in your shower.”

  A noise escaped him that sounded like a growl. Oh yes, he was annoyed and frustrated, and you know what that was? Tough shit.

  Cleaver drove me to Steph’s, where we having my hen party. Steph said she wanted to stay at home and celebrate rather than go to a club. I knew the real reason why, but I was okay with that. I had a text on my phone whilst I was in the car and grinned before I even opened it.

  Wade: Calling me Parks, and running away? Wait until you get home!

  I clenched my legs together, excited at the thought, and went to text him back, but another text arrived from him.

  Wade: I still love you, although you drive me up the fucking wall.

  I was laughing as I typed back.

  Me: Less of the fucking.

  Wade: Oh, there will be A LOT of fucking.

  Me: And spanking? Can I lie across your lap?

>   I bit my lip and pressed Send, but the squealing of my best friend caught my attention.

  “Bride-to-be.” Steph clapped her hands like an excited sea lion when I arrived, almost knocking off the towel on her head, obviously drying her hair, and pulled me into her flat. I scanned the living room to see it was full of pink balloons, Buck’s Fizz, gift bags containing God knows what, and of course, the infamous willy straws. Her stereo was also blasting Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night.” Steph ran to turn the music down slightly and opened up her arms. “Ta-da.”

  A smirk crept across my lips. “I’m just glad I see no veil.”

  “Oh don’t speak so soon.” Steph went into a box in the kitchen and brought out a homemade white bridal veil with a huge bow on the front and an L-plate attached to it holding a dozen willies.

  “You must be off your rocker if you think I’m wearing that.”

  “Then I’m off my rocker. You’re wearing it, Evey. We all have t-shirts too. Look!” She pulled off her dressing gown to reveal a black T-shirt with ‘The Maid of Honour’ on the front in pink writing. She was also wearing a black tutu and looked like something out of the eighties. I put my hand up to my mouth, suppressing my grin.

  “And here’s yours.” Steph turned back to the box, picked out a black t-shirt, and unfolded it to show me. Mine had ‘Future Mrs. Parks’ on the front. I had no other choice but to burst out laughing at her tacky but thoughtful gimmicks.

  “Steph, you’re crazy. But fine.” I held my hands up, then took the T-shirt from her and pulled it on. “I’ll wear it.” Only because I liked the thought of wearing a top that had my future name on—a name that sent tingles up my spine every time I thought about it.

  “So we have Buck’s Fizz?” I was about to reach out and take a champagne flute from Steph’s perfectly arranged table, but she smacked my hand away and pointed her finger at me.

  “I have nonalcoholic cocktails for you.”

  My brow was already raised before my objection flew out of my mouth. “It’s my hen night and you’re not going to let me have one drink?”

  She shook her head, pursing her lips, her gesture serious and not at all open for discussion. “Nope. It’s lemonade for you. Don’t worry, I’m drinking lemonade too.”

  “But you’re pregnant.” I pointed to her bump. “I’m not.” I went to swipe the flute out of her hands, but she pulled it away again.

  “No, you’re a recovering alcoholic and in a better place now. Here.” Steph ignored my sulk and handed me a flute of lemonade. “Here’s to new beginnings.”

  I smiled fondly because of my new beginnings with being engaged, and because Steph looked down at her small bump, a huge smile on her face and teary eyes.

  The thought of new beginnings washed a mix of emotions over me. A little fear because after all my talks with Nia and help from Cheryl, Steph, and especially Parks, it was still hard some days to try and stay out of my shadows and the darkness they brought. Hope and love were two things I never did believe in, my disbelief ground into me from my upbringing. So although I was ecstatically happy, immensely excited, and completely and truly in love, fear was still in my shadows, reminding me this could all end at any moment. Fear was my enemy, and it didn’t want me to be happy. But I deserved all these wonderful new feelings, didn’t I? I didn’t deserve to feel unhappy, worthless, and like a cold and lonely soul. No one did.

  I shook the fear away. It was not winning tonight or dragging me down. I was winning now. I was in control.

  “God, I’m looking forward to seeing your mum pissed again,” I scoffed. I downed the rest of my lemonade but winced at the taste because it was becoming rancid.

  Steph groaned in annoyance and ran a comb through her hair. “I’ve warned her to behave. I did try and get away with not inviting her, but Cheryl invited her along.”

  I glanced at the wall clock. Another half hour and they should all be arriving. I braced myself for the drunk slurs, the high-pitched laughs, and the drinking games I couldn’t get involved in.

  “So.” Steph excitedly jumped down onto the sofa next to me, holding on to her stomach as she spoke. “When are we going wedding dress shopping? I bet Wade has a limitless amount you can spend, doesn’t he?”

  “I…” I really didn’t want to have that conversation right then. I knew full well it was going to be the beginning of a row, and I just wanted a good night. “I love this song.” I started singing and dancing to “International Love,” trying to get Steph’s hands so I could pull her up to dance with me, but she pulled them away on a frown. Immediately catching an inkling.

  “You hate Pitbull.” She scowled.

