Undone, Volume 2 (7 page)

Standing there,
shirtless, sweat pouring off of me, a couple of groupie girls
instantly surrounded me, already vying to be the one—or one of the
chosen few—to lick it off my muscles. But no Ana. Where had she
gone?

“Killed it!” Our
manager was there tonight. He lived in L.A. so it was easy for him to
swing on by.

I did a few high-fives,
drank some water, pulled on a clean shirt. She’d left. I knew I
shouldn’t be surprised. I should be relieved. But I felt deflated.

After the party this
past weekend, Lola had warned me. I needed to cool it. She’d
flashed a bunch of L words in front of me: Legal contract. Liability.
Lawsuit.

She really knew how to
rain on a parade. Sunday after the holiday party, I’d woken up at
the crack of one in the afternoon with a big smile on my face. I
hadn’t had such a good time in a long while. Introducing Ana to my
Gram, singing a Sinatra tune like that. Pressing her up against the
wall and feeling her so wet and eager for me, making her come on my
fingers. Yeah, it was all good and I felt like a kid in a toy store
with a whole month to play.

Only then Lola had
called and chewed me out for my behavior. I was lucky she’d found
me in the hallway. Didn’t I know how close I was to breaching
contract? This girl could go psycho on me. Too much of that kind of
messing around, blurring the lines, and Ana would start thinking we
really were in love. Then, once she realized I wasn’t, she could
seriously mess shit up. We might not have enough lawyers to douse the
fiery fury of a woman scorned.

“I know girls like
her,” Lola had told me. “They don’t play by the rules because
they don’t even know the rules.”

I nodded, wondering how
many times I could feel like I’d been sent to the principal’s
office in the course of one week. Then my agent Joel called and I
realized it would be at least one more.

“Don’t fuck this
up!” He’d started right in. “What’s this shit I’m hearing
about you in the hallway with that librarian?” Might as well be by
the lockers or under the bleachers.

“I’m not a kid.”
Sulky and petulant, as soon as I said it, I realized that might be
the one statement it was impossible to say without sounding like a
kid.

“You’re a goddamned
jackass if you start messing around with the virgin. The genius of
all this was supposed to be that you had no interest. Keep it simple.
Don’t stir up a lot of trouble. Save it for the ones who know how
to play.”

Aw, shit. I knew they
were right. And there I was, after my show back at the Sunset hotel
famous for its discretion catering to bands’ wild nights.
Adrenaline still pumped through me after our sold-out L.A. show. Yet
I found myself speaking the words that had never before been spoken.

“I think I’ll just
head back to my room.” I stood in the hallway, Connor already drunk
as a fucking skunk, one eye half closed and listing to the left. He
had more than a few girls propping him up, however, and I knew him
well enough to know he had many more hours left in him. He was a
workhorse, that Connor, when it came to partying.

“Yeah, good one,
mate.” He chuffed me on the shoulder like I’d said something
hilarious. He had to reach up to do it. At 5’7” he stood over
half a foot shorter than me but what he lacked in height he made up
for in feistiness. “C’mon, this one’s a gymnast.”

“I’m a Pilates
instructor,” she corrected, though she didn’t seem too bent out
of shape about the misunderstanding. Pun intended.

“Like I said.”
Connor wrapped a spare hand around her waist and started moving the
entourage toward the connecting suites we had for the band. But I
headed the other way.

“Fuck you going?”
Connor called out, my strange behavior sobering him up a bit.

“I’m going to go
take a shower.”

“I’ll come with
you.” One of the girls stepped toward me. Her skirt just about
ended before it began and she barely looked 18. When had groupies
started getting so young? It couldn’t be that I was getting older.
“I’d love to soap you up.”

“Yeah, take her and
join us after.” Connor turned and continued on his former path. I
let him round the corner before I sent the wannabe shower girl on
after him.

“Not tonight, love.”
I patted her on the ass and sent her away, no hard feelings.

I was hard, though. Ana
hadn’t been wearing much tonight at the show, or last night at
dinner and all I’d been able to do was look. I’d known she had a
smoking hot figure, but once stylists had gotten their hands on her
she’d blown the roof right off. With plumped up cleavage and
outfits that made the most of those long, smooth, shapely legs, she
had me licking my lips. But what still drove me the most crazy was
the memory of her glistening lips parted, soft moans of desire
escaping as my fingers snuck under her panties, up inside her slick
heat.

