by JA Huss
That’s a nice answer. Sometimes the girls say I like to give orders, but that’s not entirely true. Sometimes they say I want to force them, but that’s not even close. I get rid of those girls immediately. But control, that’s a good answer. Control is right on the money. “Yes, that’s what it means. Tell me what you see. What do you imagine it would be like? Having sex with me?”
“What?” she almost chokes.
“Describe it, Ashleigh.” Finally, she is uncomfortable. I don’t want to bother with girls who want to call the shots. I’d rather know now if she’s acceptable, otherwise I won’t waste my time.
She takes a deep breath and then blushes a bright pink.
Yes.
She lets out a long breath of air. “I don’t know, Ford. I don’t. You’re way out of my league. But I think it would be fun. Last night was…” She stops to swallow and look away and then shakes her head like she can’t believe she’s gonna go there. “Just what I needed.”
Oh God. If I wasn’t doing my best to keep her off guard I’d laugh right now. “Do you like to be controlled?”
She looks at the couch and then at me. “May I sit?”
My dick gets hard at her polite and formal question. “Where’s the baby?”
“Sleeping. Up in your room. I piled up a bunch of pillows around the edge of the bed so she won’t roll over and fall off.”
I glance up at her. “Do they roll over?”
She laughs at me and nods her head. “They can. She doesn’t yet. But if I turn my back for a second, you know, she’ll decide that will be her first time and off the bed she goes.”
I let out a breath at that. Too true. “Fucking Murphy’s Law, right?”
“Exactly,” she replies, her shyness at bay for a moment as she talks about something she’s more comfortable with.
I bring her attention back to me, because fuck that. I didn’t get her all red for nothing. “You may sit because you asked nicely.” She steps towards the couch and lowers herself, not quite on the opposite side of the couch, but not so she’s touching me either. “So tell me, Ashleigh, what are you hoping for?”
She stares at her hands for a moment, then looks me in the eye. I’m almost stunned, that’s how surprised I am that she can meet my gaze after that question. “Just your brand of dirty fun.”
I want to keep it serious, because that’s what I do. I do not allow the girls to have the upper hand, ever. So I’d really like to keep this professional. But I can’t help it, I have to snicker. That was not the answer I was expecting.
“You’re… laughing at me?” Her confidence falters for a moment.
“I’m not,” I tell her. I rather like her directness because it’s real. It comes out a little bit desperate maybe, but it’s still real. “I’m not. It’s just, you threw me for a moment. Your honesty. I like it.”
She nods her head and smooths down her—my—t-shirt and her fingertips pass over her nipples. I’m not sure if this was a deliberate attempt to seduce me or just a nervous gesture, but either way, it turns me on. “I could tell,” she replies.
“You could tell what?” I ask, still staring at her nipples that are pushing against the thin cotton fabric.
“You don’t put up with much. And I’m already a big inconvenience for you. I’m trying to be what you want so—”
“Wait.” I have to stop her here because I’m not sure what she’s alluding to. “What do you think I want?”
“No one. I think you want no one around, and I’m someone. And I have a baby, and no money, and no car. And you’re helping me for some reason. You’re feeling—” She stops to look up at me here. “Obligated, I guess. And I’m… I just don’t want you to get tired of me.”
“Tired of you?” I’m not following.
“Come to your senses and stop caring.”
I laugh. It hurts her, I can tell that much. I might not be the most emotional guy, but I’m not oblivious. “I never cared, Ashleigh. Not that night I invited you in. Not yesterday when I paid your bill or gave you cash to shop. Not last night when I got you off. And if you want me to do it again, I won’t care today either. So what do you want from me? Because I won’t be keeping you around, if that’s what you’re after. I can get any girl I want to suck my dick or let me finger her in a hallway. I don’t need you for that. You’re just here.”
She thinks about this for a few seconds and then stands up. “OK.” She smiles. “I’ll leave you alone then.”
