Accidental Heiress (Welcome to Spartan Book 2) Page 6

  “We made a pact, Paul. We were both gonna do it. I passed out, pissed myself, but I fucking manned up, dammit. When I woke up, your ass was gone, playing fucking hide the salami.”

  Paul jumps back and puts his hands up in surrender. “You were screaming, Bruce, and bleeding like a sieve. I panicked.”

  “You’re lucky it was your idea to wear the Depends.”

  Paul goes after Bruce with a wild haymaker slap and smacks Bruce right in his ice packs. The wounded animal sound that comes out of Bruce’s mouth is guttural and pain filled. Bruce rocks back and kicks Paul right in the nuts.

  He drops like a ten-pound sack of potatoes. Just then, Parker comes hauling butt through the door. He takes a look at Paul on the floor, then looks up at Bruce, shaking his head.

  Both men are in tears. Bruce is tenderly cupping his ice-packed boobies, while poor Paul is holding his injured nuts. The rest of the bar is laughing so hard, they all have tears rolling down their cheeks.

  “What. The. Fuck!” Parker puts his hands on his hips and hangs his head.

  The full story bursts forth from Bruce, in-between sobs. Apparently, Bruce and Paul decided to get their nipples pierced, like Parker’s, and Bruce passed out after the first one. When he came to, he was loopy, bandged up, and had wet the Depends that Paul had insisted on. He looked around for Paul, but couldn’t see him. The piercer told him that he’d gone outside, looking pretty green in the face. But, when Bruce had gone outside, Paul and the car were gone.

  I can tell by the pinched look on Parker's face that he’s desperately trying to not burst out into his own hysterical laughter.

  “Paul, the pussy. Once I caught up to his ass, I found him playing sexy zookeeper and elephant man with freaking Lucille. I busted into that house and chased his ass all the way here, where I proceeded to kick the shit out of him.”

  The image evoked by that statement gets a fresh round of giggles all around. I wish I could have seen Bruce in his pink legs and ice packs, chasing a half-naked Paul in his nifty boxers down Main street.

  Bruce lets out a deep sigh and waves to Parker. “Go ahead and laugh it up, ya jackass. You look fucking constipated.”

  Parker finally leans over with his hands on his knees and let's loose the laughter that he’s been holding in. Margo walks over to Bruce with a shot of something, but he shakes his head no and points over to the “No Fly” list.”

  “Honey, you’re going to need it when we pull the duct tape off. It’s going to come off and take a lot of your back hair with it.”

  Bruce whimpers and takes the shot. Cleo helps Paul off the floor and gets him situated in a chair off to the side, well away from Bruce.

  Now that the laughter has died down, I can see the tension start to creep into Parker's shoulders. He turns around and looks at me with tears in his eyes from laughter, but his face clearly says something else.

  “Parker?” I whisper. “Did you…I mean…” I trail off.

  “We got her, baby. She’s safe and sound with Michael.”

  His arms go around me and I soak in his warmth and comfort.

  “Amy, I got some news today, something I need to talk to you about in private. Also, we really need to get into that box your mom left you.”

  I hear Margo start counting, so I turn and look at Bruce. He has a death grip on the table in front of him as Margo rips off the first piece of tape. He squeals like a stuck pig, loud enough to rupture my eardrums. The tape has ripped off a decent amount of hair, leaving a massive bald spot. Sadly for Bruce, he still has one more piece to go.

  I’m dreading the upcoming conversation with Parker, but I know that no matter what, as long as Parker is by my side, nothing is as bad as it seems. We’ll get through whatever is next, together.

  Son of a Bee Sting

  Amy

  I’ve had a shitty day, which has led me to drinking the wine that Ali gave me when I moved in. It was a horrible idea.

  I’ve read the instructions on the home waxing kit I bought about a million times. I’m now instructed and liquored up enough to rip the hair from my vaginal area, and to say that I’m freaked out would be an understatement.

  I’m in the bathroom, and the wax is heated and ready. I grab the stick and dip it in the wax and cover the first area. Grabbing the cloth, I place it over the wax and rub just like it said to do on the box.