I put on the shower,
letting it steam up the bathroom. Why had Ana left the show early?
Maybe she’d freaked out and decided against this whole charade? I
didn’t have a text from her. Or maybe Lola had sent her packing,
deciding to take matters into her own hands to avoid the trio of
L-words.

Lola was smart. She
knew Ana was just what my bad boy image needed, wholesome and
squeaky-clean. At least until I got some time alone with her.

Tomorrow we’d head to
San Francisco where I had my house. Once we were there I had a few
more choice L words for Lola. Basically, Later, Loser. She didn’t
own me. And Ana was a 24-year-old woman fully capable of making her
own choices. She wasn’t a nun, for fuck’s sake. And the only
thing I’d agreed to not do in that stupid contract was sex. There
were a lot of other ways we could have fun.

I stepped under the
pounding hot water, letting the steam and spray massage my muscles. I
took my cock in the palm of my hand. I was a big man, fully
proportionate all over, and there was nothing I liked more than
drilling it deep into a wet, needy pussy. But that wasn’t the only
way to get off. As I stroked myself, I closed my eyes, imaging Ana
kneeling before me. I could see the way she’d look up at me, those
toffee-colored eyes wide, her pink lips parted. I’d fist my hand in
her soft hair and I bet she’d be shocked. I doubted she’d ever
played rough before. I swallowed. Just the thought had me so hard.
Blood surged through my prick. I felt hard as a rock and already
close to coming, she had me so worked up.

I wanted to get my
mouth on her, too, spread those pretty thighs and feel that wet heat
my fingers had explored. The first time I’d have to eat her fast
and furious. I wanted her too much. I’d devour her, make her come
full and hard in my mouth so fast she wouldn’t know what had hit
her. She was so responsive, her whole body quivering with need, as if
she’d been bottled up, waiting, craving my touch. Once I’d drunk
her down, then I could take my time, slow, teasing, tormenting her.
Kissing my way along her inner thighs, hearing her gasp and moan,
making her beg.

I was so close, my cock
thick as I stroked. I cupped my balls with one hand, grasped my shaft
with the other, working the whole length from the fat crown down to
the base. Grunting, I could feel the tension build. I pictured her on
her knees before me, that gorgeous chest of hers bare. I hadn’t
seen her yet, hadn’t stripped her down completely naked, but I
would. I’d do it soon and I’d see those luscious tits bare naked
and bouncing for me, ready to play with, her head tilted, throat
arched back, breasts out, nipples hard as I jerked my cock and came,
hard, all over her mounds. Spurting come out of me, full and thick, I
groaned loudly, picturing her so vividly.

But it was just me,
alone in a shower stall. The king of rock with countless groupies
waiting for me down the hall, and I was choosing to jerk myself off
in the shower. When was the last time I’d turned down pussy in
favor of my own hand? That would be…never.

Shaking my head, I told
myself that this was no big deal. I had this in check. I just needed
to get Ana out of my system. I wasn’t used to this bullshit
look-don’t-touch policy. Tomorrow we’d head to San Francisco, my
turf and my rules. We’d mess around and I’d get my head screwed
on right. Then everything would go back to being the same, exact way
it had been before. Now if only that didn’t sound so awful.

§

Ana wanted a hot
chocolate. Of course she did. Because she looked so freaking cute and
rosy standing there with me at Crissy field, like she’d just built
a snowman with Billy and Cindy-Lou.

But her ass in those
jeans didn’t look like a little kid. And believe me, I’d checked
it out plenty of times while we strolled around San Francisco. She
wore a fitted jacket and tall boots, leaving miles of slim-cut jeans
in between for me to admire. That ass, so perky and round and ripe. I
needed to take a bite right out of it.

But that would have to
wait for this afternoon. This morning we were on a PR mission,
hitting the highlights of San Francisco while photographers
strategically captured our candid moments. Right now, walking along
the waterfront with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, I had
to admit, Lola knew her stuff. The light blue of the sky, the glassy,
deeper grey-blue of the ocean, and the brilliant reddish-orange
Golden Gate Bridge cast the perfect background for romance.

