Chapter 8
Tip eight; Don't be afraid to be vocal, ask for what you want, show them that what they're doing is nice. Moan, groan and gasp.
Ivy
Charlie walks in beside me, the thump of the music echoing through my sneakers and into my body, my head unknowingly beginning to bop along.
"I'll go grab us some drinks," Charlie yells over the music, flicking her head to the kitchen and I nod, looking towards the dance floor. "I'll be on the dance floor."
She nods and wanders off while I turn my attention to the dancing crowd, slipping between them before I'm safely buried in the swaying bodies.
As the music throbs through the room, I surrender myself to the rhythm, my body swaying and my hair cascading down my back like a waterfall of honey. Lost in the moment, all inhibitions forgotten.
This is why I go out, not to drink, not to hook up, but to dance. If there's no good music, then you better believe I'll be making my way home.
A pair of hands find their place on my hips, moving in sync with my own swaying motion. A warm presence presses against my back, and I turn my head to find Asher standing there, his familiar cologne enveloping me.
Leather, sandalwood and smoke. It was distinctly him. It was warm, welcoming, hot. I couldn't deny it.
I'd never had a crush on Asher. He was off-limits. My brother's best friend. My best friend's brother. Automatically filed under not an option.
Still.
Him being attractive didn't stop being true just because something was inconvenient. I wasn't blind.
His blue eyes were always so expressive, with slight wrinkles around them from sun exposure and laughter, prominent cheekbones with a soft smattering of freckles, a slightly crooked nose from hockey and an olive complexion that he had all year round.
I was slightly jealous, usually I had to fake tan if I wanted to get any of that golden glow but alas, I was lazy and born with fair skin.
And don't get me started on when Asher wears his glasses, he was every woman's wet dream once he slipped them onto his crooked nose.
I'd heard enough rumours to know he had half the universities female occupants panting after him.
It was like that in high school too. Asher had been the centre of attention since we were children.
He could have anyone he wanted. And if rumours were to be believed, he frequently did.
He was cute. And hot. And attractive. And it was annoying, how could a guy have all three and still be nice and fit? It seemed like blasphemy.
But again, I repeat, I had never had a crush on him. I couldn't, he was Charlottes brother and I wasn't going to ruin a friendship for a guy.
Asher's hands tighten on my hips, his head dipping down to rest on my shoulder when I go to turn towards him.
His lips brush my ear, his voice a gentle murmur that sends a delightful shiver down my spine. "Close your eyes and just let go," he whispers, his warm breath tickling my skin.
Confusion mingles with curiosity in my gaze as I meet his, my voice barely audible above the music. "What are you doing?" I ask, my heart racing with anticipation that I try to squash.
A playful grin curves his lips. "I told you to save me a dance."
Our bodies move in harmony, and for a second I think I shouldn't be doing this, Charlie could arrive any second with our drinks and see me dancing with her brother.
And that would be a conversation I do not want to have.
Oh, why am I dancing with your hot as sin brother? Well, you know that conversation we were having, yes that conversation. I chose your brother, isn't that cool?
I doubt that conversation would go down as smoothly as I want it to.
I make to pull away but Asher holds tight, and he must know where my mind has gone because he says, "Don't worry, I'll be able to see if she's coming. There was a massive line up in the kitchen to make drinks."
I relax, but only slightly. My body too stiff too move naturally to the music.
But Asher's touch guides me, his presence a reassuring anchor in the swirling sea of people. "This is tip four," he murmurs, his voice tender yet the words cause my cheeks to flush.
Tip four? Already.
With a soft sigh, I close my eyes, surrendering to his lead.
His hands hold me firmly yet gently, guiding me in a dance that was both intimate and electrifying.
The rhythmic beat of his heart reverberated through my back, before I feel more than hear him begin to speak, the vibrations of his voice noticeable against my neck.
Then, his words, like a velvet caress, brush against my ear, sending a delightful swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
No, nope. No. I force them away.
"When kissing someone, you want to get lost in the moment, but don't get lost too quickly otherwise you'll go in tongue first and not lips." He laughs lowly and I swallow the lump in my throat.
"You'll want to kiss them slowly." His voice is a low tumble, "start with lips, get into the rhythm of it, and you'll know when to add tongue."