“What?”
She walks to the stairs, puts one hand on the banister, and then turns and speaks calmly. “You’re nice-looking. You’re smart and wealthy, well-bred, maybe. And I feel indebted to you. But you’re also very rude. And I’m not a worthless person. Maybe I’ve got a lot of problems and pretty much everything is going wrong for me right now, but I’m not worthless. So I won’t stay and allow you make yourself feel better by making me feel worse. I can dig myself out of whatever I’m into without you. It might not be as easy and it definitely won’t come with any promise of sexual fun. But I don’t mind. I probably deserve the hard road anyway. So if you want me to shut up and go away, I’m happy to do that for you.”
And then she does shut up and go away.
I sit here thinking it over for several minutes before I come to the conclusion that I have just been word-slapped by a girl who never raised her voice or used profanity.
Chapter Twelve
After about half an hour I hear her upstairs in the kitchen. She doesn’t make any unnecessary noise, not like she’s banging pots and pans on purpose, but somehow her movements sound different. And I know that it’s because she’s still upset with me. Occasionally she talks to the baby, or the baby fusses and cries. But that’s all I hear from above. No TV or music. Which is understandable, because all the entertainment things are hidden behind panels. She’d have no idea where to even look for them.
I’m still sitting on the couch thinking about this when I see her shadow standing at the top of the basement stairs. Our stairs are wide and open, so she casts a shadow all the way down the steps. I wait for her to descend, but she stands still, like she’s listening.
“Dinner’s ready,” she finally says in a normal and even tone. Like she knows I’m waiting for her to say something and she doesn’t need to raise her voice in order for me to hear.
Or maybe she’s hoping I don’t hear her and I just stay down here and let her eat in peace. I don’t answer her and she waits there for a few seconds before going back to the kitchen.
I force myself to get up and climb the stairs, because fuck her. This is my fucking house. She catches my eye as I come up but I turn right into the hallway instead of walking directly into the kitchen. I clean up a little in the bathroom, then go into my bedroom and stand there and take it in. Modern, again. A low slat bed makes for an easy fall if the baby actually did roll off. It’s not quite futon height, but not much taller either. The bedding is dark blue, as are the walls. There’s a desk, a couple dressers, and some nightstands on either side of the bed. I have nothing on my walls. Nothing. I was very into emptiness as a teen. Minimalism. And this room is large, so all this furniture is not even close to being enough to fill it up. The floors are dark hardwood like the living room, but there’s a navy blue room-sized rug that covers almost the entire bare space.
Normally my room is spotless. I’m not a freak about neatness, but I like my things orderly.
Right now my room looks like a completely disheveled person lives here. And her name is Ashleigh. All her baby crap is everywhere, her bag of used clothes strewn about the floor, and a few of my things are thrown in there for good measure. I go to my closet and pull down a faded blue t-shirt that says What happens on the mountain stays on the mountain and a pair of faded jeans. They are a few years old and all these clothes smell a little dusty, but they are clean enough for me at the moment. Better than a crunchy tux. I don’t bother with socks, just make my way to the kitchen.
Ashleigh’s sitting
on the living room floor, spooning something into the baby’s mouth and making noises that might trick her into thinking that crap on the spoon is delicious. I check the dinner—it’s chicken and rice again. But what did I expect? That’s all I bought.
“Come sit at the table,” I say as I load up my plate and grab a beer.
“I’m feeding the baby some cereal,” she calls back.
“I’m not sure how that matters. Come sit at the table.”
“It matters because she’s not big enough to sit in a chair and I don’t want her carrier on the table.”
Round one to Ashleigh. I guess that makes sense. I take my plate and drink to the coffee table and sit on the couch next to her. Her plate of food is on the coffee table as well, but it’s not been touched. “Tired of chicken and rice already?” I take a bit of mine and then point to her plate with my fork.
She ignores me and just continues to offer the baby some of that goop she’s calling food.
