Undone, Volume 2 (16 page)

“That’s it.” Ash
watched my hand. “Show me.” He pulled up my dress, bunching it by
my waist. He took my panties in his hand and pulled them far down my
legs and then completely off. Now he could see everything.

“That’s it,” he
exhaled, his breathing shallow. “Now spread your legs for me while
you touch yourself.”

I closed my eyes,
losing the last of my inhibitions, spreading my legs for him so he
could see everything. So slick, so wet for him, I was dripping as I
touched myself. I wanted him to know it, to see it. I finger-fucked
myself in a slow rhythm, moaning as I remembered how he’d eaten me
in that closet, in the dark, so ravenous for my taste.

I could hear Ash
breathing harsh and heavy at my side, so turned on at the sight of
me. “What are you thinking about, Ana?” he whispered, so close.

“How you lick me,”
I whispered, guilty.

“How I lick your
pussy?”

“Yes, and how you
bite me.”

“How I bite your
clit?” he demanded as I worked myself, moaning. “Wider, Ana,”
he barked. “Spread wider. Show me everything.”

I did it, loving
following his order, wanting to give him everything, so dirty, so
naughty, stroking my pussy with my fingers. He unzipped the side of
my dress and pulled at my shoulder strap, baring my breast. With a
hiss, he grasped my breast and flicked my erect nipple with his
thumb. I picked up the pace, thrusting into myself, circling my clit,
so close.

“Do you like it when
I bite you?” he asked. I opened my eyes to see him fixated,
feasting like a starving man on the sight of my fingers pleasuring my
pussy.

“Yes! I love it when
you bite me,” I moaned, loving to confess it to him.

“Are you close to
coming, Ana?” He gripped my breast in his hand, urgent.

“So close!” I cried
out.

“When I bite you,
come on your fingers.” He dropped his mouth, taking my nipple
between my teeth. He bit down on my sensitive tip.

I came apart, exploding
on my fingers. He bought his hand down to cover mine and feel every
one of my shudders, all of my juices. He groaned in appreciation,
licking my breast, stroking my hand.

“So good, Ana, so
good. So sweet.”

“Ash!” Wave after
wave hit me. It felt so intense, showing it to him.

I never could have
believed I’d do something so dirty for a man. Now I couldn’t
believe I’d ever have to stop, in just two weeks. Time was speeding
so fast. But just now, I buried myself in Ash’s shoulder, blissed
out as the limo took us to the airstrip where we’d fly off to
Paris.

Ash

I let Ana sleep in the
plane the whole flight over. I wanted some sort of a medal for doing
it, maybe a merit badge. I didn’t think they gave those out in Boy
Scouts. The “I let my girlfriend sleep instead of fucking her”
award.

She looked like an
angel lying there, her head in my lap. Right next to my raging hard
on. She might be an angel, but I was all sinner. Her full, lush lips.
The moans that came out of them. She was the most insane mix of
naughty and nice, it practically made me drunk.

I’d been with a whole
lot of naughty. Over-the-top naughty. Trying-so-hard naughty it
bordered ridiculous. Some of the nasty shit women said to me, it
almost made me blush. Almost.

But Ana, to see her
actually blush, honestly unable to speak the words and tell me she’d
touched herself. And then get so turned on she actually did it, in
front of me, spreading her legs wide to show me all of it. Fuck. I
just about came from the sight of it, how quickly she responded to
one bite, fantasizing about me. She might kill me. And we hadn’t
even had sex.

I’d have her in
Paris. I had to. Without fucking her I wouldn’t make it past
customs on the way out of the country. The French authorities would
stop me with my blue balls—“sir, we’re sorry, this is the
country of love and romance. You need to take care of that before you
leave.”

I had the most romantic
city in the world as my wingman. Bistros and jazz clubs and walks
along the Seine. Who knew, it might even snow, a light magical
blanket covering the city? We’d have to head inside to get warm.
And I’d warm Ana up, that much I knew for sure.

While Sleeping Beauty
got her rest, I messed around on my phone. There was a ton of press
about me and Ana, as I knew there would be. What I hadn’t known was
how captivating the videos would be to watch. There was one of the
two of us messing around in a snowball fight. It didn’t get cornier
than that, especially when the whole thing had been staged right down
to the pile of snow I’d had at the ready to ball up at her.