  “Since when?” I knew I wasn’t going to wriggle my way out of it, so I sagged, giving up on the damn song that I, in fact, bloody well hated.

  “What are you not telling me this time?” Steph turned down the music by a remote, her eyes beady and waiting.

  There was no point in trying to beat it round the bush. “Wade is picking the dress for me. He’s picking everything. I don’t really have a say. But,” I quickly added, holding up my palm to stop her flying off the handle like always, “I’m okay with that before you say anything.”

  Ha, like that worked. Steph ignored my discreet warning not to jump straight in the deep end with her opinions, and fucking drowned in them.

  “You’re not serious? You don’t even get to choose your own dress? That’s not tradition,” she shrieked, her features tight with confusion. My head fell back onto the cushion, my lips letting out a groan. “Tell me you’re joking, Evey.”

  I closed my eyes, not just because of the brightness of the ceiling light above me, but because I couldn’t deal with trying to explain why I was completely and utterly fine with Parks’s decision. Our decision.

  “Evey,” she went on, “how is your dress going to be a surprise when he’s picked the damn thing?”

  “He hasn’t,” I told her, not even opening my eyes or taking my head from the cushion. “He’s told the designer what he wants. That’s all.” I lifted my head up on a smirk. “Vera Wang, actually.” Yes, that fact still impressed me.

  Steph gaped. She seemed to want to say something but had no words, so she closed her mouth. “Why are you letting him take control over everything? This is your wedding day, Evey. Normal men can’t even be bothered to pick their damn suits, never mind organise the whole thing.”

  I climbed to my feet on a sigh, meaning to get myself a glass of the tasteless lemonade just to avoid arguing with her. “He needs the control, Steph. If the biggest day of his life was organised without him, with him having no say, no idea what was going on, I think he’d have a heart attack.” I chuckled to myself at the expense of my controlling, overbearing fiancé. I got him; I didn’t need Steph to get him. He was all mine, and if I was the only person in the world who understood how he worked, then that made me sure as hell damn happy.

  “But it’s also your biggest day,” Steph whined.

  “Steph.” I finally turned to look at her, leaning my backside against the kitchen worktop. “What I wear is not my biggest priority. What is, is that I get to walk down that aisle and look into the eyes of a man that has accepted every part of who I am.” Oh God. “That was cheesy, wasn’t it?” I laughed at myself, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “No, it was beautiful.” Steph sighed, finally deflating and letting out all her pent-up anger. “So if we can’t choose yours, then we have to look for mine. Look at this one.” Steph reached down the side of the sofa, pulled out a bridal magazine, and shoved it out for me to come and take. I whipped it out of her hands and went straight to the page that had a corner creased. “Isn’t that beautiful? I’ve always loved the colour canary-yellow. What do you think?”

  I pulled up the bridal magazine to hide my guilty expression.

  “Evey,” Steph barked, scrambling from the sofa and whipping the magazine clean out of my hand. “You’re not serious?”

  I held my hands up defensively, but my s
mirk was still apparent. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “No, but you hid the look on your face. I would like to pick out something with you. Fuck’s sake. He can’t control everything. Tell him that we, me and you—” she pointed at herself, then prodded me in my chest, “—will be choosing the bridesmaid dresses. Or I will.”

  “Fine.” I held my hands up in the air, a sure sign of surrender to my insistent best friend. “We’ll choose. But they won’t be yellow. I think Wade has chosen pinks. Well, the organiser did. She said she wants antique-colour pinks, and whites and pink pearls and very French like. We’re getting married in France.” I clapped my hands all excited, but she didn’t share my enthusiasm.

  Steph wrinkled her nose and opened her mouth to object, so I leant over and pressed my finger to her lips. “Say one more thing about not liking it, Steph, and I will…well, I won’t kick your arse because you’re pregnant, but I don’t want to hear it. ’K?”

  She rolled her shoulders back, easing tension, then took out her hairband to push it back into her hair just for something to do. “So who’s a bridesmaid anyway, apart from me?”

  A big sigh that I released from my lungs forced Steph to frown. “You, Ella, Darcy, Abigail, and Jasmine.”

  “That bitch?” I previously filled Steph in about Jasmine, and yes, she hated Jasmine’s guts as much as I had. Out of loyalty. She’d never met her.

  “Yup. It would make Parks happy.” I shrugged. “So that makes me happy.” Well actually, for that occasion, it didn’t. We sorted out our differences, but I still didn’t really want her as a bridesmaid. Still, if it meant we would be moving forwards with our relationship and getting along, then I couldn’t complain.

  My phone buzzed next to me, so I quickly read the text from Parks that was telling me how much he missed me. I was grinning from ear to ear as I replied, but when Steph remained silent for a few minutes, it made me look up from my phone. Her eyes were narrowed, looking at my face like I’d grown a huge pimple.

  “What?” I questioned, feeling self-conscious.

  “Where the hell has Evey Banks got to? Because I would like her back.”

  “Can’t you just be happy for me?”