Page 17 of Parker

Chapter twelve

Lybster, The Scottish Highlands

Nicky

Joel called his mother exactly one hundred and fifty-two minutes ago.

I set my stopwatch. She’s still screaming at him.

I signal for him to put the phone down, but he shakes his head in response.

He told me he would have to take whatever venom she spat at him.

Her bark was worse than her bite, and he needed her on his side for dealing with his father. Eventually, he cuts the call.

“Well?” I prompt.

“It could have been worse,” he says.

I laugh. “Really?”

“One hundred percent. My father wants to talk to me. I have to be in his office on Monday morning. No excuses.”

“Have they accepted you’re not marrying her?” I ask, failing miserably to keep the hope from my voice.

He nods, but it’s not definitive. “That’s my impression.” He circles his head to release the tension in his neck.

His muscles ripple beneath his skin as I watch.

“I hope so,” he mutters, almost to himself.

***

Our second day at our hideaway passes uneventfully, and both our phones remain silent.

People have gotten the message. We want to be left alone.

Tomorrow night, we’ll be forced to leave this sanctuary and return to Glasgow to face the consequences of our actions, back to face our family and friends.

The wind and rain have finally abated, so we brave a walk in the countryside.

The temperature is certainly not warm, but at least we don’t need our raincoats.

We walk hand in hand through the tall grass.

Every so often, a purple thistle sticks up amongst the greenery.

There is nothing and no one for miles—all we can hear are the lapping waves and bird songs.

We find a path which meanders down to the beach below the cottage; the tide has receded. Walking along the damp sand, the salty air fills my lungs. I feel completely free here. No one can touch me.

“Look,” Joel says. “A cave. Let’s explore.”

I giggle at his enthusiasm. As he stands in front of me, he bounces from foot to foot, awaiting my answer. Rolling my eyes, I nod, and he grabs my hand, leading me toward the rock face.

“Wow,” he enthuses. “Isn’t it incredible? I wonder if smugglers used it in the past.”

“Are you just going to make up what you don’t know?” I ask, and he grins at me.

The cave disappears into the cliffside—we can’t see the back. I stand at the mouth, and nerves dance in my belly. A musty smell emanates from the rock, and dark slime covers the walls. Joel waves around the torch on his phone, lighting up the dank space.

“Look at this,” he shouts. My heart swells slightly.

He sounds like a kid in a candy shop. “There are carvings on the walls. Amazing! I wonder what they are and who drew them. Perhaps thousands of years old.” He talks to himself as he looks at the dark markings on the stone. I squint, hardly able to see them.

“Are you sure it’s not just marks on the stone from the water?” I ask.

“Tsk,” he hisses through his teeth. “Look closely, that’s a bull.”

He points at a swirl of scratches. I shrug. Let him believe what he wants.

It feels like hours pass. Joel examines every scrape and marking he can find.

He takes pictures and notes on his phone.

Watching this side of him is heart-warming.

He’s so masculine, sexual, and in control.

Seeing him fan-boying over some ancient carvings shows him in a different light, a softer one.

“Urgh,” I spit. “My feet are wet. I never saw that puddle.” Then I look down and see the floor of the cave is filling with water. Fast. “Joel!” I shout, panicked. “The tide’s coming in.”

Like the day my cell door slammed shut, the water closes in on us. The freedom of outside vanished in an instant, and here it is, happening again. Darkness swirls around me, threatening to drown me, once and for all.

Panic, that old familiar sensation, rises inside me with the tide. It curls around my ribs like a chain anchoring me to the spot I stand.

Joel’s eyes come to me and then to the entrance of the cave. The beach is gone, submerged in the dark sea. I stand frozen, watching the water approach and recede as it laps around our ankles. Joel puts his arm around my waist and squeezes to get my attention.

“Follow me,” he instructs. “Don’t panic. We’ll be fine.”

“I can’t swim,” I stammer.

He hesitates, and I see it. Genuine fear. Not for himself, but for me. His jaw clenches, and he exhales hard.

"Then I’ll swim for both of us," he says.

It’s brave. Stupid, maybe. But that’s Joel.

One part steel, one part recklessness. And if he’s scared, he hides it well.

And somehow, I already trust him. Maybe that makes me just as reckless as him, but it doesn’t scare me, even if it should.

He takes the lead, and I walk behind him with my hands firmly wedged through his belt.

“Don’t let go,” he says. We wade out of the mouth of the cave, the angry water now reaching our knees.

Above us, the sky has darkened, and enraged rolls of thunder rumble.

“We have a one-hundred-meter walk up the beach to the path,” he tells me.

His voice is cool and commanding. “The tide will keep rising fast. We need to keep moving. Nicky, don’t let go of me. ”

The water claws at my legs, each wave stronger than the last. I slip once, my grip on his belt loosening, but Joel pulls me forward.

“Hold on,” he grunts over his shoulder. “Don’t let go.”

I tighten my fingers, clinging on for all my worth as we wade through the now thigh-high sea. My lungs burn. The salt air stings my throat. Every step is like escaping quicksand.

Eventually, we scramble up the rocks onto the pathway. My heart beats hard in my chest, as if it will burst through the bone. Exhausted and fraught, all I want to do is get back to our secluded attic space. Joel wraps his arm around me, taking control and guiding me back to our hideaway.

