Page 2 of Ashley
They would go somewhere alone—together. Someplace where eyes couldn't see them, and maybe, just maybe, he would put his hands on her like she'd imagined. Ashley had to choke back a groan at that thought, and she gave him a slight nod, just a tip of her head, so miniscule that if he hadn't been watching her closely, he would have missed it.
"Okay," she murmured, voice lost in the pounding base beat, but somehow he still heard her.
"That's my good girl," he praised her, and Ashley glowed from it. Why, she didn't know, but she liked how attentive this man was and how freely he gave her tender words. And they hadn't even made it toQuiet. She was in trouble, but Ashley found that she didn't much mind trouble. At least, not right now and not with this man.
He slipped his hand into hers, and she felt a shiver of excitement race through her at the gesture. His hands were rough, calloused, so very manly. It made her feel delicate and small. Something she'd never much felt like, which had made her a terrible ballerina in her youth. She glanced up then at Natasha, memories of their teenage years spent together preparing and practicing their paces for their company's next big production coming back. Even then, there had been no mistaking that Natasha was a prima ballerina. She had come from a legacy of dance, after all. Ashley had been grateful for the other girl's genuine friendship. It wasn't easy growing up a ballerina, and especially not when your body refused to fit the mold of what a professional ballerina should be—lithe, muscular, narrow hipped and swan like. Ashley had been all of thirteen when she'd stopped meeting body expectations for a dancer. She was wide-hipped and thick-thighed, with generous breasts and an ass her mother bemoaned for making her costumes impossible to fit, which was where Ashley's love of costuming had begun. Hating the shame of having to stand in front of the other dancers and the accusing gaze of the costumer, Ashley had learned to alter her dance kits to fit her frame. The other girls hadn't been kind to the odd girl out, for which, in retrospect, Ashley couldn't fault them. They were just kids and they were all desperate to belong. That made her easy pickings for the others, no matter how sure footed or quick she was to pick up new choreography. Different in her own way, Natasha had never been like the others, though. She was more talented than the rest, a star in the making, but there had been an aloofness to the girl that had made her hard to relate to. Ashley soon discovered it was because she didn't trust easily. She didn't blame Natasha for being wary, not with her family history. The Ochenko women were rigid. And somehow, their prodigy had gravitated toward Ashley with an openness that surprised even her, but she had always been grateful for Natasha's friendship. It was real and true, a rarity in their world. She had never judged Ashley on her appearance, never made her feel less than or different, either.
She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like that preteen girl who had just realized she didn't fit the standard measurements. Biting her lip, she cautioned a look up at the man holding her hand and nearly fell over her feet when she saw he was looking back at her. She didn't see critical and cold eyes searching for a fault but ones warmed through with an expression she didn't quite understand. His eyes were heavy on her, pupils dilated from lust, and she reeled when he dropped his gaze to her chest. Just a bit of cleavage was showing from her sundress, and he licked his lips while his eyes moved over the exposed flesh.
There wasn't a bit of misgiving in his face. This man liked what he saw, and Ashley didn't know if that scared her or excited her. Her feet slowed at the realization and she felt like she'd been turned to stone. It was one thing to flirt with a gorgeous man, but to carry it out… she squirmed, pushing her thighs together. There was no mistaking that she wanted this—wanted him. But she was also nervous. Ashley had never been one for wild nights or random hookups, and the borrowed boldness of her cocktails had suddenly begun to wane in the face of what she was about to do.
"I, ah…" Her eyes darted to the side as she struggled to find the words she needed to tell this man she wasn't sure what to do next.
His hand came to her waist, fingers curling against her and pressing her close to his front until they were standing thigh to thigh. She could feel the solid warmth of him through her thin dress and she shifted again, but this time, her movement pushed her thighs against the bulge in his pants.
"Do you want me, baby girl?" he asked, eyes fixed on hers.
She nodded, lips pressed together in frustration. Why was it so hard to say it? He walked them back into the hallway behind them. It was quieter here, easier to pretend it was just the man who made all of this so much easier. Ashley sucked in a lungful of air as the man kept walking them back until she bumped against a closed door.
He cocked his head to the side, eyes sliding away from hers and to the door. "Do you want to go in there with me?" he asked, nodding at the closed door behind her.
She bit her lip and looked away. The man's hands came up to cup her face and tilt her head back to look at him. "Eyes on mine, baby girl. I need you to use your words. Do you want this?"
Ashley was silent for another moment. The only sound in her ears was the demanding pounding of her heart. "Yes, Sir," she answered, and the dark look in the man's gray eyes intensified to something like fire. This time, it didn't scare her but stole her breath.
He leaned forward, hips grinding against hers and making her groan. "You want me to take care of you, little girl?"
"Yes," she gasped, arching her back and molding herself to this man. Anyone could leave the party and see them like this, her shivering against a door with him grinding up against her, each movement forcing her sundress higher.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Sir," Ashley tried, but the title made him give a slight shake of his head.
"I'm thinkin' you need something softer."
Ashley's eyes widened. "I do?" she asked, voice coming out breathy and catching when he swiveled his hips in a just-so way.
He grinned and tapped her nose. "Sweet girl like you doesn't need a Sir. She needs a Daddy."
"She does?" Ashley whispered. The coiling feeling in her belly was building. A pressure she had always felt but had never been able to name was bearing down on her with more force than she could ever remember, and she shivered again. Daddy. That seemed right, like a key fitting right into a lock, a lock to a very heavy weight Ashley hadn't realized she'd been carrying until this beautiful stranger had said the words and awakened something in her that craved release.
His fingers skimmed her cheek, a thumb pressing on her bottom lip, and her mouth popped open at the pressure. He blew out a breath and nodded with a jerk of his chin.
"She does," he said, thumb moving up and against her lip until Ashley's tongue darted out to meet it. The man stifled a groan and licked his own lips. "Do you want Daddy to take care of you, little girl?"
"Yes, please."
His fingers tightened on her jaw slightly. "Yes, what?"
Her cheeks flushed, but she forced herself not to look away from him. "Yes, Daddy."
"Good girl," he murmured, dropping his head to kiss her, and it stole her breath away. The gentle tone and words from the man were at odds with the way he kissed her. His mouth moved hungrily against hers, possessively, in a manner that told Ashley she was his, and his alone. Lips and tongue danced together until she was left whimpering and clinging to him.
"Please," she choked out when they parted. For him to stop, or to keep going, she didn't know. He flexed his hand that was still cupping her chin and squeezed her again.
"Please, what?"
"Please, Daddy."