Not that that’s what
was really happening, of course. I was rehabbing my image while
trying to get into Ana’s pants. But I had to admit, all this posing
together, strolling and chatting wasn’t exactly torture.

“So you’ve lived
here for a while now?” Ana asked as we walked, arm in arm, along
the walkway.

“Since I was 19.”

“Did you move here
after you graduated high school?”

“Yeah.” I left out
the part about how I finally managed to get a G.E.D after being
kicked out of several boarding schools for failing grades and even
worse behavior. She didn’t need to know me that well.

“Did you come out
here for college?”

I scratched my head.
She was into books and all that, I knew that much. “Studying and I
aren’t exactly…” I brought my fingers together, intertwining
them, inseparable.

“No college?”

“Nope.” I felt
strangely nervous, like I actually cared what she thought of me. That
didn’t make sense. “I took a few classes when I first came out.
UC Berkeley has an extension school and you don’t have to apply,
you can just sign up.” And then not show up. Again with the
editing. Why was I trying to impress her? What was wrong with me?

“But then Connor
moved out and joined me and we got the band together and, you know.”

“You became a rock
star.” She filled in the blank.

“Yeah, that.” I
gave her what I hoped was a charming smile.

“So, no college
degree?”

“What, do you have a
problem with that?” Whoops, that sounded sharp and defensive.

“No, no, of course
not.” She patted my arm like I needed reassurance. I had to admit,
it felt good. “I’m just trying to get to know you. And I’ve met
your family. They seem like the kind of people who would, you know,
want you to—”

“Be exactly like my
older brother, Colton, who went to Yale undergrad and then Harvard
Business School, yes.”

“Wow. That’s a
tough act to follow.”

“I never even tried.”
Why was everything I said sounding bizarrely raw and vulnerable?
Where was Mr. Cool?

“Is it that you don’t
like studying? Or school? Or reading?”

Oh shit, a librarian
asking me if I didn’t like books. This wasn’t going well. “I’m
not good at it. I can’t sit still. And I don’t know, reading’s
never exactly been my thing. Takes me too long to get through it
all.”

“Maybe you’re
dyslexic?”

I shrugged. I’d had a
lot of labels thrown at me over my younger years and even I had
figured out that some wires in my brain must be crossed when it came
to making sense of all those jumbled words. But I’d moved around a
bunch and switched schools and it hadn’t even occurred to me to
think about it in years.

“You know, there’s
nothing to be ashamed of about that,” she reassured me. “A lot of
people are dyslexic. Charles Schwab was dyslexic.” She looked up,
hope for me shining bright in her gorgeous eyes.

I had to smile. I was
so used to people falling over themselves impressed with me, feeding
my larger-than-life ego. I loved that she thought I might need some
encouragement. “Do you think I have a chance to make something of
myself?” I teased.

She laughed. “I don’t
mean that, Ash. You’re obviously crazy talented. I loved watching
you last night.”

“You did?” I loved
hearing her say it. But she returned to her former subject.

“I just mean, books
are a joy. And you might love reading if you learned some
strategies.”

“Are you going to be
my reading tutor?” I leaned down, nuzzling her hair. Near her ear,
I whispered, “I’ve always been hot for teacher.”

She laughed again,
though this time it sounded a bit more breathy.

“Do you have a pair
of glasses you could wear? So you could look at me all stern?”

“And then fling them
off?” She smiled up at me.

“Or I’d fling them
off. That would be the first thing to go.” My gaze swept down her
body, her lush curves. I could practically see her naked, spread
before me on my bed.

A flash shone from
behind a tree. Click. The moment had been captured. Right. We were
putting on a show. I saw it in her face, too, that reminder. Enough
with this public PR bullshit, I needed to get her alone.

“Let’s get you a
hot chocolate and then head to my place.” I brought my hands up to
her shoulders and rubbed her, warming her up. It definitely warmed me
up.

“Do we have time?”
She pulled out her phone, concerned. “You have a show tonight. I
wouldn’t want to make you late.”