But what sounded real
was her peal of laughter, first when I hit her, then more triumphant
when she actually got me back, square between the shoulders. And then
there was that look in her eyes, after I caught her and spun her
around and set her down right up close next to me. She looked up,
sparkling and alive and radiant, rosy cheeked and ready for the kiss
I was about to give her. I paused on that frame more than a few
times.

And then there was
footage from earlier that night in front of the club. I liked seeing
her again in that sexy, slinky silver dress. The stylists had really
done their job well with her, putting her in something so simple and
yet so tempting. Almost too short, grazing the top of her thighs,
showing miles of leg down to her high heels. Short enough to bunch up
at her waist as I’d bared her and she’d spread her legs and
showed me how she pleasured herself.

With a groan, I shifted
my weight in the seat. Ana stayed sleeping in my lap, completely
unaware. I’d have to try to get some sleep myself, that was the
trick with red-eye flights. You had to sleep the whole way and then
you could hit the ground running once you landed. Usually, some sex
and booze did the trick for me. On a private plane like we were on
now, you could have anything and everything you wanted. This new
self-imposed torture, spending time with the one woman I couldn’t
have, that made sleep somewhat harder.

I watched some more
footage from tonight. I liked the end of the clip. The same guys
shouted out the same shit, about how I was a heartbreaker and wasn’t
she afraid I’d do it to her. And she defended me. She called me a
good person and told them to back off.

I couldn’t agree with
her. I wasn’t a good person. And they were just doing their jobs,
however rude. But she’d defended me. I couldn’t remember the last
time someone had done that. Really fiercely defended me, like I
deserved it. She was crazy. And I loved her for it.

The L word. Where had
that come from?

Resting my head back on
the seat pillow, I told myself not to think about it. I needed to get
some shut-eye. We’d arrive on the 27th so we’d really only have
three days in Paris before we flew back on the evening of the 30th.
She’d never been before to my favorite city. Three whole days in
Paris. But it was the nights I was thinking of as I drifted off.
Three nights, with Ana, in a hotel room. Yes, the days would be fun
but I was really looking forward to the nights.

§

“Ash, I have to ask
you something.” Ana and I walked arm in arm along what had to be
one of the more charming streets in Paris, in the sixth
arrondissement. But what street in Paris wasn’t charming? The tiny
restaurants, the bicycles weaving slowly along, the impossibly
fashionable women with impossibly tiny dogs. Each apartment window
was framed with intricate wrought-iron railings, each block dotted
with warm, glowing lamps. It was dusk, just before five o’clock in
late December and little white lights glowed along the edges of
nearly every shop window.

“Yes, ma cherie?”
We were in France. I was allowed to use terms of endearment. It was
like a national right granted to every person on French soil.

“Are you a baron?”

“Am I barren?” I
had to stop, leaning down to make sure I was hearing her correctly. I
was wearing my hand-knit hat, after all, and she had lined it with
thick fleece. An absolutely fantastic hat. I planned on wearing it to
bits and pieces.

“You know, since your
grandmother is a baroness. Are you a baron?”

Bursting out with a
laugh, I drew up again. “I am so sorry to disappoint you. I am not
a baron.”

“Oh, I’m not
disappointed. I just wondered.”

“You are,” I had to
tease. “You’re a little disappointed.”

“I’m not!” she
insisted, growing flustered. So fun to tease.

“It’s not enough
that I’m a rock star. No, you want me to be a baron, too.”

“Ash!” She hit me
on the arm, laughing now, too.

“I tell you what.”
I leaned down to her, whispering into her ear. “The next time I go
down on you, you can call me the baron.”

“You did not just say
that!” Her eyes wide, she half-laughed, half blushed in response.

I whispered, breathy,
“Oh, yes, baron! Right there, baron!” She smacked me again. I
sighed and stopped. For now. Ana never stopped entertaining me.

“So, no, I’m not a
baron,” I continued. “My brother Colton inherited that title,
after my father passed away this summer.”

“Colton’s your
older brother?”