“Want to watch TV?” I ask.
“There is no TV.”
I knew that would get an answer. I get up and open a drawer on the far side of the living room built-ins and remove the remote, then sit back down and mess with a few buttons. The wall panel in front of us slides up and the flat-screen turns on.
“Well, that’s ostentatious,” she says dryly.
I point the remote at her. “Love that word, and the TV panel is a bit flashy, but still cool.” I hand the remote over to her. “I’ll put on hockey, so if you like hockey, I’m happy to man the remote. If not, you better choose.”
She finally looks over at me, confused. “Since when does a man give up control of the remote?”
I study her for a moment, wondering how old she really is. I pegged her at twenty back at the hotel, but she acts more mature than that. She’s small, so that makes her look young, and she’s stranded with pretty much nothing in the way of resources, so that makes her appear vulnerable. But she’s got a worldliness about her. Like she’s seen things. Like she’s seen things that change people overnight. She doesn’t seem to be worried about her predicament with me. She’s not acting afraid of me or upset at being stuck here with a stranger, instead of on her way to wherever it was she was headed. She’s pretty much made herself at home. “I hate TV,” I finally reply. “I only watch hockey and an occasional stock report. The Market’s closed and the Aves aren’t playing tonight, so I really don’t give a fuck what I watch.”
“Oh, do you play or something?”
“I can play, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t play regularly. No.” I take another bite and chew. She accepts the remote, flips through the guide, and then turns on a hockey game.
“I like hockey too, and I have a soft spot for the Stars. They are good enough for me.”
Ashleigh is not what I expected. At all. One minute she’s shy and blushing, the next she’s confident and strong. I’m not sure which is the real her. “I’ll watch, but only out of pity. We’re kicking their asses this year.”
The baby starts coughing on the crap Ashleigh is still absently spooning into her mouth and then it all becomes too much and the cough turns into a full-fledged wail. Ashleigh takes her out of her carrier and hugs her to her chest, patting her firmly on the back and telling her sweet things in her ear. Then she lifts up her shirt and slips the baby right up to her breast.
I don’t know what it is, but this baby-feeding shit almost… turns me on. She’s not flaunting her tits at me, she’s just barely lifting her shirt so the baby can get access, but fuck. It’s provocative for some reason.
“Sorry for dirtying up all your t-shirts. Mine are too small to do this,” she says as she leans her head back against the couch and closes her eyes. Like breastfeeding exhausts her.
“Take what you need, I don’t mind.”
“That’s weird, you know.” Her eyes are still closed.
“What’s weird?”
“That you’re so easy-going about certain things and yet so uptight about others.”
I grunt out a laugh. “I’m gonna need examples.”
“You pay for things like money means nothing. You take care of the car and let me sit in that hotel office, and then come to pick me up and bring me here. You let me practically take over your house, you hand over the remote. I think you’re easy-going about these things because they’re outside of you. But then you seem to be obsessively controlling about anything that has to do with the inside of you. And then there’s that whole no-touching thing. You almost freaked out about it back when I was putting the baby in the van at the hotel.”
I actually huff at her assessment. Who the hell is she? “You don’t know me well enough to even form those opinions.”
“So you’re saying I’m wrong?” She doesn’t open her eyes. In fact, she looks like she’s about to go to sleep. That’s how slow and even her breathing is.
“I’m not saying anything. You just don’t know me.”
She stays silent, just tilts her head to the side so she’s not facing me. Her neck stretches, exposing her throat.
I have a thing for throats. Maybe some guys like tits and pussy. I like tits and pussy. But throats. Fuck. That shit turns me on. I imagine my hand sliding up to her throat, palming it gently. I do not squeeze them. But I like to apply a little pressure to make the girl come.
I’ve never had a pet complain about the throat thing. Not that they’re allowed to complain per the rules. But if it freaks them out, they’d probably say so on their way out when they’re busy calling me an emotionless freak. And they never do. They all like it. It’s like an orgasm button when used properly and I’ve perfected the technique.
