Trent Evans Read online

  What She’s Looking For

  By

  Trent Evans

  Also by Trent Evans

  (Published by Tritium Press)

  A Message of Love

  A Lady and a Maid

  Maintenance Night

  Night Beach

  What She’s Looking For

  By Trent Evans

  Copyright © 2013 Trent Evans

  All Rights Reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The book contains content that is not suitable for readers aged 17 and under.

  For mature readers only.

  Cover Design by Michaela Strong (www.sexybookcovers.com)

  Thank you for downloading this e-book. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without express written permission from the author, Trent Evans, at [email protected]

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (See http://www.fbi.gov/ipr for more information about intellectual property rights.)

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons-living or dead-or places, events, or locales is purely accidental. The characters are reproductions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Acknowledgments

  To my wonderful beta readers: Alice, Anna, Kayla, Renee, Sadey and Sheri. Thank you so much for all that you do.

  Prologue

  There was one serious drawback to being owned by two men. It was exhausting.

  Morning sun poured over both of them, warming her skin, her body entwined with, surrounded by Parker’s big body. Still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly, his arm draped possessively over her, a strong hand holding the weight of her breast.

  Loathe to deprive herself of the heat of his body, the comfort of his embrace, Ashley knew what her instructions were. She knew the rules. Sunny Sunday morning or not, she had duties to perform, another Master to obey.

  Saturdays were for Parker, but Sundays were for Drake.

  Extricating herself from Parker’s heavy arm, she pressed her soft lips to his chest, marveling anew at the lean musculature, the barely leashed power in that male body. Moving awakened the pleasant ache of the stripes decorating the curves of her ass, her right hip particularly sore from the way Parker had allowed his strap to “wrap” the night before.

  He liked the bruises that were the aftermath of her regular Saturday appointment with his strap — and truth be told, so did she. She took a moment to take in that tall, beautiful male body tangled from the waist down in the white bed sheets, then slipped off the bed, padding her way to the door and down the long, shadowed hallway that the morning light could not reach.

  The shower mustn’t be long, for she knew Drake might awaken at any minute — and woe betide the slave girl who wasn’t present when he did.

  Fresh, long, dark hair still wet, she put her cuffs on at ankle and wrist, the black leather a firm, comforting reminder of their control of her. Easing the door to Drake’s bedroom open, she found her usual spot; fortunately for her it was squarely within a rectangle of brilliant morning sunshine across the carpet.

  Remembering her routine had been difficult at first, and punishments invariably followed when she’d failed, punishments she’d relished and dreaded in equal measure. But now it was as familiar as an old pair of shoes, her instructions, the roadmap for her life as a slave.

  You will be clean for your Master.

  You will be awake before your Master.

  You will be ready for whatever he wants, whenever he wants.

  You will obey.

  Crouching on the carpet, she waited. Her breasts brushed against her thighs, the cool morning air, and the moisture evaporating on her skin rendering her long nipples into aching, hard bullets. She adjusted her position, making sure her ass faced him exactly, the twin moons of her buttocks and the slot of her wet, swollen sex the first thing he’d see when he got up.

  His breathing was still regular, but she’d heard him stir. Not long now.

  The silence made time slow, only the sound of her Master’s breathing and the pounding of her own heart dominating her consciousness. What would he demand? Would he spank her again, even though she was already bruised?

  Perhaps he’d work on her breasts, currently unblemished. She imagined herself kneeling, looking up at him as she’d been trained, her tears streaming down her cheeks, wetting her cleavage as his huge hands slapped her breasts back and forth. The hot pain of the smacks, the ache of the marks. She’d cry out as he paused to pinch her nipples, to pull and twist them. His playthings.

  If they let her come, it was always a painful, drawn out affair, her pleasure earned at the price of long endurance, abject obedience — and purely at their whim. Often she was deprived of it, and it fired her need to serve, to submit, and to please. Perhaps if she were that much more obedient, that much more pleasing, she’d be granted release, that screaming climax which haunted her dreams.

  How often had she tried to sleep, bound, blindfolded, her hands unable to reach the dripping cunt seething between her clenching thighs. How she’d pleaded for that release, that deliverance, as they tormented her further, their hands, their cocks, their words, drawing her down further into that inescapable vortex of lust, pain, and surrender.

  Drake, the dark Master of her Sundays, stirred behind her, and as the trembling of her body began, she smiled.

  Soon, it would begin again.

  Chapter One

  “Who … is that?” Erik moved to stand next to the hulking form of his friend Drake. They had seen the little Honda come bumping up the dirt road of the drive, bottoming out repeatedly in the world’s largest potholes.

  Drake grunted something in response, his gaze fixated on the woman talking to their friend Parker at the edge of the drive.

  Erik shoved Drake’s huge shoulder. “Dude. Words.”