"Rest your hands on his shoulder or at the nape of his neck, play with his hair, just soft delicate movements to begin with." His lips brush my neck, a shiver emanating from the brief touch. "Just enjoy yourself."
I open my eyes, not realising I'd let them close and tilt my head slightly, letting Asher rest his head fully in the crook of my neck.
"You can either choose to be the submissive one and let them kiss you or you can take control, and push for a little more, but don't be too demanding, then it will just be rushed, and they may not be able to keep up and then you'll just look like two vacuums fighting it out.
" I let out a soft breath when I feel the touch of his lips move on my neck, the feel of his breathe skimming me.
"Slow and steady always wins the race."
"If you want to make it a bit more," he pauses, sucking in a breath, "...heavy, then find a wall or a counter, and sit or lean against it, or push them against it if you choose to be the dominant one, it can be sexy to take control."
"Tell your partner what you want. If you want them to curl their hands around your throat, tell them." He whispers and my stomach dips, "if you want them to bite your lip, bite theirs. You can show them what you want without using your words. But if you want something, ask for it."
"Ask for it?" I say breathlessly, wanting the words to come out strong but my heart is pounding too fast for me to focus on trying.
Asher's lips curl into a smile against my skin as I let out a sigh, barely audible over the thumping music.
My body betrays me, instinctively leaning into his warmth, as though this entire lesson is more than I can handle.
But his words - his instructions are measured, deliberate, not rushed or forceful, despite the strange intimacy swirling between us.
His lips graze my neck again, and I find myself gripping his forearms, just to steady myself.
I need to say something. Anything. But my brain's jumbled, caught between the rhythm of the music, Asher's nearness, and the flood of thoughts about how wrong this all is - how Charlie, my brother, any of our friends could see us.
How all of it could come crashing down if anyone knew.
I finally swallow down the rising lump in my throat and tilt my head just slightly to meet his gaze. "Asher... why are you doing this?"
His eyes flicker, a mix of teasing and something softer - something I can't quite decipher. "You asked me to teach you," he replies, voice low, as if we're sharing some sort of secret only the two of us can understand.
"I didn't ask-"
"Fine, I offered." He interrupts softly.
But that wasn't what I meant. I didn't ask for all of this - not the closeness, not the whispers against my skin, not the growing attraction I'm desperately trying to ignore. "I didn't think you'd take it this... seriously," I mutter, trying for a bit of humour to ease the tension.
He chuckles softly, still close enough that the sound vibrates against me. "I take my lessons seriously." He straightens a bit, his hands loosening their hold on my hips, giving me space to breathe. "But if you want me to stop, just say the word."
For a moment, I consider it. Stopping would be the smart thing to do. It would be the easy way out. But then I realize... maybe I don't want him to stop. Maybe part of me is curious - more curious than I should be.
"I-" the words gets stuck in my throat and then Asher is gone and I'm left cold and I glance behind me, finding him disappearing from the dance floor, and then Charlie is there, shoving a drink into my hand.
"I'm so sorry to leave you alone for so long, it took ages to even get in there it was so crowded."
I shake my head, willing myself to not look through the party for Asher and smile at Charlie.
"It's fine, let dance."
· · ·
The party is chaos. An inferno of sweat, lust and even a little bit of anger mingling in the air.
I slip between two writhing bodies, the two seeming more content to dance their way towards a mindless fuck tight there in the hallway then find a private room.
Charlie had disappeared towards the drinks station again when our drinks got low and then I'd lost sight of her with all the moving bodies.
Aiming for the stairs, I move up them to escape the dancing and find solitude.
I do not find solitude upstairs, but I do find spin the bottle.
I almost go to step back when one of the boys playing catches my eyes. Dylan.
This is my chance.
I step forward.
Harlow Graves waves me in when she sees me standing at the door and my brows furrow, having never seen a nice look from that girl aimed my way but I step in hesitantly.
"Hurry up, Ash."
I startle and look behind me, noticing Asher, whose eyes settle on mine. His body is tense, but he dips his chin at me, eyes moving around the room before narrowing slightly and settling back on me.
I follow his line of sight, seeing what's caught his attention and see Dylan again. Aren't they friends?