“Yup, by two years.
The title’s perfect for him. I’m just the angry second son.” I
looked down at her, flashing a smile. “In years past they would
have sent me off into the clergy.”

Ana shook her head.
“That wouldn’t have suited you at all.”

“No,” I agreed. “I
probably would have tarnished the family name by having affairs with
married women.”

“Good thing you were
born in this day and age. When you could wear tight leather pants and
shake your ass up on a stage for money.”

“You did not just say
that.” Now it was my turn to stop and give her a glare. But I had
to admit, she’d nailed it. “What am I, Ana?” I asked, feigning
hurt. “Am I just a sex symbol to you? Do you just want me for my
body?”

She laughed and shook
her head again. I knew we were being silly, acting giddy together,
teasing and laughing. I couldn’t get enough.

Walking again, arm in
arm, I let her know, “That’s OK with me, you know. If you’re
just using me for my body. You can have me any time you want.”

“Good to know.”

Paris unfurled before
us, every street corner revealing a breathtaking scene and beckoning
in new directions, every restaurant boasting a menu fit for a king.
We ducked into a small bar, ordering some red wine to warm us up. Our
first day in the city, not a single person had looked at us twice. We
were completely incognito. I’d received a few panicked texts from
Lola, but I wasn’t falling for that trap. I was off the grid and
loving it.

Outside, a light flurry
of snow began to fall. Lazily drifting down, in no rush. Earlier that
day, we’d checked into our hotel, a small boutique spot without the
glitz and glam of a place like the Ritz, but all the privacy we could
want. We strolled down the street to a corner bistro, enjoying out
dinner, but I could tell Ana was getting tired. She hid a few yawns
behind her napkin, giving me sleepy smiles.

I took her back to the
hotel and built a fire in the fireplace. A classic old building in a
classic old city, Paris let you burn it up. None of the California
spare-the-air warnings, billboards telling you smoke from burning
wood was bad for your lungs. Parisians wanted you to breathe deep,
live for the moment and cherish your lover in front of a roaring
fire.

We settled on a plush
couch together and I drew a soft blanket over us both. I gave Ana
five, ten minutes tops before she passed out. The jet lag was really
getting to her. She’d never traveled to Europe before, so I got it.
This was all new to her. Tomorrow she’d be feeling 100%.

“I’m sorry I’m so
sleepy,” she apologized, snuggling into me. She fit so perfectly,
my arm around her, her head on my chest.

“No, don’t
apologize. Rest. You’ll enjoy tomorrow more.”

She yawned big, and
rested against me content. After a moment, I could feel her smile
against me. “I can hear your heart beat.”

“Yeah?” I suddenly
felt vulnerable. Was it beating fast? Here she was, so relaxed she
was about to fall asleep. But I didn’t feel tired, and it wasn’t
just my travel expertise keeping me awake. It was Ana, being around
her, the way she made me feel, the anticipation of more time
together. I was playing it cool, but I felt eager and slightly
nervous, just her there with me. No entourage, no cameras, no band
mates. It was everything I’d wanted but I realized how little time
I’d spent over the years without all the trappings. I felt stripped
down, in every sense.

“Mmm.” She brought
her hand to my chest, meaning nothing by it. She wasn’t trying to
stir my blood, send awareness shooting down to my cock. But it
happened, with just the touch of her hand. Her eyes drifted closed. I
kept my hand around her shoulders, listening to her breathing. I
could stay like that all night.

“S’funny,” she
murmured, sounding half-drunk but I knew it was just half-asleep.
We’d shared some wine, but only a couple of glasses, and the steak
frites she’d eaten for dinner had put something nice and
substantial in her stomach. “Never wanted to before.”

“What’s that?” I
tilted my head down near hers, trying to catch what she was saying.
She really was mumbling, almost talking in her sleep from the jet
lag.

“Thought it seemed
gross. Til you.”

“What seemed gross?”
She was talking nonsense, now, I knew it. Sleep talking. I wondered
what she’d say next, probably something about aliens wearing
mittens or cooking spaghetti in applesauce. My younger brother Heath
had shared a room with me when we were little kids and he’d talked
in his sleep. Funny, I hadn’t thought of that in a long time. He
used to say the most random shit.