“Well, it’s illegal to solicit prostitution but it’s also illegal to conspire to solicit, which is what the pimp does.” Andrew paused and stared into the middle distance. “That gives me an idea. I know a woman, her name’s Belinda Rivera. A police officer in vice. She hates pimps more than life. Her little sister was killed by one when she didn’t hand over all her take for a night. That’s why Belinda went into police work in the first place. She’s a self-proclaimed avenger.”
Picking up the thread Ashley said excitedly, “You mean we’ll trap him? We’ll trick him, using Belinda as the bait! Oh, my god. Can you imagine his face when the swat teams burst in, sirens blaring, guns blazing, bullhorns screaming, ‘Po-lice, freeze!’”
Andrew laughed. “Well, I don’t think it would go down quite like that, but that’s the general idea. And with the bastard behind bars you would breathe a whole lot easier, I know. I’ll call her first thing in the morning. I’ll call Belinda and see what devious plan we can hatch.
“Meanwhile,” he leaned over the small table and put his hand over Ashley’s, “if you can, just for now, let’s forget that bastard. Let’s be right here, right now, just you and me.” Ashley leaned toward him, her eyes closing in rapture as his lips touched hers.
Chapter 5
As Andrew unlocked the door to his little house Ashley looked around appreciatively. Greg’s place had been nice in a bland, uniform kind of way. It was a modest ranch home on a block of identical modest ranches.
But Andrew lived in a different sort of neighborhood. “Artsy,” he said, looking a little shy. “This used to be all industrial, but it’s been changing over slowly to art lofts and little bungalows and galleries and stuff. I like it because there are all sorts of people here and they care about where they live.”
“I think it’s wonderful,” Ashley breathed, bending down to smell the bright orange and yellow flowers Andrew had planted on either side of his front door. Andrew looked pleased as he gestured for her to enter the house before him. She stepped over the threshold and stopped in the little foyer as a large dog came bounding over to greet her.
It was a big, sloppy mutt, mostly sheep dog, and Ashley gasped at the unexpected welcome. “Betty. Get down, sit.” Andrew laughed, pushing the big dog down. She sat, wagging her tail so wildly that her entire bottom swished on the hardwood floor.
“I’m sorry, she gets so excited because she’s alone all day. I’ve been thinking about getting her a companion so she won’t rely on me so much for company.”
Ashley had knelt down once the initial shock of being accosted by one hundred and twenty pounds of eager dog had worn off. She was rubbing Betty behind the ears. “What a sweet little puppy,” she was crooning, her voice pitched high as when one talks to a baby. Her one regret when she had run away from home was leaving behind their old dog Sammy. She’d often wondered who would take the time to feed him and take him for walks as she used to do. He was probably dead now, but she had never quite put him out of her heart, occasionally fantasizing that she would sneak back to the old place and steal him away if she ever got a place where she could keep him.
Andrew watched Ashley bonding with his dog. After a moment he said, “Would you like to stay here for a while? I’d love to have you. I have an extra bedroom. No one’s ever even used it, except my mother once when she came to visit last year. You don’t want to go back to that shelter, surely.”
Ashley thought of the little cramped apartment that smelled of old cabbage and ancient urine. With a pang of sudden guilt she thought about the two women still there, hiding from men who had made them feel unsafe—who had made them fear for their lives. She shivered a little—she didn’t want to go back there.
And yet here was this man—admittedly a kind and wonderful man—but still a man who was offering to take her in. She had escaped her father’s house only to find herself imprisoned in another man’s house. Greg had “saved” her and now here was Andrew offering to do the same thing. Was she falling into another trap? A little poisoned arrow of doubt pierced her heart. Greg had seemed nice at first too…
“Come sit down, Ashley,” Andrew said. He was watching her face, noting the interplay of emotion in her expression. “I apologize for pushing you like that. It was insensitive of me. I’m so happy to have found you again that I’m rushing you. It must feel like Greg all over again—some guy swooping in and claiming to ‘save’ you.
