by Cerys du Lys
What to do, what to do? I could take a bath? My thoughts drifted to yesterday, when I'd refused to leave Asher's guest home. He came home, angry and upset, wondering why. He'd asked me what I was doing, why had I done this? I didn't really know how to answer him then, and I didn't know now, but I remembered one of the things I'd said later. In his basement library, stripped of my clothes, tossed onto one of his couches, I'd admitted to masturbating in his bathtub.
Maybe I shouldn't take a bath.
I could make myself a snack? Sit here and do nothing? Go lay on the bed upstairs and...?
Then it hit me. The library! The library had similar memories as the bathtub, but mostly only with Asher. If I went there alone, I thought I'd be alright. No drudged up thoughts that I shouldn't think about, nothing too awful or bad. I would find a book, sit on the couch, maybe cover myself with blankets, and read.
Except, of course, I needed pajamas first. Nightclothes. Something. I bounced up the stairs, excited, and ran to the master bedroom.
I still couldn't believe the closet. Empty when I first arrived, when I'd come as part of some deal with Asher, he'd since asked Jeremy to fill it with clothes for me. I don't really know why, unless this was part of his plan. I assumed Asher Landseer was the kind of person who got what he wanted most times, so probably that was it. He did need to discuss the situation with Beatrice, but he'd do it and she'd side in his favor. Not with me, but for him, and so in advance of that he'd bought me clothes.
I searched through the clothes, shifting aside hangers. I knew some of what was here, since I'd grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to change into before heading to dinner, but most of it was a mystery. More jeans, dresses, cute skirts and blouses, t-shirts and tanktops and...
Nightgowns. Not many pajamas from what I saw, but maybe Jeremy put those in the dresser? I should check, except, no, what did it matter? I was here, alone, and really, I could wear what I wanted. The nightgowns looked lovely, too. I immediately stared at a red one and decided I needed to wear it. Nothing else would do.
I plucked the hanger from the closet and set the nightgown on the bed. Not really a nightgown so much as a babydoll, much shorter at the bottom and with a pair of thong panties hanging hidden on the hanger. Somewhat scandalous, really, the kind of thing a woman wore to bed when she didn't actually want to go to sleep. Or, the kind of nightclothes a single woman wore in hopes of not wearing them to bed alone for much longer.
I pulled the babydoll and panties off the hanger. The panties were light and stringy and nearly non-existent. What the heck was Jeremy doing to me here? He'd bought these without my knowledge and had taken quite a few liberties. Maybe he was some kind of pervert? He seemed nice enough, though, so I doubted it.
I stepped out of my casual heels and stripped off my jeans and t-shirt, socks, underwear, and bra. The lacy lingerie, near see-thru in some parts, looked especially naughty laying on the floor by my feet. I had ideas, thoughts, but I pushed them away for now. Maybe later? Like a nightcap, before I went to bed, I'd touch...
Jessika! I yelled at myself and stared at the babydoll again. Well, panties first, I decided. I stepped into the g-string undergarment and lifted it up my legs, fitting it into place. It felt nice and soft, what little of it there was. I pulled on the waistband a little, feeling the fabric nestle between my lower lips, an intimate secret soon to be hidden by the babydoll.
Then I slipped the thin nightgown on, pulling it down my frame until the spaghetti straps settled on my shoulders. I shifted around, setting my breasts into place in the slightly cupped front. The skirt stopped barely below my crotch, offering a tantalizing peek at the lower curves of my butt in the back. I desperately needed to look in a mirror, so I ran to the bathroom to check myself out.
My God! I looked so cute and sexy. The chest part of the babydoll was black and shear, practically translucent, and I could see my nipples through the fabric, firm and pronounced. The rest was solid, red with tiny black dots, and a bit of frill at the bottom of the skirt. The skirt barely covered anything and when I twirled around in front of the mirror, admiring myself, it fluttered up and revealed my butt and the split lips of my pussy with a faint bit of fabric between them.
