Undone, Volume 2 (21 page)

Emotions stormed
through me. He looked so wrecked, I wanted to reach out to him, wrap
my arms around him, kiss the pain away that I saw etched there on his
face. But then a hot wave of shame rose up through me, bubbling over
the top until I felt tears stinging at my eyes again.

“I think I just
need…” I brought my hands to my face. I didn’t really know what
I needed. But that was the problem, I needed some time to figure shit
out.

Maybe I could go
outside and take a walk. I always felt better after a walk, brisk on
a city street. A walk always managed to clear my head.

“I think I’ll take
a walk,” I said out loud. I still had my coat, gloves and boots on
and I headed toward the door.

“Are you crazy?”
Ash asked, bringing his hand to my arm. “They’re out there
waiting for you.”

I stopped in my tracks.
It was like some kind of a horror movie, as if zombies were
clustering at our front door. I couldn’t go outside or they’d eat
me alive. I was trapped. My eyes went wide.

“I’ll head out.”
Ash decided, heading toward the door. “I’ll give you some time on
your own. If it’s what you want.” He paused, standing, looking at
me distraught.

“It’s not that I
don’t want you around,” I protested. “I just—” Hands to my
face again, I closed my eyes, wishing everything could go back to the
way it was. But, like in a horror movie, that never worked. When I
opened my eyes again, it was still just me and Ash in a hotel room
freaking out over the fact that paparazzi had just taken pictures of
and possibly videoed me nearly coming on his fingers.

“You don’t want me
around,” he finished for me. “I get it.” Hand to the doorknob,
he turned to say one last thing. “I never wanted to hurt you like
this. I never meant to pull you into all of this with me.”

“But you did,” I
said, quiet and filled with regret.

He looked at me and
swallowed, grim. Then he left, the door closing behind him with a
click.

The second he left, I
felt worse. I knew he hadn’t actually wanted me to get humiliated
in public like that. I shouldn’t have lashed out at him. It wasn’t
his fault.

Or was it? He’d
deliberately brought me into his media circus, invited me in with the
express purpose of getting more attention, elevating his profile,
filling the airwaves with scenes of our romance. A sickening thought
occurred to me. Had he wanted that moment to be captured? Maybe he’d
intended for it to get leaked? Hot and heavy, if our little piano
duet got nearly a million clicks, what would this one get?

Shrugging off my coat,
I poured myself a drink of water and sank down on the couch. What a
mess. I wondered if footage could already be online? If I took out my
phone and clicked. Would incriminating pictures or video already be
loaded and running?

I wasn’t ready to
find out. I sipped my water and told myself to breathe. Just breathe.
Maybe I’d over-reacted. Maybe they hadn’t captured anything, just
some dark, shadowy photos and you couldn’t even tell who was in
them.

But then what? Say this
all blew over, a tempest in a teapot. What then? I’d slipped into a
little fantasy world, tucked into this hotel room with him, lulled by
the day and a half we’d had in Paris under the radar. But that
wasn’t his reality. Ash’s real life was stalked and filmed and
dissected. And from what I’d seen in the tabloids in the past, he
gave as good as he got. He slept around and partied all night and
trashed hotel rooms. Just a minute ago he’d kicked the leg right
off of what looked like an antique armchair.

Did I even know who he
really was? Our bodies clicked like we were made for each other. But
what did that really mean? I suddenly felt a moment of nostalgia for
boring old Stan. He’d practically bored me to tears, but maybe that
was better than this craziness?

Maybe I should end it.
Maybe I should pack up my things and head home, tell Ash it was over.
He’d probably already gotten enough publicity out of this to make
the stunt worthwhile. He could tell people I’d broken it off and
he’d be telling the truth. Who knew, he might even still chip in
the money for the library?

Ending it would
probably be the smart thing to do, because I’d never felt so
confused in all my life. I’d always trusted my instincts with
people, but now my wires were all crossed. What we had between us
felt so real to me, but maybe it was all fake for him? A public
performance he extended into his private bedroom.

My phone itched in my
pocket. I pulled it out. With morbid fascination, I typed in his
name.