“Only I don’t think you need saving. You’re a remarkable woman, you know that? Getting yourself out of a bad situation against all the odds. You have an amazing inner strength. I have no idea if I could do what you did. The cards have been stacked against you since you were born and yet look at you. You did it. You got away!”
As they sat on the couch together, he touched her hair but then withdrew his hand. “The last thing I want to do is pressure you into some new situation where you feel trapped. Where you feel some kind of misplaced gratitude and think you ‘owe’ me. I would honestly rather never see you again than put you in a position like that. So let me start over.
“If you would feel comfortable staying here for a few days while you sort things out, I would be honored to have you. No strings. Just the sheer pleasure of your company in this empty old place.” Betty ambled over and nuzzled her snout against Ashley’s hand, silently asking for a pat.
Ashley complied, smiling down at the dog. Something about that sweet, innocent doggy face looking up at her helped Ashley to make her decision. She went with her gut. “Thank you, Andrew. I’ll stay a few days if that’s okay.”
Andrew’s body relaxed and Ashley realized he had been tensing—waiting for her response. He hadn’t held a preconceived certainty that she would do whatever he wanted. He treated her as an individual with the right to make up her own mind. She wasn’t even quite sure how to handle this, but she knew it felt good.
Moving to practical matters Andrew said, “What about your things? Your clothes. We could swing by and get them.”
“No.” She thought of the dresses Greg had made her buy, the little schoolgirl skirts and the sexy, high-class call-girl gowns. She’d left that behind at Greg’s and good riddance. But even the jeans and T-shirts she had taken when she’d run, even the underwear—all of it was tainted by having been bought with Greg’s money, having been kept in Greg’s house. “No,” she said again, “I have plenty of money. I’ll buy new things. My own things.”
Andrew nodded, not pressing the issue. “You look tired,” he said softly. “Would you like to come see your room and take a little rest?” Ashley suddenly realized she was bone weary. Exhausted. The thought of falling into bed was so welcome that she was almost asleep before they got to the little guest room.
It was charmingly arranged with a large four-poster bed in the center of the room, a little matching bureau and night table and some peaceful watercolor landscapes on the walls. The quilt was a pale blue, covered with tiny yellow flowers. It made Ashley yearn suddenly for a grandmother she barely remembered.
She fell on the bed and was asleep before Andrew could even bend down to kiss her forehead. The door closed silently behind him.
~*~
Three days. That’s how long it took before Ashley started to feel herself again. How wonderfully kind and generous of Andrew to take her in as he did, and with no strings attached. Though in this case, Ashley felt like a few strings would be welcome. She’d never been with a man who hadn’t hit on her in some way or plotted somehow to use her, as Greg had done.
But since that first almost chaste kiss over tacos and tea Andrew hadn’t touched her, except as a brother might. Ashley slept twelve hours of each day, waking late in the morning. It was as if she was recovering from a long war, returning home at last. Perhaps in a way that was true though the “war” was her entire life up to this moment.
When she awoke she would either find a breakfast prepared by Andrew, something simple like fruit and a muffin with a sweet note saying when he’d be home, or, if he was ab
le to stay home that morning, he would make her something fresh and hot, like pancakes or eggs and bacon. Ashley ate voraciously, feeling hungry literally for the first time in her life.
How different it felt from the time before when a man had “rescued” her, when Greg had pulled her up from a crack cocaine slow suicide and force-fed her food, keeping her against her weak will to use for his own evil ends.
This time, instead of passively allowing herself to be controlled and taken hostage, Ashley felt more alive and joyous than at any time in her life. Her appetite was ridiculous and she joked with Andrew that he was trying to make her fat. He laughed and said, “Ashley, you need to put some meat on those bones. I want something to hug.”
She glanced sidelong at him to see if the comment held some hidden meaning but he didn’t meet her eye, instead taking her empty dish from the table and carrying it to the sink. He had confided he was in love with her, but he certainly hadn’t given her any further proof of it since she’d been staying with him. She felt confused but also relieved. Perhaps they just weren’t ready to deal with that whole big “love” thing for a while.
