What She's Looking For (9 page)

Chapter Ten

A
shley’s hands shook as if she’d just
polished off ten espressos. She sat on the bed, pressing her hands into her
lap, willing them to still. She felt like a frightened animal, trapped in a
spacious, beautiful cage — but a cage, nonetheless. A cage she’d willingly
stepped into, allowing the gate to be locked behind her.

“Last chance, girl.”

She looked up to see him leaning
against the doorjamb, hands in the pockets of his dark slacks, the suit coat
open and the tie undone. His smile was easy … and deceiving. She could see the
underlying tension in the set of his broad shoulders, the way his eyes never
left her. He was as nervous as she was, she was sure of it. Somehow knowing
that made her feel a little better, a little easier.

“Just like we talked about earlier.
When you walked through that door, you agreed to do everything I say.”

His inscrutable gaze bored into
hers, the tension in the room palpable. Both of them anticipated what she’d do
next. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, what she
should
say. So
she just went with instinct. What the fuck, right?

“I know.” She felt ashamed at the
quaver in her voice. “I want to do this. I need to do this.”

“You have to trust me. That’s what
this is all about. Can you, Ashley?”

Her heart was hammering in her
chest. What was she so afraid of? Hadn’t this been at the crux of her little
girl fantasies? The Lady surrendering to her knight? Letting him have his way
with her?

Like Terry did? Whore.

It made her flinch, and Parker saw
it. “What is it, Ashley?”

He stepped into the room, seating
himself in the overstuffed chair in the corner. It was her favorite chair, a
place she liked to curl up in and read a smutty novel or two. She had a
considerably different feeling about that chair seeing Parker recline in it, at
ease in its soft embrace.

“It’s just — you know what I said.
I don’t know if I can do this, Parker. I’ve been hurt.”

Hurt. That was one way to say it.
But he’d not just merely hurt her. Terry had betrayed her trust, the trust of a
submissive putting herself in the hands of her dominant, but she sure as hell
wasn’t going to unload her baggage onto Parker.

She needed this. Needed to see
where it would go. If she could be who she’d always wanted to be. See if Terry
had purged that will, that desire from her, completely. To find out if he’d
extinguished that vital, fragile part of her soul.

Ashley hoped to hell not.

“I know you’ve been hurt, but who
hasn’t been when it comes to love?” Then the timbre of his voice changed. “I’m
not him, Ashley.”

She snapped her gaze up to his at
the word “love.” There was an amused twinkle in his eye, the corners of his
mouth turned up.

“I won’t hurt you though … not like
him, anyway.” He rose, and walked slowly toward her, the picture of ease. “Stand
up, Ashley.”

She trembled as he stood in front
of her, inches away. They hadn’t been that close since that drunken,
embarrassing night, and the electricity between them crackled. His size! He was
so tall. She felt like a little girl next to him. But the thoughts she was
having were decidedly
not
those of a little girl.

Not knowing what to do with her
hands, she clasped them in front of her thighs, the fabric of her black dress
wrinkling beneath her fingers. His cologne was faint, but powerful. So
male
.
She wondered for the umpteenth time how they managed to find scents that spoke
to the female so viscerally, so instinctively.

But she thought it probably
wouldn’t matter what he wore, she’d still like it. Because he wore it.

Hang on Ash, this is just sex.
Okay, maybe a little more than that …

“Give me your hands,” he said, his
voice a whisper.

Warm hands closed over her cold
ones, and she blushed at the trembling he could no doubt feel in hers.

His lips brushed her forehead,
nuzzled her hair. “You never answered my question, Ashley.”

She tensed a moment, thinking she’d
done something wrong. Why didn’t he just throw her down and fuck her? Take all
choice away. It would be so much easier.

“I — I’m sorry?”

“Do you trust me?”

She took a deep breath, shaking a
little as she exhaled. “Yes, Sir.”

“Mm, I like that.” He raised his
chin, resting it atop her head, the stubble of his beard rustling her hair as
he spoke. “Clasp your hands behind your back and keep them there until I tell
you otherwise. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Oh shit, here we go.