There it was on
YouTube, the back of Ash’s head bent down over mine. The title of
the video: “Ash Black Hot and Heavy.” Wincing already, I pressed
play.

Ash

I came back in the
early hours of the morning. I’d paid a taxi to drive me around,
then let me out in Saint-Germain. I walked around the Left Bank of
the Seine like a wolf on the prowl, collar up, hat down, not pausing
to look in the shop windows. They were all closed anyway. I did stop
in front of a Benedictine Abbey. Built in the sixth century, it
claimed to be the oldest in Paris. Descartes was buried there. He was
the one who came up with, “I think therefor I am.”

Thanks a lot,
Descartes. Too filled with my own thoughts for my own good, I jammed
my fists back in my pockets. I wasn’t good at thinking. Acting on
instinct, or just acting on pure need, feel, that I was good at. I
felt music. I could sense what a crowd wanted on stage. With a woman,
I could tune in and lose myself completely, sense her pleasure and
what she needed maybe even more than she did.

With Ana, it had been
on a whole other level. I’d lost myself completely. I didn’t
think I’d had a single rational thought for hours after she went
down on me. I’d taken her, again and again, in front of the fire,
in our bed, and she’d craved it as much as me. I think I’d been
hard the entire time. Her skin, her scent, her moans, the way she
arched back into me in bed, grinding her ass onto my cock. The way
she took everything I could give and still wanted more, even though I
could tell I was stretching her, pushing her to the utmost.

It burned in me, the
need to consume her again, to have her and hold her and never let her
go. But she’d kicked me out.

Or, at least it had
felt that way at first. I’d stormed out of the hotel room, mad as
hell. I’d been pissed off at the cameramen who interrupted our
moment, scaring her and violating our privacy. But then she’d
yelled at me and it had been easy to turn my anger on her, decide she
was being unfair and jumping on the #HateAshBlack bandwagon.

Only, that wasn’t it,
was it? She had a point. I had dragged her into all of this. And I
knew exactly what shit I’d been dragging her into. I’d lived it
for years now, this insane existence, every wall around me just a
one-way mirror with countless, faceless spectators on the other side.
At first, it had been a rush, all the attention and all the women.
The money had been fun, too. I’d grown up with it but it hadn’t
been mine, it had been my father’s and my family’s but none of
them wanted much to do with me. I’d always felt like the unworthy
black sheep, all the more reason to call myself Ash Black.

So at first, I’d
enjoyed the ride. I’d sought it out, finally in my element, able to
act as crazy as I wanted and only find applause at the end of my
stunts. After years of disapproval, teachers and parents and my older
brother all wagging their fingers at me, it had felt like pure bliss.
A big, giant middle finger up to everyone who’d told me I was
worthless, a disappointment. See how much everyone else loved me?
See?

But the ever-present
audience had been wearing on me for a while now, a pain more than a
gift. It wasn’t that I cared when tabloids dragged up shit on me.
That I didn’t care about. But somewhere along the line the fame had
started feeling more like a fishbowl than adoration, more like I was
a specimen being examined than an idol being worshipped.

But it wasn’t until
Ana came into my life that I truly began to hate it. Maybe because
before her I didn’t have anything truly special to keep out of the
spotlight. I had nothing I wanted to protect, guard, keep safe with
my life.

Now that I had her, I
wanted to fight to the death. Those tears she’d cried? They’d
ripped me up. That cameras had turned what we had between us into
something ugly and embarrassing? I could kick a thousand chair legs
into a thousand walls. But she’d scolded me for doing it, and she
was right. Kicking things didn’t make anything better.

I never should have
stopped and done all that on a public street corner, exposing her.
I’d gotten too caught up in her to be smart. My lust for her had
made me dumb.

Resigned, feeling sick,
I took out my phone. Any videos or photos they’d captured would be
up by now. Better to rip off the Band-Aid and deal with the wound
they’d inflicted.

I ducked into a
sheltered corner and pressed play. Video came on, shadowy, grainy.
You couldn’t hear what we were saying. I knew what we’d been
telling each other, nasty, hot and yearning, how she belonged to me
and I was going to make her mine again. But thankfully it was all
muffled and dark. You could tell it was me, but you couldn’t
exactly tell it was Ana. Relief poured through me. I had sheltered
her.