One of the first things Ashley did was to throw away the cell phone, the last overt connection to that bastard. There were eleven voice messages on it but she didn’t know the code to retrieve them and even if she had, she never wanted to hear that gravelly cruel voice again. No one would ever call her whore or skank again. No one would evertreat her like that again.
Yet she knew it was easy to feel brave and confident when Greg didn’t know where she was and she was safe in another man’s house. How long could she stay here anyway? Andrew’s good graces surely only went so far. Yes, he had said he was happy to have her, but since that first day, he hadn’t made a single move in her direction. Perhaps he had changed his mind? Perhaps now really faced with her, rather than the romantic notion of an unavailable but coveted woman, as she had been in his mind when he thought she was married, he no longer wanted her.
Well, one way to find out. Ashley decided she was finished with behaving passively. She was going to try and live the rest of her life by actively participating in her own future instead of letting others dictate it for her.
That third evening Andrew was sitting in his big chair, a large portfolio on his lap. He was reading something that looked thick and legal, and making notes in the margins. He seemed absorbed in his work and she almost hesitated to disturb him. But no, it was now or never.
She stood up, wishing she was wearing something nicer than Andrew’s old T-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. They would definitely need to go shopping soon. She licked her lips and ran her fingers through her hair as she approached him.
He didn’t notice her at first as she stood next to the chair. Slowly she knelt so that her face was now just below his as he sat. Andrew looked up, startled, and then he looked keenly at her.
“Why are you kneeling there, Ashley?” There was some underlying intensity in the question that Ashley didn’t understand.
Smiling a little nervously she said, “Andrew. Please kiss me.”
He put his things on the little table next to the chair and said, “Excuse me?”
She closed her eyes and whispered throatily, “Please. I want you to kiss me. Like you did in the restaurant. Please.” Her heart was already pounding and she knew if he rejected her now she would die.
He didn’t need to be asked again. Andrew stood and took Ashley’s hands in his. Pulling her up, he took her in his arms and leaned over her, slowly touching her lips with his. After a moment his tongue found hers and his arms enfolded her body, pulling her up hard against him. His kiss was sweet but ardent. She could feel his desire, his longing, and she rose up to meet it with equal intensity.
She could feel his erection rise through his jeans. She loved the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell of him. This was so different from the gropings she “allowed” her johns—though she hated when they tried to kiss her and they rarely tried. Instead of feeling stiff and empty in their arms, now Ashley felt as if her nerve endings were electrified. Every touch of his mouth or his hands sent shivers of pleasure ripping through her.
“Andrew, Andrew,” she murmured between kisses. She felt almost faint with need. A pulsing deep in her sex made her feel wanton and womanly. It was all so new. It was at once frightening and alluring. She pulled away and Andrew let her go.
“Can we go to the bedroom?” she whispered, pressing her face against his chest.
“Ashley, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
She felt the heat in her face as shame flooded her. Her fledgling self-confidence seemed to evaporate in the face of his rejection. So, he didn’t want her. It had been a mercy kiss because he felt sorry for the poor little waif girl he’d plucked from the shelter.
When it came down to it, why would he want to lie with a whore? With a slut that had been fucked by countless faceless men. The fact that she’d hated every second of it didn’t matter. Without realizing she was doing it, Ashley’s fist punched into Andrew’s chest, hard.
“Hey. What’s this about?” He grabbed her wrist in a firm grip and a weird sort of thrill zinged through her. His grip was hard. He didn’t hurt her but she could feel his strength. Even so, she wasn’t afraid, her hurt feelings overriding any fear. She balled up the other fist and punched him again. As she had secretly wanted him to, Andrew grabbed that wrist as well. She stared up at him, her eyes blazing, trembling with a mixture of anger, humiliation and still-fierce desire.