  Drake turned his head, his gaze not leaving the two figures at end of the driveway. “Parker seems to know her.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Didn’t say anything to me, though.”

  Erik watched the curious conversation. He couldn’t make out a lot, but he could see enough. She was slight, that much was obvious, Parker’s imposing height emphasizing her petite form. She smiled at the always gesticulating Parker, his long-fingered hands continually moving, emphasizing whatever point he was making.

  “Tiny little thing,” Drake said, his voice nearly a whisper.

  “Everyone’s tiny compared to you, Mack.”

  Erik liked to call Drake ‘Mack’. As in Mack truck. It perfectly summed up the hulking, unstoppable size of the man. That and Drake hated it. A nice bonus.

  “Shut it, dick,” Drake growled. But Erik could see his heart wasn’t in it. The big man was distracted by something.

  Her.

  Not that Erik blamed him. There was something about how she stood there, her eyes never leaving Parker, not looking around, no impatient darting glances. Attentive.

  It spoke to a man like Drake. Though the evasive, affable Parker would be adept at hiding it, Erik was pretty sure Parker could see it too.

&
nbsp; The porch creaked as Drake shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The white tee shirt he was wearing stressed at the bulge of the muscles of his back and shoulders.

  “You ever see her around? I don’t recognize the car,” Erik said, shaking his head, his shoulder length blond hair moving.

  It was an older dark blue Honda Accord, maybe seven or eight years old. The gray front wheel covers were darkened with accumulated brake dust.

  Not safe, girl.

  She clasped her arms across her black knit sweater. A self-protective gesture, belying her open, friendly expression. Erik wanted to see what was behind those arms, what that sweater hid from his gaze. He wanted to know what was making her uneasy.

  “Parker seems to know her,” Drake repeated. He turned and walked into the house, throwing one more glance at the pair before disappearing through the front door.

  Erik was surprised at his friend’s reaction. Drake was an observer, noticing everything, but rarely remarking on it. When he did say something though, it was usually something important. It was a quality Erik appreciated — most of the time (it didn’t make Drake much of a conversationalist). Not that it mattered with Parker around, though. He talked enough for both of them.

  But this had the taciturn Drake watching. Intently.

  ***

  Jesus, this place.

  Ashley ran her fingers through the blond-streaked sable of her hair. She craned her head up to look in the rearview mirror.

  Shit. Her roots were showing again.

  “Why do you even care, Ash?” she said to herself, pulling the car onto Hwy 97. It was a bit of a drive still to get to Wenatchee, and her thoughts always wandered as the road followed the meandering of the Columbia River on the drive south.

  That man. Parker McCready was shown as the owner on the listing. He’d been the one who’d placed the ad for the guest house. She’d first seen the listing as a sale, but had noticed the “open to the right renter” clause too. You didn’t miss those little, potentially deal-breaking, details in real estate. Not if you wanted to stay in real estate — especially in this shit economy.

  ‘Open to the right renter’. Well, she was pretty sure she fit the bill there. No friends, no money, brand new to the area. She’d practically be a shut-in. The perfect renter, right?

  She barked a harsh laugh. Trying too hard.

  The house was fine — it would be the perfect place for her, really. He was the problem.

  She would admit to reading her fair share of trashy romance novels. Okay, fine, it was mostly smut. She was a big girl, so she could do what she wanted.

  But he had them.

  Sure he was tall, well-dressed — at least by North Central Washington standards — and charming. Yes, he was all of that. But normally that didn’t matter to her. One thing mattered.

  Oh damn, he had them.

  He smiled, he joked, he grinned. But those surface emotions were a façade, an affectation. Those emotions didn’t reach those eyes. No sir, they didn’t.

  Cruel eyes. The kind that watched you as you cried, took in your pain. Eager to watch.

  Ruthless.

  The kind of eyes that made her soak her panties.

  She’d stood there as Parker explained to her what the house offered. How he’d be around to help any time she needed something. Any time at all, he’d said. He’d motioned to the two men standing on the porch of the large, low slung ranch that was on the same land as the advertised guest house.

  One of the men was lanky, athletic, with a long shock of blond hair. A younger guy — too young for her, at least from what she could see at a distance. The other man, was … huge. A mountain. All dark glowering looks and bulging biceps.

  Parker’s grip as he’d shaken her hand was sure, a little harder than most men shook hands nowadays. She loved a man who wasn’t afraid he’d hurt a woman. She liked men who realized that a woman was tougher than she looked, that he wasn’t going to break her. Well, maybe not quite.

  Ahem. Been reading too many of those books.

  An eighteen-wheeler rocketed past in the oncoming lane, its turbulence buffeting her little Honda.

  “Dammit.” She grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, keeping the car from going squirrelly on her. She’d been daydreaming, and the highway was not the best place to be doing that unless you were planning on becoming a hood ornament for a Peterbilt.