I was ravishing! Or, I liked to think I was. I wasn't particularly ravishing for any one person, but if someone walked into the house right now with absolutely no intent on having sex with me, I thought I could change their mind rather easily. Not that I'd do that, but the idea that I could had appeal. Some sex kitten, a sensual woman of lust and beauty, inciting roaring fires of passion inside anyone who looked at me.
I laughed to myself and thought about my recent photography session with Asher. I hadn't worn anything special for that, nothing too out of the ordinary anyways, but I'd managed to accidentally seduce him then. I felt somewhat badly about it, and he did, too, but at the time I'd needed it. Wanted him, desired him, and he must have felt the same. Now, if he saw me, what would he do? His photography hobby was a real thing, not a ploy to get women into bed, but disregarding that I was pretty sure I could convince him to skip the pictures altogether in this outfit.
Unfortunately there was no Asher, nor any pictures or a camera, but only books. I hurried downstairs and then down again, into the quiet basement library. My babydoll skirt flipped up as I rushed into the library, but I didn't care.
Now, what book to read? I didn't even know what books he owned. Too many, by far. I wanted something steamy and sexy, though, to fit my nightclothes. Something sensual and passionate and...
I saw the spine of a book with a picture of a woman facing away on it. She wore a backless red dress and had a rose tattooed from between her shoulder blades all the way down to the small of her back. Black hair, mysterious. Kushiel's Chosen, by Jacqueline Carey. I pulled it out of the bookcase and read the back cover.
Some kind of fantasy, epic by the look of it, with a bit of mystery and intrigue. Vague insinuations of saucy seduction, too. Unfortunately this was the second book in this series, so said the inside cover, but I didn't have time for the first. I didn't even know if I'd like this one, but I figured I'd read for a few hours, test it out, and then make my choice. If I liked it, I'd find the first book in the series and read that tomorrow.
The book devoured me. A historical romance of sorts, with some godly twists. I sat on the couch, covered in blankets, entranced by the words. I didn't know much about Jacqueline Carey, but I liked how she wrote. Very poetic and pleasant sounding sentences, but not too far and over the top. Just enough, just right.
Absorbed in the book, I barely realized something in the library was wrong. Something off, a bit of a change, obvious if I cared to notice but imperceptible in my current, rapt state.
That all changed when one of the bookcases by the center of the room swung away from the wall and someone stepped out through a hidden doorway. I looked up, saw the man, dropped the book, and screamed.
Asher laughed. "What are you screaming at?" he asked.
My scream tapered off but my eyes remained wide. I stared at him standing in the middle of his library. He pulled on the edge of the swung open bookcase and pushed it back against the wall. It clicked into a secret casing on the floor, looking as if it had never opened to begin with.
I stared at him, never blinking.
"What?" he asked.
"What are you doing what was that why do you have a secret passageway in your guest home what the heck?" No time for coherent thought, I rambled all my questions out at once.
"You remember The Goonies, right? I told you I always wanted to be like that boy with the gadgets when I was younger? I don't think I ever really grew out of that."
"Are you serious?" I asked. "That's your answer?"
"Well, I didn't expect you to be in the library, either."
"You told me I could stay in your guest house for the night, and this library is in the guest house..."
"I suppose so. What are you reading?"
He walked towards me. Unlike m
e, Asher still wore his regular clothes: khakis and a casual, button-down shirt. Kneeling to pick up the book, he inspected it, then smiled.
I stared at him, confused, and pulled the blankets up higher, covering myself completely. I wanted to look sexy, but that was when I thought I was alone, and now... I didn't really know what I wanted to do.
"This is a good one," he said. "Have you read the first? I like the second part of the series more, the three books after the first three, but the first three are great, too."
"I haven't," I said. "It looked interesting, though. I like her dress."
"Ah, Phedre, yes," he said. "She's an interesting character."
"She seems kind of slutty," I said without thinking. "I haven't gotten very far, but..." My words trailed off.
"Maybe she is in some ways." Asher shrugged, grinning. "I think she's very open with herself, too. Also, there's religious reasons, somewhat. It's a strange book, but interesting."
"Religious reason to be a slut?" I asked, laughing.