At least I’d managed
that, blocking her from view with my body. I was much bigger than
her. She was just the right size under my hands, under my frame. I
could move her exactly how I wanted her, angle her and position her,
but she had enough to her that she met my force with force of her
own. And I was big enough to shield her from cameras.

Had she seen this
video? I clicked around on photos. They were even less revealing. A
picture of my back standing in a dark alcove. An action shot of my
angry face reaching out to shove away cameras. Big fucking deal. To
me, at least, they got nothing. But would she feel the same way? This
was all new to her.

I knew I should
probably get another hotel room. I could check into one and crash
there, send her a text to call me when she was ready. I would do
that, if I weren’t crazed for her. A fever burned inside me and I
needed her, needed to touch and taste her. She might not be happy to
see me, might tell me to get lost, but I’d take that chance.
Because there was the possibility, no matter how slight, that she
might say yes, sinking into me the way I needed to sink into her.

Back at the hotel, I
let myself in quietly. I figured she might be asleep. If she were, I
told myself I’d crash on the couch. Assaulting her in her sleep
wasn’t my style.

But she was up,
sitting, waiting for me.

“Ash, I’m so
sorry.” She rushed at me and I caught her in my arms, kissing her
ferociously, clutching her to me.

“Don’t be sorry,”
I insisted. She’d been right. I had been to blame for exposing her
like that. I should have known better. It didn’t matter that she
made me so crazy I couldn’t think straight and take the usual
precautions. I needed to think straight for the both of us, help her
navigate this crazy world I’d dragged her into.

“It was my fault.”
I breathed her in, her light vanilla scent, her feminine musk. I
licked her neck, trailing my tongue along her soft, sweet skin,
sucking her there. She gasped and leaned into me, always wanting more
of everything I gave. It made my blood boil, the intensity of her
responses, how quickly and easily she melted at my touch.

I backed her up against
the wall, panting, holding her there with my strength. She tossed her
head back and I licked her throat, then bit at her. I swear, I felt
like I wanted to eat her alive, consume every inch of her.

“Ash,” she moaned,
her hands up at my shoulders, clutching, clasping, pulling, wanting
me in that same, crazy, wild way.

“I have to have you.”
My words sounded harsh, strained, frenzied. I ground my hips into
hers, pressing my long, erect shaft into her. She groaned and pushed
right back, moving against me.

She didn’t wear much
and I ripped it off, quick. A t-shirt and short shorts lying on the
ground. She didn’t have on a bra and I wanted her like that all the
time, easy, quick access to pure heaven. I dropped my face to her
breasts, sucking, licking, claiming.

She still wore panties,
but I made quick work of them, too, yanking them down and discarding
them with the rest of her clothes. No panties. I wanted her in short
skirts with no panties so I could reach up and stroke her, find her
slick sex in an instant.

A low, guttural moan
escaped her lips as I began to finger fuck her, plunging deep up
inside of her.

“I need to fuck you,
Ana,” I whispered, taking a breast into my mouth and sucking, hard
on her erect nipple. “Here. Now.”

“Yes,” she
murmured, her hands down on my hips, pulling me toward her. “Fuck
me, Ash. I need it.”

“You need it?” I
asked, unzipping my jeans and pulling out my cock. Long, hard, it
jerked in my hand as I palmed it, showing it to her. She moaned at
the sight of it, and the raw sound of her longing made me hard as a
jackhammer. I grabbed a condom, quick, from my pocket and rolled it
along my length. Her eyes followed my every move, hungry.

Fast, I grabbed her
wrists in my hands. She was slender and I could fit them both in my
grasp. I pinned them up above her head. Her eyes widened with
surprise and more. Lust. Excitement. She liked the power I had over
her. There was a lot more where that came from.

I loved the feel of her
next to me, pressed against the wall, stripped completely naked and
dripping for me. I still had on my clothes. I held her down, fastened
her to the wall with my hand. Some other time I’d play with her,
enjoy how crazy I made her. Tease and coax and make her feel every
inch my plaything. But not right now. Right now I needed to bury
myself in her.