  Grabbing the bottle of wine—because this is a drink from the bottle moment—I attempt to yank the strip off and only get about halfway before blinding hot pain sears my nerve endings. I scream so loud, I’m fairly certain that I’ve caused damage to my vocal cords.

  Looking down, the wax strip is hanging there, laughing at me from between my legs, covered in blue wax and pubic hair.

  This was an epically bad idea, and is a bad language moment.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  I take another drink and attempt to pull it the rest of the way off, but my brain is telling my body, “I don’t want to do this anymore!” Forcing my fingers to grab the strip, my hands are shaking as I try to brace and give another yank. The pain is so blinding, I think I’m going to pass out.

  Looking down, the strip appears to be in the exact same position. The warning on the label comes back to me. “Warning: Do not leave the wax on for a prolonged period of time, as it may be difficult to remove.”

  I’m stuck in the literal sense and have no clue what to do. I should be able to just yank it myself, but my fingers are shaking. It’s like my strength has left my body.

  Waddling into the bedroom, I grab my cell phone and call the only person I can think of to help.

  Ali’s voicemail picks up and I hang up and call again, and again.

  After call number freaking ten, she finally picks up.

  “Amy, I…”

  “I don’t give a shit what you’re doing. I have an emergency, so get your ass over here, now!”

  “I’m on my way. Just hang on.”

  5 Minutes Later (and the rest of the wine)

  Ali comes running into my bedroom and I can’t help but do a double take. I’m freaked out and drunk, but I’m fairly certain a half-dressed doctor just came into my bedroom.

  “What the fuck?” I ask.

  “Don’t complain. I was in the middle of something, and don’t you “what the fuck” me. What the fuck you!”

  She has medical gloves on, panties, a bra, and a doctor’s lab coat. I drop the towel I wrapped around my waist and she looks down, then bursts out into hysterical laughter.

  “This is not a laughing moment, dammit!”

  “That’s the biggest bush I have ever seen!” She barely gets this out in-between laughter so hard, it makes her voice squeaky.

  “Oh, my God! Please stop talking about my fucking bush.”

  “I don’t know if I can help, I’m laughing too fucking hard. Amy, when I saw you bought that, I thought you were going to do your legs. If I thought for a second you were going to wax your cooter, I would have told you to go see a professional.”

  I wrap the towel back around my waist and pull the cork out of bottle number two.

  “All right, Ali, we have to get this done, but just this one. I’m never doing this again.”

  “So what are you going to do? Walk around with half a Chia Pet growing down there?” She waves her gloved hand around the general area of my situation.

  “I’ll shave the rest, and what the hell are you wearing?”

  “I was waiting for Luke to come home. Gotta keep my man healthy, so Doctor Ali was going to give him a checkup.” She snaps the gloves on her wrist.

  “This is the most ridiculous scenario ever. You’re dressed up like a lunatic doctor, and I have a strip of wax hanging from my abused lady bits.”

  We both lose it, and I feel like I’m going to vomit, I’m laughing so freaking hard.

  We manage to get ourselves under control, and she tells me to lie down on the bed.

  “Ali, please tell me those gloves are clean.”

&n
bsp; “Yup. I picked up a whole box at the pharmacy the other day.”

  I fist the sheets as she grips the strip in one hand. She places her other hand on my lower belly and looks at me. She’s biting her lip so hard, trying not to laugh. I’m worried she’s going to bite it off.

  “Just do it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can, Ali! Just rip it off!”

  She does as I ask and rips that shit off, and holy mother of God.

  “Son of a bitch! Oh, my GOD!”

  “Holy shit, Amy. There’s a shit ton of hair on there.”

  She’s inspecting the area and I’m trying to push her head away because it’s weird.

  “Knock it off, Amy. I’m trying to make sure there’s no damage.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Ali jumps about a foot and turns around with the cloth strip containing the hair. It’s stuck to her glove and she’s trying to shake it off. I roll off the bed and misjudge where I’m at and fall to the floor. Grabbing the towel, I wrap it around my waist and stand up, blowing the hair out of my face.