Inside, we drip onto the wood floor, shivering and breathless.

“You’re freezing,” he says as we enter the living room.

“Let’s take a shower.” He disappears into the bathroom, and the shower splutters to life.

“Lift your arms, we need to get you warm,” he instructs when he comes back out, pulling my jumper over my head.

Slowly, he removes every item of clothing I’m wearing, discarding them on the floor until I stand naked in front of him.

And from just looking at him, I already feel a hundred degrees warmer.

His hungry eyes drop to my toes and then slowly move up my body, examining every inch of my flesh. “You go get in the shower. I won’t be a minute.”

Stepping under the scalding hot water brings instant relief to my cold bones.

I close my eyes and throw my head back, allowing the liquid to flow over my body.

I feel him behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and nestling his growing cock between my butt cheeks.

We stand and enjoy the sensation of the water flowing over our skin, gaining heat from the shower and each other.

Turning to face him, I smile up at my beautiful man through the flow, and he drops a kiss on my forehead. He squirts some shower gel into his palms and massages my breasts, his soapy hands cleansing my skin. We take our time to care for each other, wiping away the remnants of the ocean.

There’s no rush tonight. We have all night to be together. The feelings passing between us are strong and unknown to us both, but I have no doubt that he’s the man for me.

Back in our bedroom, we lie on the bed, and he slowly trails kisses down my body.

He starts at my neck, down my breasts and stomach, then ends up between my legs.

He spoils me in our lovemaking, always giving me an unfair balance of attention.

Tonight, I want to do something special for him.

I wriggle from underneath him, and he frowns at me, confused.

“Go sit on the chair,” I tell him, and a smile plays on his lips.

“You want to be in control tonight, baby?” He lifts an eyebrow, and I bite my lip dramatically.

“I’m always in control, Mr. Parker. You just don’t know it.”

His eyes narrow, playful, but there’s something more in them too. Like he sees past the teasing to the parts of me that still tremble. And maybe that’s why I want to lead tonight. Not just to tempt him, but to show myself I’m not drowning anymore.

As he sits, framed by the red leather chair. He looks incredible like a sex god waiting to be fucked. Which he will be, thoroughly. He leans back, relaxed with his legs open and his hard length resting against his stomach. My pupils dilate as I take in the vision in front of me, all for me.

I say nothing, creeping toward him, wanting to heighten his arousal at being made to wait.

His eyes darken, and he runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

I bite mine, and he growls under his breath, adjusting himself in the seat.

With one hand, he strokes his length and gives me a dirty smile.

I shake my head and wag my finger at him.

“Naughty boy,” I purr. “That’s my job. Hands off the equipment.” Taking his hands, I place them on the arms of the chair. “Don’t move them, or I’ll stop.”

Dropping between his knees and taking his cock in my hands, I stroke him deliberately, then run my tongue over his tip.

He tastes divine. I glance up at him and take his cock in my mouth, then lick up his shaft.

He groans in response, and I smile at my naughtiness.

This man brings the whore out in me. After teasing him some more, his eyes darken further as he becomes desperate to be inside me.

When I pull back completely, he startles. I stand and turn my back to him, then bend over, touching my toes to give him a full view of my pussy, swollen and wet, ready to take him. This will be his undoing. I twist around and smile sweetly at him.

“Get the fuck over here,” he snarls.

Doing as I’m told, I lower myself onto his lap and rub against his cock, allowing my wetness to transfer between us.

“Are you ready to be fucked, darling?” I whisper, and he bites my neck hard in answer. Rising, I lift myself onto his dick, wiggling my hips to ease myself down onto him. He fills me, and it feels damn good.

I move slowly, but our pace builds, neither of us able to take control of the primal urge to fuck.

My breasts hang free and bounce as I ride him hard.

He places his hands on my thighs, encouraging me to go faster, harsher, more.

We reach our climax together, clinging to each other as the sensations ripple through our bodies. The electricity between us is palpable.

Hours later, we lie on the fur rug wrapped around each other. Our conversation is intense—we discuss what we expect the week ahead to look like once we return to Glasgow. Tracing the definition of his abs with my fingers, I’m lost in thought for a moment.

“Nicky,” he says, bringing my attention back to him. “Do you feel this? What we have together?” I smile at him, leaning forward to kiss his cheek in answer. “You and me, we just feel right. It’s like I’ve found the missing piece to my puzzle.”

“And you for me. I’ve never felt so cherished and wanted.” He reaches for my hand, entwining our fingers. “This weekend—it’s been chaos and calm and everything in between. And I know people will think we’re mad. That we moved too fast. But I don’t care.”

His eyes meet mine, unwavering.

“The fallout is going to be difficult, but I’m serious about you, Nicky. I’m willing to risk my family, my business, and my life for us. You’re the single most important person in my life. It may only have been days, but the feelings I have for you will endure lifetimes.”

“The tide tried to trap us today. Just like my past, but you didn’t let it pull me under.” I swallow hard, emotions tightening in my throat. “I love you too.”

There’s a beat of silence. His thumb strokes over the back of my hand once. Twice. Then he says it, so softly I almost don’t hear it.

“Marry me?”