Ashleigh becomes still and begins to breathe deeply. “Does it make you tired, Ashleigh?” I’m not sure why I ask, it’s just weird how she changes when the baby is nursing.
“Yes, you make me tired,” she says softly.
“No,” I laugh. “Breastfeeding.”
“Oh.” She turns her head back to me, opens her eyes, blinking a few times to shake off her drowsiness. “Yes, it’s like a drug. It relaxes me.”
“So it feels good?” My dirty mind is wandering.
Ashleigh smirks a little. But she doesn’t answer. I change the subject and point to her plate with my fork since she’s shut me down. “You’re not eating anything.”
She pulls herself fully awake and then stands up, removing the baby from her breast and adjusting her shirt. “Be right back.” She wanders down the hallway talking quietly to the baby, then disappears into my room.
Chapter Thirteen
I finish eating and then grab another beer from the fridge and sit back down on the couch. Her plate sits on the coffee table untouched and regardless of what she said, she does not come back. I try to concentrate on the hockey game but my mind is racing with curiosity and after about thirty minutes I get up and walk down the hall to the bedroom. I stop and listen at the closed door.
“Ashleigh?”
I knock. Nothing. I open the door and she’s sprawled out on the bed topless, the baby tucked up against her belly, their mouths open, their breath soft and even.
God, that is just sexy. She’s all sideways on the bed, not using a pillow, and her hair is spilling out on one side of her body like it was positioned that way for a photoshoot.
I watch her for a few seconds and then give myself the creeps and back away, closing the door behind me. It’s only about eight o’clock, and I just woke up a few hours ago, so I’m not even remotely tired. I wander back to the basement and glance over at the bottle of Scotch on my dad’s desk, and then, before I can stop myself, I’m sitting down in front of it.
I put the bottle away. I’m not in the mood to drink alone. But I do take a better look around the office. All the shelves are filled with books. Mostly medical books because my dad was a psychiatrist. He specialized in autistic spectrum disorders because I was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome when I was a kid.
My dad was a great man
and the awards and certificates on his office wall in here are just the beginning of how special he was. He was my biggest champion. He made me stronger. He kept up with me in every respect. He pushed me to be better, learn more, try harder. And he never did it in a mean way like some fathers. His reprimands were always calm, his urges to do better always came with just the right level of excitement and assurance.
One of the characteristics of Asperger’s is uncoordinated motor skills, so my dad compensated by enrolling me in every sport available. I did baseball, basketball, track, football, skiing, boarding, hockey… not all at the same time of course, he was just looking for my sweet spot. The sport I might excel in.
And like the language skills that I shouldn’t have, I had physical skills as well. I excelled in skiing, baseball, and track. But it was the skiing that captivated me. If you’re a skier and you live in Vail, that’s like heaven. I was the reason we came here every weekend in the winter. And everything I did, my dad did with me. He pitched to me, he threw the football, he put on all the smelly hockey gear and got up at five AM to get rink time. He ran with me. Every day. In Denver we ran in City Park and then later we did the steps at Coors Field. But when I spent my summers here in Vail, we did the bike trail just down the hill from our house. It runs from Vail to Frisco. Twelve miles down, twelve miles back up. We did that whole run at least once a month in the summers.
He skied insane runs with me. We did more than our share of double black diamond runs all over the world.
He never said no. He always had time. No matter how crazy my plan.
I grab the bottle from the bottom drawer and I’m shuffling through the back of it, searching for the rocks glass I know is in here, when I hear the knock.
I look up and Ashleigh is standing in the doorway. “Sorry, I guess I drifted off.”
I look at the bottle, then her. She’s all disheveled, just like the bedroom. Her hair is tousled and a little bit sweaty from being asleep and her cheeks are pink against her pale skin. I picture her topless like she was up in my bed and it renders me silent for a moment.