  Parker’s standing there in the doorway with a shocking, yet comical look on his face. He raises an eyebrow and looks at Ali in her doctor getup as she tries unsuccessfully to get the wax strip off her hand. Once he catches a glimpse of what she has, his face turns beet red. The red turns to purple before he busts out laughing.

  “This is so far from funny, Parker.”

  He walks up to me and hugs me, then wipes the tears from my face.

  “I’m pretty sure I can guess what’s going on. Do you want me to leave so you two can finish?”

  “No way in hell am I ever letting any kind of wax near that area again, like, ever.”

  Ali comes out of my bathroom, sans gloves, and waves. “Too-da-loo, kids. I’m off to give Luke his first prostate exam.”

  “Seriously, Ali, where the hell do you come up with this shit?” Parker asks her with a horrified look on his face.

  “The mind of a pervert is vast and filled with endless possibilities for kinky-fuckery.” she replies with a totally straight face. “And Amy, next time you want to tame the lady wookie, I’ll take you to my waxer,” she offers as she waves and skips out the door.

  Sliding into the bathroom, I clean up my mess and throw the offending wax straight into the trash. I take a moment to inspect the damage. It’s bright freaking red, but there’s no bleeding like I had originally thought. Pulling the scissors out, I trim up the rest and hop in the shower to shave off the other half off. Thumping my head on the shower wall, I think about how that was quite possibly the worst idea I’ve ever had. I don’t want to get out of the shower because I know the talk that Parker wants to have is going to be nothing but bad news.

  Standing up, I lay the ice pack I had between my legs on the table and start pacing. I’m in shock. Everything Parker just told me feels like something straight out of a movie. My mom was an heiress to a huge fortune and my brain is struggling to process it. It doesn’t make any sense as to why we lived the way we did. Not that I would have wanted to live the high life or anything.

  But, growing up that way, to be honest, sucked. There were times in the winter when the food was all but nonexistent. I can remember being hunched over and crying with hunger pangs, being no more than maybe five or six. We would freeze because we couldn’t afford good winter coats.

  It makes me mad, but then it makes me feel guilty for being mad at my parents. They did the best they could, but why struggle when you didn’t have to? Why bring a child into this world and force her to live like that if you didn’t have to?

  I feel like breaking something. Rage, anger, and hurt coarse through my veins, but also sadness. It’s a sadness so deep for my mother who ran away from home. Something, or someone, made her do that, but it wasn’t my father. I can’t see him forcing her away. She was never a captive. Their love was all-consuming. They were so in tune with each other, like two souls joined, and when one moved, the other did too. When my mother was sad, my father was sad as well.

  There’s no question in my mind that they loved each other. So what made my parents run? I understand that he was from the “wrong side of the tracks,” and she was the society princess, but to run and live like hermits denote danger. They were always hiding, always so careful to keep their names off the books. The only reason I have a birth certificate and social security number is because my mom was adamant about it.

  I sit back down and curl up in the corner of the couch and watch Parker fiddle with the box. He looks so handsome with his sandy blond hair fluffed out all over his head. The box is proving difficult, and he’s ran his hand through his hair so many times, he looks like one of those trolls I found in the woods once.

  He’s in a white tank top and black athletic shorts. His muscular arms are on display, and I want to trace each muscle, feel the connections to bone and tendon. My eyes trace his abdomen, and mine clenches in response to the memory of my hands on his naked stomach the other day.

  His shorts are bunched up on one side, giving me a tantalizing view of his leg where the tan ends and white begins. It feels special. It’s like that line is a private piece of him.

  I can feel myself getting wet. My visual inspection of him has ignited the flames of arousal. I haven’t had an orgasm in forever. I have my vibrator, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel right to use. I want Parker to give me orgasms. I want his naked body close to mine with his hands on me, touching, his mouth tasting.

  I’m squirming in my seat and struggling to resist the urge to stick my hand in my panties and touch myself.

  “P—Parker.” My breath is coming in soft panting puffs of air.