Parker walked around her, slowly,
unhurried. The only sounds in the room were her breathing, and the creak of the
floorboards beneath his feet. She cast her eyes downward. For some reason
having him appraise her like this made it hard for her to look at him.

“Good girl,” he breathed.

Her fingers twisted together at the
small of her back. Keeping them there of her own free will was harder than if
she’d been bound. It was conscious choice. Keeping herself vulnerable.

“I want you to use those nervous
fingers of yours and unbutton your dress.”

Her hands moved to the top button.
She was strangely eager to have something to do with them. It was obvious he
wasn’t going to let her touch him yet. She loved to use her hands, and keeping
them idle was driving her crazy.

“Slowly. There’s only one first
time watching you undress. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

He moved back to the corner,
sitting in her reading chair again. He watched her, gaze intent, as she slipped
each of the buttons of the slinky form-fitting dress. She remembered how the
dress had fired Terry’s possessiveness and jealousy, because it accented her
body so well — displayed it even, in an understated way. In Parker’s eyes, she
saw only lust. Healthy, unadulterated lust.

She had no choice but to take it
slow, so much did her fingers shake. Why was she so nervous? This was hardly
the first guy she’d been with. He wasn’t the first capital “D” dominant she’d
been with either.

Terry wasn’t a Dom, Ash. He was
a sadistic prick.

Slipping the last button, the top
of her dress fell open to the waist, the cool air of the room on her flat
belly, whispering over the cleavage of her breasts.

“Hands behind your back again,
girl.”

She wanted to protest. She wanted
to run. She wanted him to fuck her. Maybe all three. But the waiting was
killing her.

“Turn to face me now.”

Obeying, she snuck a glance up at
him. He was leaning forward in the chair, his hands clasped across his muscular
thighs. He grinned, that smile brightening the room.

“I think your eyes, as beautiful as
they are, were just fine where they were. Keep them down.” It was the first
mild reproach in his voice. It made her heart gallop.

Ashley tried to will her breathing
to slow, her chest rising and falling rapidly under the heated weight of his
gaze.

She thought he would tell her to
slip the dress down her hips, maybe remove the bra next. But she found out for
the first time, that he was far from predictable.

“Turn around, Ashley. No, keep your
hands behind your back. That’s it.”

Turning until her back was fully to
him, she wrung her hands behind her again. Her palms were starting to sweat,
and her mouth was dry. It was somehow both easier and harder to turn her back
to him. Easier, because she felt she had some shelter from that all seeing
harsh gaze of his. Harder, because she knew where his attention would be
focused next.

“Smooth that dress over your
bottom, Ashley. Present it to me, properly. I want to get a good look at you.”

What?

This was something she hadn’t heard
before.

She did as she was told, her touch
making sure no wrinkles could be felt in the dark fabric, her hands flowing
over her hips, easing down her buttocks the way she anticipated his would.

“Your clothes are never to be
wrinkled. When I allow you to wear them, you’re to keep them neat and pressed.
Do you understand?”

She nodded. It was the first of
what she’d come to realize later would be many rules Parker determined she’d
need to follow.

He was at her back, so fast she
didn’t even realize he’d moved. The speed of him was unnerving, but quickly
forgotten as she felt his breath on the nape of her neck. She’d put her hair
up, hoping he’d enjoy the sight of her slender neck.

“I like your hair like this,
Ashley.” His fingers stroked down the slim muscles at her nape, making her
shiver, her nipples hardening to stones. “But you’re to keep it down until I
tell you otherwise. I want this beautiful neck all to myself.”

She was shocked at how …
particular, Parker was. Terry just wanted an available body to beat, open holes
to fuck.

Parker was so different.

He’s different now, Ash. But
Terry was different too — at the beginning. Don’t be fooled.

No
.

She wasn’t going to let Terry’s
memory ruin this. He’d fucked everything else up for her, fucked her up —
literally. He wasn’t doing it again. Terry hadn’t broken her — she hoped.

Parker closed his hand around her
neck from behind. His grip wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. Possessive.