  She’d moved to the Chelan area to get away. Away from him. She’d needed something, anything new. She’d remembered visited the area once right after college, and thought it breathtaking. The Chelan — Stehekin ferry cutting through the mirrored surface of Lake Chelan. The mountains rising sharply from either shore resembling the look of a Norwegian fjord. Gorgeous.

  There were practical reasons, too. She worked as a realtor, but specialized in high-end properties. North central Washington was one of the few areas that seemed to have largely weathered the storm of the housing collapse (those rich folks still loved their real estate). From the awe-inspiring grandeur of the Methow valley, the untouched Cascades that surrounded Winthrop, to the trendy (and very touristy) Leavenworth, the region was still going strong — and managing to stay under the radar for the most part. Staying under the radar suited her just fine.

  So here she was.

  Then he — they — had to be at that house.

  Ashley just wanted a quiet place to retreat to. Somewhere she could go to peel off the realtor’s manufactured confidence and charm. Somewhere she could go to cry, to sob out the jagged pain and hurt. To just be … her. No complications. A place to recover and pick up the pieces. To start over.

  “Well, shit. That’s out the door.”

  She didn’t realize her lips were curved into the tiniest of smiles as she said it.

  Chapter Two

  “Tell me you aren’t coming back.” Tara’s voice was more serious than Ashley was used to hearing from her normally ebullient best friend.

  “Give me a few weeks, and we’ll see. I’ll be out of money by then, heh.”

  Ashley looked at her face in the vanity, brushing an eyelash off of her fair cheek. She didn’t realize how pale she’d become during the past few weeks. Fear, despair, and loneliness did that to a girl.

  “If I don’t sell a house by the end of this month, I’m going to be selling something else.”

  Tara laughed on the other end of the phone. “Some ass?”

  “We have a winner.”

  “You’d better eat something while you still have the money then, Ashley. Guys need some cushion for the pushin’ and unfortunately you don’t have an ass anymore.”

  “Bitch,” Ashley said, laughing despite the fact that what Tara said wasn’t far off the mark.

  She was too thin, at least for her. Her curves normally caught the eye, especially the male eye. Since the disaster with Terry though, those curves were a lot less dramatic, her beauty somehow more muted. She couldn’t remember when she’d eaten last.

  “Are you eating? Last time we talked you couldn’t keep anything down.”

  “Better now.” Ashley flopped down onto the queen bed in her hotel room. “Pretty soon you’ll have to roll me out of here.”

  “Yeah, anyways. You’d better start eating, dumbass. We need to take a trip to Aunty’s again. We’ll get you fixed right up.”

  In college, she’d traveled with Tara one year to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. She didn’t remember a lot of the trip, so well-oiled they’d been most of the time, but she did remember Tara’s aunt, Gloria. Her broad, warm smile, her dimples, and my god — the food. The smells in that kitchen. Lord, they were good.

  It was just about the friendliest place she’d ever been. After dinner with her and Tara’s cousin Dee, Ashley had told Gloria that she wanted to be adopted. Gloria just patted her on the ass, and told her she needed to eat some more.

  “She totally shot me down! I practically begged for adoption.”

  “Yeah, well, you were shit-faced, Ash. We
all were. Aunty probably couldn’t even understand our slurring drunk asses.”

  “Well, there’s always next time. I’ll wear her down eventually.”

  It felt good to talk to Tara. A connection to the life she was fleeing. It was also a relief that Tara didn’t sound any different, wasn’t strained or shrot with her. She was afraid Tara would freak once she realized Ashley wasn’t coming back.

  But Tara knew the story. Knew why.

  “You meet anyone? Any hotties we can tag team when I get out there to visit?”

  “Jesus, Tara. No!”

  (Parker)

  “What, Ashley? You need to get over it. Nothing clears a girl’s mind like a good, hard orgasm. A big, hard cock helps too.”

  Ashley burst out laughing, spitting out the Coke she’d been drinking.

  “Dammit, Tara.” She wiped her chin off with her hand. “Spit all over myself.”

  “Mustn’t waste, dear. Nobody likes a spitter.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You find somewhere to live or are you staying at the motel in preparation for your impending career change?”

  Ashley giggled, leaning back against the soft pillows she’d stacked against the headboard. Late afternoon sunlight slanted across her legs as she stretched them over the garish floral bedspread.

  “I think I found something. It’s a ways out of Chelan, on the north side of the lake. But the view is amazing, and … “

  Tara caught it, perceptive as always. “More than a good view of the lake? He that good?”

  “The guy who’s looking to rent it. He, well. Yeah, he’s not bad.”

  “That’s my girl! What’s he look like? Does he have those devil’s eyes you can’t resist?”