  “Yeah, baby…” He trails off when he gets a good look at my face. Standing up, he comes over to the couch and pulls me into his lap.

  “I know this is a hard, baby. Things will get better, I promise.” Turning myself around, I straddle his lap and whip my shirt over my head.

  His eyes are so wide with surprise, it’s comical. “Amy…what are you doing?”

  “I need your help with something. I have this ache I need you to take care of for me.” He groans and rests his head between my naked breasts.

  “Amy, be sure.” His eyes lock with mine as he runs his hand up my back and jerks me forward, his mouth poised over my nipple. I can feel his breath on my breast. The promise in his eyes is enough to melt my panties. It’s the promise of passion, lust, and love, all rolled into one hot freaking look.

  My hand comes up and cups my breast, offering it to him. The tug of his teeth and warm feel of his tongue shoots straight to my core. My hips move on their own accord, rubbing sensually against his dick.

  His hands slide down my back to my ass, then he spanks me, making me gasp. “We go at my pace, Amy. Hold still or this ends.”

  I whimper and still my movements. He takes both my hands in his firm grip and puts them at the small of my back. “Keep them there, baby, and don’t fucking move.”

  Another sharp smack to my ass and my eyes fly open. “Eyes on me. Don’t shut me out. Let me watch the pleasure bleed out of those pretty blue eyes.”

  I watch as his mouth descends again, giving my other nipple the attention it craves. I control the jerk of my hips, but barely.

  “Good, my little Sprite.”

  He picks me up and starts stalking his way to the bedroom. His mouth lands on mine and his teeth nip my lower lip. He licks away the sting and I gasp, giving him the opening he needs to invade my mouth.

  I think I could come from just his kisses alone.

  I expect him to throw me on the bed, but instead, he gently lays me down, his lips and tongue trailing wet kisses down my breasts, across my ribs, and over my tummy. His hands are in the waistband of my pants and he slowly starts to pull them down. When my pants clear my ass and all the goods are on display, he lays a gentle kiss on the outer lips of my sex, and I can’t help the jerk of my hips.

  My pants and panties go sailing acro
ss the room and Parker stands up, pushing his own pants down. His cock stands proud, curved up to his belly button. Sitting up, I try and touch the barbell that goes through the head of his dick, and suddenly, my hands are over my head. “You touch me and I’m done. Keep your hands over your head.” He sits back on his heels and places his hands on the inside of my thighs.

  “Let me see, Amy. Spread your legs.” My legs are closed, and I can feel the blush working its way across my chest and up to my face.

  Fisting the sheets in my hands, I do as he says. “Wider. I want to see it all. Let me see that pretty pussy, baby.” His hands continue their journey the wider I open.

  I let my legs fall completely open. The cool air on my overheated sex is maddening. He groans, and I’m mesmerized as he fists his cock, slowly moving up and down. After a few more pumps, I watch as he slides down on his belly, grabs me by the ass and jerks me forward. When he leans down, his tongue comes out and I hold my breath. With one slow, sensual lick, fireworks burst through my body.

  “Fuuuuuck, Parker. Oh God, don’t stop.”

  “Love this pussy, baby. Fuck, you taste so fucking sweet, just like I knew you would.”

  With my legs shaking, I slide my hands through his hair and grip the sweaty strands. He flicks my clit in quick movements, causing me to see stars.

  The wave is cresting, and I feel like I’m going to drown. One single finger slides into my tight channel and I detonate. That’s the only way I can describe the feeling as my whole body locks and I scream his name over and over, like a prayer.

  He comes over me and straddles my stomach as his hand works his cock. I want it in my mouth; I want to taste him so bad.

  “Move, Parker.”

  “Sit fucking still.” He tries to push me down.

  I move again, and he makes like he’s going to get off the bed but I grab his arm and jerk him back. Pushing him over onto his back, I don’t hesitate. My mouth settles over his cock and I suck it in deep, letting it hit the back of my throat. I moan deeply as his taste explodes, dancing over my taste buds. Pulling back, I flick my tounge over his piercing, loving when I hear his shocked gasp. I want to make this man come apart in my hands, my mouth.