"Yes, of course. Shall I go into a long rant about—" While he spoke, he sat on the couch next to me. Kicking off his shoes, he lifted up the blanket and settled in beside me.
My God. I stared at him, frozen. He looked at me, nonchalant, completely confused at my sudden hesitation. As I backed away from him slightly, inching towards the arm of the couch until my back pressed against it, Asher reached beneath the blanket to put his hand on my thigh.
Some calming gesture, no doubt. I needn't be afraid, this was some conversation between two friends. Little did he know, I had nothing covering my thigh. Also, he misjudged and reached quite a bit farther up. His hand touched down against the very top of my thigh, his pinky finger brushing against the cloth of my babydoll's g-string and settling in right next to my lower lips. I think it dawned on him that something was off right about the time my face burned bright red, but his hand never moved.
Asher froze. "You're not wearing pants," he said.
"I changed into pajamas."
He furrowed his brow. "This doesn't feel like pajamas."
His fingers wiggled slightly, his pinky finger tweaking my intimate lips back and forth, faintly touching my clit and sending a shiver through my body.
Shocked, surprised, Asher tossed off the blankets and looked at his hand. I bit my lower lip, embarrassed at the pleasure he gave me, never wanting or expecting this to happen. Or, at least I never expected it, and I pretended not to want it.
"That's... a nice outfit..." he said slowly.
"Um, Asher?" I said. His hand, still not moving away. I glanced down at it, then back to him.
"Yes? Oh, uh... uh..." He pulled his hand away, thrust it into his lap. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. Where did you get that? What the hell did Jeremy buy you? I'm so sorry."
"It's alright. It wasn't your fault." I lay there, lewd and on display, not sure what to do.
Asher pulled the tossed blanket off the floor and placed it on me, covering my legs and lower body. "Well," he said.
"Well," I agreed.
We made out. Asher dove on top of me, throwing the blankets aside once more. Surprised at first, I shook out of it fast. He practically smothered me, pressed his body against me, his lips seeking mine. His hand grabbed my breast and he groped and squeezed it and his knee settled between my spread legs. He kissed me hard and I reveled in it, kissing him back. His soft, sensuous lips, so smooth and light yet hard and yearning. I didn't know what came over him, but it was so obvious that right now he wanted me.
I desperately wanted him, too. I pulled him closer, tugged at his shirt. I undid some of the top buttons, wanting to strip him of his clothing, but he pulled my hands away.
"No," he said. "No, let's..."
He never finished his words, but his lips spoke volumes. He pressed into me, onto me, his whole body covering me like his mouth covered mine. Desperate, gasping, as if there was only a limited amount of me and he wanted to take it before I vanished. His hand squeezed my breast harder while his other hand swept lower. Down my side, to my stomach, lifting up the skirt of my babydoll to the thin fabric barely concealing my crotch. He pulled at the strings and my thong dug into my sensitive skin.
I squirmed, caught up in the pleasure of it. Of him, his kiss, his touch. All my feelings manifested into one ecstatic lump that settled into the center of my being and radiated warmth. I wanted him to take me like he'd taken me before, with reckless abandon and unadulterated passion. I wanted him to forget Beatrice and remember me, and...
Asher stopped. He got off of me, rose to his feet, and paced on the carpet around the couch, fretting. I lay there, legs splayed wide and on perverse display, my babydoll bunched up with one of my breasts slipping out of the top. My visible nipple was hard as a rock and poking straight up and at Asher.
"Get off the couch," he said, as quick as that. "On your knees."
"What?" I asked.
He repeated himself. "Off the couch. On your knees. Put your hands behind your head."
Odd, that, but I scrambled to do it. I lunged off the couch and landed by his feet. Kneeling, sitting on my heels, I put my hands behind my head and looked up at him.
He grabbed my chin between his fingers and inspected me, turning my head side to side, this way and that.
"How do you feel right now?" he asked me.
I scrunched up my brow. "What do you want me to say?" I asked.
"Tell me the truth. Tell me how you feel."
