Undone, Volume 2 (24 page)

For such a momentous
event, I’d spent very little time thinking about it. Ash had me on
such a wild ride, showing me all around Paris, then feasting on me
and fucking me in the hotel room like he couldn’t get enough. Every
sense in my body, every thought in my brain had locked into him, the
feel of him, the way he touched me, breathed me in as if I were
oxygen. I knew this was all kinds of crazy, the way we consumed each
other, almost violent in our need to extract pleasure from each
other.

I’d certainly never
felt that way before. I’d always thought that I had a healthy
sexual appetite. Honestly, there were a lot of times with my
ex-boyfriend Stan when I’d felt like I had sex on my mind more than
he did. At night, alone with my fantasies, I certainly always made
myself come with ease and gusto.

But this with Ash was
next level. He made me want to do all kinds of things. I’d always
approached everything in my life with caution, weighing pros and
cons. But when Ash talked about tying me up, binding me and making me
beg? His words alone made me so wet I could barely speak let alone
think rational thoughts, working my way through deliberations.
Because I knew he could do it, torturing me, giving me so many
orgasms I’d absolutely lose my mind.

With him by my side,
touching me, nuzzling into me, whispering how he couldn’t get
enough of me, it felt amazing to fly so free. Without a roadmap,
surrendering to new experiences was a rush. I’d always played it
safe, but I sure wasn’t now.

But as the plane
descended, some worry did as well, tugging at my elated thoughts. We
were re-entering reality, Ash’s reality, with fawning groupies and
aggressive PR reps and lecherous band mates. Back in the spotlight,
under the glare, I couldn’t help wonder what it would do to us?
Alone, I didn’t wonder if things were good and real between us. I
just knew. But surrounded by all that teeming mess, how could anyone
survive? Celebrities were notorious for their tumultuous love lives,
bouncing from one person to the next. I could see why, when they had
nothing real around them, just hype piled up on hype.

Plus there was the fact
that Ash and I hadn’t even begun this with real intentions. What
were the chances we could keep this going? Slim to none.

As if he could sense
the doubts tumbling up inside of me, Ash slipped an arm around me and
drew me close to him. His presence was like a drug, and I relaxed
into it, his scent, his strength. He held my hand as we exited the
plane, entwined his arms around me as we rode over in the limo.

A few men with cameras
greeted us upon arrival at the hotel, even at the early dawn hour. He
steered me through it all, strong and sure, up to the hotel room.
There in the dark, he led me into the bedroom, drew me into bed and
rested my head against his chest. No one there, just the two of us, I
listened to the beat of his heart and knew. I knew how we felt about
each other.

Hours later, the
ringing of my phone blended into my dreams. Ash and I were out to
dinner back in Paris. But every time either of us tried to say
something, our phones would ring. And ring.

Opening an eye, I
realized my phone on the bedside table was ringing.

“Hello?” I rubbed
my eyes, my voice heavy laden and groggy with sleep.

“Are you up yet?”
Lola’s voice exploded through the phone. “You’ve got to start
getting ready!”

“What?” I sat up
more, snapping on the lamp. Vegas, right, I was in Vegas. With Ash,
only he wasn’t there beside me anymore. Hadn’t we fallen asleep
together that morning? But apparently he’d already gotten up and
headed out.

“Are you still
sleeping?”

“Um…” I rubbed my
eyes, trying to wake myself up. Apparently massive amounts of sex
required massive amounts of sleep for recovery.

Lola swore like a
sailor on the other end. “Get in the shower. I’ll send the girls
up in 10.”

True to her word, the
girls were up in 10 minutes, exactly when I emerged from the shower
to a knock at the door. Three of them, a team to prepare me for
Vegas, the show, the cameras, the engagement. It was a lot.

There was plenty of
room in our VIP suite for them to spread out and this time, I
welcomed their attention. It felt like suiting up in armor for the
big fight. Out in the coliseum, I’d get displayed to the masses. I
needed everything they could give me.

They did not
disappoint. Vegas required over-the-top and they shot right on over
with glitter and gold. The dress they squeezed me into had thin
straps and cups that barely covered my breasts leading down into a
deep V. They used some sort of invisible tape to bring my breasts
together right at the base, a trade secret I guessed. It held the
cups in place and gave me X-rated cleavage.

The dress technically
ended mid-thigh, but really it ended even further up than that. The
hemline of the cloth was barely legal, and then it sort of melted
into jewels, fading away into a few glittery gems and then nothing
but leg.

I’d never worn
anything like it before. I’d never even seen anyone in person
wearing anything like it. I was bedazzled and bedazzling.

The blowout took about
15 hours. I tried not to get impatient, but it was hard when the
woman styling me seemed to work the same strand around her roller
brush again and again and again. She must have picked up on my
impatience because she explained,

“It’s got to last.
You’re not on stage until midnight.”