Her anger was blended with this new strange excitement at being held captive in Andrew’s strong grip. She didn’t understand the feeling but her body responded as her nipples pressed against the thin fabric of the T-shirt.
“’Cause you don’t want me, you bastard. ’Cause you liked me when you thought I was a bored housewife. Maybe I was off-limits then and so you were allowed to want me from afar, but now that you know I’m just a whore, you don’t want me.”
Andrew dropped her wrists and stood back, his face a study in compassion and disbelief. “Ashley,” he said in a whisper. “You are so wrong, you sweet, silly girl. How could you possibly think that? Do you have any idea the willpower I’ve exerted to keep from jumping your bones every minute of every day since you’ve been here? Jesus Christ, Ashley, with you parading around in that old shirt with no bra, your gorgeous breasts outlined so sweetly. Those legs that won’t end in my old gym shorts. The way your hair falls like a golden storm over the pillow when you’re sleeping…” his voice cracked, and now it was Andrew who fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around Ashley’s waist.
Burying his head against her thigh he murmured, “Ashley, darling. Not want you? Oh, my love, there is nothing I want more than you. But I don’t want to push you! To rush you. To take what I want out of greed because you’re vulnerable and needy. Because you might feel beholden to me. Because your whole life has been one man after another taking and taking and taking from you with no thought to your needs, to what you want.
“No. I never want to be like that with you. I want whatever you want to give me, offered freely. I will never abuse your trust. Never, I promise you.”
Tears sprang to Ashley’s eyes at Andrew’s sweet speech. She smoothed his dark head, dumbfounded. This was even better than the romance novels, because this was real.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This is all so new. But I think you’re saying you’ll wait until I tell you I want you.” She stepped back, grinning. “Well, I’m telling you, Andrew Nolan. Take me to your bed before I throw you down right here in the living room.”
She pushed at Andrew’s shoulders. He stood up, smiling hugely. She reached up playfully and ruffled his hair.
Andrew, less playful, slowly lifted Ashley’s T-shirt, revealing the round, sweet globes tipped with erect, dark pink nipples. Ashley suddenly felt the air leave her lungs and she struggled a moment to catch her breath. He cupped her bare breasts in his hands, his eyes dark and glittering as he stare
d at her bared torso.
Bending down, he licked at one tip and then the other. Ashley felt the cool air make her nipples stand even more firmly at attention. He leaned down again and this time his teeth lightly grazed her nipple. Ashley sighed and leaned into him. Andrew bit down gently until Ashley moaned with pleasure and just a modicum of pain. He bit just a little harder and she jerked a little, at the same time feeling a sweet, wet gush of desire in her pussy.
Finally heeding her earlier request, he led her to the bedroom, his bedroom, almost throwing her on the bed. It was a four-poster as well though queen-size instead of full as in the guest bedroom. She fell back and watched him pull off his shirt and unbutton his jeans. “Ashley, I hate to spoil the moment, but I don’t have condoms here right now.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m on the pill. Greg didn’t want ‘the merchandise’ getting pregnant. Condoms were for the ‘client’s’ protection, he’d tell me. To keep my nasty skank germs off ’em. But the pill was for me, so I wouldn’t lose my worth.”
“Bastard,” Andrew said, his brows knitting angrily over his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Ashley whispered. “Please, let’s not let him in here anymore. Forget him. I know I’m going to. Who would waste a second thinking about that prick when I have this gorgeous, half-naked man standing in front of me.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling.
Andrew glanced down at himself and grinned back at her. He still had on his underwear, bikini briefs that showed his sizable erection. Ashley’s mouth actually watered at the sight of him and again a part of her secretly marveled at her own reactions.
How many erections had she seen before? They had never excited her, never aroused her. They were something to be dealt with as expediently as possible and if she was lucky, a good tip might be the result. But her own pleasure? Never.
This didn’t compare, of course. This wasn’t business. How long before she no longer thought about her past and compared each new experience to that bleak yardstick?
True Submission Page 7