Story 1: Ashton and Samantha - Chapter 1

The doorbell rings, and I immediately become flustered.

Ashton is here.

My body flushes with the anticipation of seeing him.

I walk quickly to the door and stop in front of the mirror beside it. My long, thick dark brown hair is pulled into a ponytail that falls down my back. My blue eyes are clear and bright with excitement. My mauve lipstick sets off my light complexion and highlights my full lips. I tug down the tight cream shirt, making sure my cleavage is on full display, and wipe my hands on my jeans.

I know I seem a bit thirsty—but damn, I am. Ashton James has starred in nearly all my sexual fantasies since I was thirteen. Now, at nineteen, I’m going to be spending an entire week alone with him while he interviews with several companies in the area. My college roommate is helping her family move this week, so he’ll be staying in her room.

Once I’m satisfied with how I look, I plaster a smile on my face and open the door.

I’m immediately engulfed in his brawny arms and the smell of his cologne.

“Little Sam!” he cries, picking me up and spinning me around.

I throw my arms around him, laughing with my head thrown back.

When I face him again, a genuine smile lights up my face. I’m still laughing until I catch the look in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s desire in those warm, caramel-colored eyes.

I take in his face and the long microbraids he’s pulled back into a top knot, the rest falling free down his back. Ashton’s strong jaw is dusted with light stubble, the kind I want to feel against my face—or between my thighs. His mocha-colored skin glows in the light, and his full lips curve into a smile.

“Not so little anymore.”

My voice is breathy from laughter—and the sudden flood of desire coursing through me.

His eyes trail down my face and land on my chest, pressed just under his chin. My top is straining to hold in my full breasts, and I swear his breathing hitches. His gaze snaps back up to mine, darker now, his stare more intense.

“Definitely not so little anymore.”

If it were anyone else, I would’ve kissed him right then. But he’s my brother Matt’s best friend. Has been since kindergarten. Our parents are best friends. He’s known me since I was two. We’ve spent the night at each other’s houses, had snowball fights, watched movies, gone to each other’s birthday parties.

Shit—we’ve even seen each other naked.

Granted, I was three, he was six, and we drew all over each other with markers. But still. It counts.

The summer he and Matt turned sixteen, they spent two months at Boy Scout camp. When they came back, Ashton was ripped—and hot. That night, thirteen-year-old me learned all about masturbation.

Since then, it’s been all teasing and innuendo between us, but nothing ever happened. Our families—especially Matt—would lose their minds. So I never pursued anything.

But when Ashton called and asked if he could stay with me while interviewing in New York, I jumped at the chance. Practically pushed my roommate out the door when she said she was going to help her family move to the suburbs.

This might be the only chance I ever get with Ashton. I’m not going to waste it.

I just wish I could get out of my own head about it.

I lick my lips unconsciously, and his eyes follow the motion. My face flushes, and I stammer, “A-are we just gonna stand in the doorway all night, or are you planning to put me down and come in?”

He smirks, mischief lighting his eyes. He throws me over his shoulder—fireman carry style—grabs his suitcase and suit bag with his free hand.

“Ashton! Put me down!” I squeal, pounding my hands lightly on his muscular back. My head is just above his ass, and I have to fight the urge to bite it.

He laughs, kicking the door shut behind him.

I kick my feet in protest until his hand squeezes high on my thigh. I bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning.

“Nice place you’ve got here, Sam.”

His hand inches higher, his long fingers almost brushing my core.

I squirm in his hold, not sure if I want his hand to go higher or lower. He just chuckles and squeezes again. I can’t tell if he’s teasing me—or knows exactly what he’s doing.

I growl, “I’d be happy to give you the grand tour if you’d put me down!”

“All in good time. Now, where am I sleeping? With you?”

He hands me his suit bag over his shoulder, grinning.

It takes me a second to process what he just said.

“W-what?! No. N-no! You’re staying in Kora’s room.”

“Aww, no sleepovers like we used to have?” His voice is playful, but I’m glad he can’t see how red my face is.

“We haven’t had a sleepover since I was seven. You always said you were too old to sleep over with a little girl.”

I’m rambling. Flustered by his touch, his words, his everything.

“Like you said,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “not so little anymore.”

I clear my throat and point to Kora’s door with my foot, realizing he’s not putting me down until he’s good and ready.

He laughs and walks down the hall. “Where’s your room?”

“Right across the hall.”

I rest my elbow on his back and prop my chin on it. Not much I can do right now.

“Good to know.”

Ashton opens the door, sets his suitcase inside, and grabs his bag from me. Then he flips me down—right onto the bed.