“Now the dress, Ashley. Take it off
and fold it neatly. Lay it on the bed.”

His hand didn’t leave her neck,
thumb stroking the soft skin beneath her ear, as she slipped off the dress, and
returned her hands to the small of her back.

“Good girl. Learning already.” He
brushed his lips along the edge of her ear, his breath hot on her skin.

She gasped. Her ears were one of
her weak spots. The touch of lips, tongue and teeth never failing to undo her.
She could feel the slickness between her labia now, her arousal uncoiling in
her belly.

His hand left her neck, drifting
over the back of her bra, down to trace the taut muscles of her lower back,
fingers sneaking under the edge of her panties.

“So soft,” he breathed.

She wanted his hands on her pussy,
claiming her breasts, her ass. Everywhere. But still she waited.

“Take off that bra. Then turn
around and hand it to me. I’ve been waiting to see your tits since the first
moment I laid eyes on you. That dress is cruel.”

She smiled, even as she blushed. “You
asked me to wear the dress, Parker.”

She’d worn that black dress to
dinner, knowing the effect it had on men. Knowing it was one of the signs she
was giving that she wanted more. She always felt good in it. Feminine.
Powerful. Now it had taken on a new, more dangerous —and more exciting —
significance.

Terry had forbidden her to wear it,
jealous of how she looked. He called her a “tarted up little slut” once when
she pushed the issue. She wanted to wear it for a Christmas party, and she was
tired of him trying to keep such control of her. She thought he’d only let her
out of the house in a burlap sack, if he could get away with it.

She trembled, knowing this was
coming, yet still unnerved by the cool command in his voice. His reserve was so
unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Terry was fury, barely leashed — and
sometimes not leashed at all. While it shamed her to admit that sometimes the
fury perversely excited her, most of the time it was simply frightening.

Parker’s manner was calm, almost
icy — but it sure as hell didn’t frighten her. It fascinated her. But she also
wondered what lurked below those still waters, if she decided to defy him.
Maybe she’d have the courage to try it sometime. Now though, she just wanted to
be fucked. Hard.

She guessed compliance was the surest
road to that destination.

God, I hope so.

Ashley unclasped the bra, letting
it slip down, as she held the cups to her breasts. She turned to him, the blush
burning her cheeks, and pushed the bra into his outstretched hand.

She kept an arm crossed over her
breasts, hoping he wouldn’t notice. A fool’s hope.

“Ashley.” He lowered his chin, eyes
twinkling. “Drop your arm. Let me see them.”

Her hands fluttered at her sides as
she obeyed. God, this was so hard.

She didn’t really like her breasts.
Sure they were big, but she always thought they were too wobbly, too ungainly
for her frame. Most of the men she’d been with seemed to disagree with her
though.

Thankfully, Parker apparently liked
what he saw.

“Get those hands behind your back.”
His avid gaze didn’t leave her breasts. “You aren’t done stripping for me, so I
can’t bind you yet. Be a good girl.”

She complied, ashamed at the way it
thrust her breasts out further. She always marveled at the vulnerability of a
woman’s breasts. So soft, so pliant. Sensitive flesh to be plundered by rough
male hands, nipples to be pinched between calloused fingers. They bespoke
yielding femininity to her, and she understood why they provoked the predator
in men. She just sometimes wished hers could provoke a little bit less.

That was a lie though, because she
loved
it. Loved the attention. Loved being subject to, conquered by, the male animal.

Ashley sighed as his hands took her
breasts, feeling their weight. Caressing, then kneading. Thumbs traced over the
hard, rose nipples. The uncoiling in her belly came again, the pleasure of his
touch arrowing down into her sex.

His touch was so much gentler than
she’d imagined. Perhaps, she had just become so used to the callous pawing of
her ex. Terry had only been concerned with availing himself of her bounteous
charms. For his selfish pleasure only.

With the right Master that might
even be okay.

Where the fuck did that come
from, Ash?

“So beautiful,” Parker murmured,
seemingly to himself. She looked down at his hands as they became more
insistent, the gentleness replaced with a firmer grip as he explored her.