"Asher, I'm really horny," I said. Shy, confused, I added, "I don't mean to be and I'm sorry if..."
He smiled. "Shh. No, that's good."
I wanted to say more, was just about to, but his hand reached down and grabbed my breast. He squeezed it in his hand and I moaned aloud, excited. His fingers grabbed the curves of my breast, then inwards to my nipple. Pressing my nipple between his index finger and thumb, he tweaked it lightly, then twisted it around. Not hard at first, just a little, then harder, harder, until I rocked forward, almost rose from my knees, and...
"Stay on your knees," he said, his tone calm.
"I..." I gasped.
"Shh," he said. "Jessika, stay on your knees. Don't get up."
I buckled down and remained kneeling. He twisted my nipple harder now, but slowly, gently. So sensitive and soft, just a little nub of flesh. Pleasant at first touch, but ever-so-slowly becoming streaked with pain. I couldn't think, had no idea what he was doing, but I stayed kneeling because I didn't want him to stop.
Or, it wasn't that I didn't want him to stop, per se, but I didn't want him to feel guilty. I didn't want him to regret this, to regret kissing me, touching me. I saw him before, saw the look in his eyes, heard the disappointment in his voice. When we slept together, somewhat on accident after he took pictures of me, he seemed distraught. Unsure what to do, not sure why he'd done it, and I didn't want him to feel that way again.
So, if this was what I needed to do, if this was how I could keep Asher from feeling guilty, I would do it. His fingers squeezed slightly, twisting my nipple further, but I remained steadfast on the floor. My knees quivered and I imagined something else entirely. Asher's mouth around my breast, tongue caressing my nipple, soft, luxurious.
Everything stopped and I realized his hand wasn't on my breast anymore. I looked up at him, smiling. He smiled back.
"Very good," he said.
"Thanks, but..." A thought came to me. "Is this some kind of bondage thing, Asher? I really don't understand that stuff, to be honest."
"I don't think it is," he said. "I don't know. Do you want me to tie you up?"
"I don't know. Do you want to tie me up?" I asked, coy.
We had no rope. He used his belt. "Put your hands behind your back," he said. "Tight together."
I did as he asked.
"Stand."
I stood.
He circled his belt around my body, trapping my arms behind my back. Tightening the belt until I couldn't move my arms, he twisted it around so that the buckle was b
ehind me, then he latched the belt buckle and admired his work.
"Can you move your arms?" he asked.
I tried to move them, to wriggle them free. I thought I could if I had enough time, but as it was I was rather firmly stuck. "Not really. Not much," I said. "Now what?"
"I don't know," he said.
I paused, regretting what I needed to say. "Asher... we probably shouldn't do this. Beatrice, and..."
"We had an argument," he said. "I... I know that's not a good reason for anything, but she's so difficult. You were there tonight. She listens to me, but... she doesn't. There is never a compromise with Beatrice. It's always a battle and she never gives in. I... I just want..."
"What do you want?" I asked. "What do you feel?"
He grinned. "A turnabout, hm? I don't think I can say. You won't like it."
"Try me," I said, defiant. I lifted my chin and stared at him.
...
Asher knew Jessika would regret this. He thought he might regret it, too. Try me, she'd said, and, oh, he couldn't resist.
It wasn't that he was controlling, or dominant. Or, he was, he supposed. People said he had a certain air about him, a kind of possessive, obsessive quality. He owned himself and knew how to put that forward to others, but sometimes he felt helpless, too. Sometimes he felt like he couldn't do anything and it was all a farce. Silly, really, since he was rich and powerful, except that wasn't everything. In fact, if he had to meter it out, he'd say power and riches were only a small part of who he was as a person; the smallest part.
Asher was a dreamer. He was a thinker and a doer and a wanter. Not needlessly, though. He wanted to share with others, and in turn share in their feelings. He liked when people were happy. Beatrice called those people his pet projects, but he didn't think that was it. Jeremy was one such "pet project," but Jeremy was eternally grateful, too. He liked Jeremy and he never thought lesser of him, even if he'd first met the man working in a dead end job as a busboy.