I yelp, grabbing onto his shoulders, thinking we’re falling—and accidentally pull him down with me.

He lands on top of me, his arms braced on either side of my head. His body is flush against mine, his face just inches away. I can smell mint and spice and something that’s just him.

We stare at each other. Neither of us moves.

He leans in, and I think he’s going to kiss me—but instead, he rubs his cheek against mine and whispers in my ear, “If you wanted to get me in bed, Sam, you should’ve taken me up on the sleepover.”

A shiver runs through me at the feel of his breath on my skin.

I shake myself and smack his shoulder. “You scared me, asshole. I wasn’t ready to be thrown onto the bed.”

He lets me push him off, putting a bit of space between us. “Noted. Next time, I’ll give you a heads-up.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter, turning away to hide my blush as I slide out from under him.

By the time I sit up, I’ve mostly got myself under control. I turn to see him kneeling on the bed, looking around the room—and stifling a laugh.

“What the fuck is this?” Ashton looks back at me with wide eyes. “You want me to sleep here? It’s like I’ve been swallowed by a bottle of Pepto Bismol.”

Okay, I may have forgotten to tell him that Kora really likes pink.

“Sam, you can’t expect me to sleep here,” he pleads, eyes desperate—and hilarious.

I laugh in his face. “I’ll give you new bedding. You don’t have to sleep in all the pink.”

I head to my room to grab extra stuff for him.

He follows, taking off his coat. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s looking at the walls I’ve painted—murals and spontaneous art scattered across the space.

My room’s less of a bedroom, more of a studio with a bed tucked in one corner. Canvases in various stages of completion are everywhere. One by the window shows a young girl running down a sunflower-lined lane. In a shadowed corner, a nightmare sketch—my fear of failure. Next to the mini fridge, a portrait of a homeless mother and her children. And by the closet, a finished piece: a socialite removing her makeup after a party, the exhaustion of her life written in her eyes.

Ashton spends several minutes in front of each canvas, taking them in.

Only he and my mentor have ever seen this much of my work.

It’s too raw. Too me.

“Fuck, Sam. You’ve really leveled up your shading and perspective. This one—” He gestures to the socialite. “It’s amazing.”

“Shut up, Ash. You’re just being nice. I’m not even turning that one in.”

He comes over, takes the comforter from my hands, and lifts my chin with a thumb.

“I’m not blowing smoke. You’ve got real talent. Take the compliment.”

I blush deeper. “Thanks, Ash.”

He strokes my cheek before taking the rest of the bedding.

“Yellow! A nice, manly color.”

“It’ll bring out the warm tones in your skin,” I say before I can stop myself.

He makes a surprised sound, and my eyes widen.

“I—I just meant that as an artist—that’s the kind of thing I naturally notice!”

“Of course. Something an artist would naturally think of.” He chuckles, walking toward Kora’s room. “So... what’s the plan for tonight?”

Still flustered, I call out, “I thought I’d leave that up to you. You've been traveling all day, so I didn’t know if you wanted to go out for dinner or stay in. I can cook and we could watch a movie. Your call.”

I follow him to Kora’s room to help make the bed.

“When’d you learn to cook?” he asks, tossing me one side of the fitted sheet.

“When I realized school food sucked and New York takeout is expensive as hell,” I laugh.

He nods, accepting that. “How’s NYU, by the way?”

“Great! I love my classes now that I’m past the gen eds. My professors are amazing—especially my mentor. I’ve made good friends and found some cool volunteer gigs that help me find subject matter for my art.”

We finish with the fitted sheet. I handle the pillowcases while he does the flat sheet and comforter.

“I knew you’d thrive here,” he says. “You were never meant for the Ohio cornfields. You needed a city, somewhere with energy and meaning.”

There’s something wistful in his voice, but his smile is easy.

“And you? How many interviews this week?” I ask, shifting focus.

“Four. I’m glad you let me come Friday—I wanted time to get my bearings. Plus, we finally get to catch up. I haven’t seen you in almost a year! You didn’t even come home for Christmas!”

“The parental units wanted to see the Rockettes,” I explain. “And I took that extra class.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now that you live in the big city, you’ve forgotten about the little people you left behind.”

His smile is teasing—but there’s something else in his eyes. Like he’s scared I have left him behind.

“Oh, Ash.” I wrap my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “I could never forget you.”

He chuckles and hugs me back, pulling me close.

When we pull apart, I pat his cheek twice.

“Who could ever forget such a pain in the ass?”

I dart out of the room before he can respond.

“You little shit!” he calls, thundering after me.