Right. Lola had planned
this all out down to the second. She’d sent me an email with an
agenda requiring military precision. She’d missed her true calling
as a SWAT team commander. I could really picture her in camo yelling
at troops to move it on out at O-Four-Hundred Hours!

Tonight, Ash’s show
started late, a New Year’s special, and I was the finale. Or his
proposal to me was, at least. After their set, Ash was supposed to
disappear for longer than usual. The rest of the band would go back
on stage and noodle around, build anticipation, looking at each other
and shrugging like ‘where is he, man?’

Then Ash would strut
back on stage with me in tow. There, under the klieg lights, he’d
introduce me to the crowd as the love of his life. Then he’d bend
down on one knee, offer up a ring and ask me to marry him.

Whew. It made my knees
week and I was already sitting down in the privacy of my hotel room.
Getting up on stage in front of thousands of people, that made me
want to vomit right there. But then coupling it with The Question?
From Ash Black? My head swirled in so many different directions,
again I felt grateful to be sitting down. Eager to see him again,
excited to have that moment with him, let down that it was all for
show. But I couldn’t really be wanting him to ask me something like
that for real, could I? We hadn’t even known each other for a full
three weeks yet.

But there was something
about how we clicked. Stranger things had happened, hadn’t they?
People seemed to fall fast when it was right. Look at my ex, he’d
found someone soon after me and they’d already tied the knot. Ash
and I had met each other’s families. Taken a trip to Paris
together. Been to each other’s places of work.

But who was I kidding?
We’d barely scratched the surface with each other, and this was all
for show anyway. Better to just enjoy the ride and stop asking so
many questions.

I didn’t have time
for more ruminations, anyway, because thank God the blowout finally
stopped and I was ushered down into a VIP lounge for VIP apps and
photos. Lola passed me around like an hor d’oeuvre on a plate,
introducing me as Ash’s girl, the one you’ve been hearing so much
about, etc. I smiled and laughed and tried to make chit chat, playing
it cool even when I spoke to celebrities so famous their faces had
graced magazine covers in the past month. Like me.

“You’re so cute!”
one starlet gushed at me, seeming overly bright. I didn’t know
enough about drugs to take a guess about what she was on, but she
made perky look boring. “I love your dress!” she exclaimed, all
exclamation points all the time.

“I liked you in that
movie with Seth Rogan.” I wasn’t sure if that was the right kind
of thing to say to her. Was it weird to talk to movie stars about the
movies they’d been in? But it was true. She’d been funny.

“You are so sweet!”
She leaned into me, modulating her voice yet still seeming to speak
in exclamations. “You have to tell me who did your breasts! They’re
supes amaze!”

“Oh, thanks.” I
found myself feeling myself up in the middle of the party. Were my
breasts supes amaze? I hadn’t thought they were that special.

“Perfect size!” she
complimented me. And reached out for a quick grab herself. “Oh, and
they feel so real!”

“Well, they are
real.”

She tossed her head
back in a bright gale of laughter, as if I’d said the funniest
thing she’d ever heard. Then her eyes narrowed slightly and she
looked me straight in the eye. “I’ll find out who did them.”
The moment was over almost before it began and she was off with the
next partygoer.

New Year’s Eve and
Vegas was already hopping, overflowing with money and people wanting
to see and be seen. But the one man I wanted to see was nowhere. I’d
texted him, but hadn’t heard anything back.

Then Ash and the band
splashed into the room, the door banging open at their arrival.
Surrounded by an entourage, they drew everyone’s attention, the men
of the hour. Now that Ash was in the room, I felt even further away
from him.

He looked amazing. He’d
shaved and he looked like he’d gotten a trim, then had his locks
styled just so in a rock star tousle. He wore black shit-kicking
boots and rocked some black leather pants that hugged his broad,
muscular thighs and spectacular ass. Slung low, you could see the
start of his V on his abdomen and I knew I wasn’t the only one
looking. I didn’t know how he did it, but he managed to take a page
right out of 1986 Bon Jovi’s Rock God bible without looking cheesy.
Maybe it was because he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. It
was as if he were saying, tell me you wouldn’t dress like this if
you were me?

On top, he wore a black
shirt unbuttoned the whole way down, exposing his muscles and tattoos
and necklaces. If he weren’t so hot, you might roll your eyes. But
he looked so fucking good, and he wore it all with such strut and
confidence, a ‘feast your eyes, ladies’ devilish attitude. You
had to love it.

I know I did. But I
found myself taking a step back, shyly hugging the wall. That
couldn’t be the man I’d just spent every waking second of the
last few days with, inhaling him, riding him, feeling so connected
and amazed.

But he found me. Ash
searched the room over until he zeroed in on me, standing in the
corner. The crowd literally parted as he walked straight to my side.
He took me in his arms, swept me up and kissed me like he’d missed
me as much as I’d missed him. The room erupted in cheers, enjoying
the show. My cheeks burned.

“I wish we were back
in Paris,” he murmured to me, but he turned and raised up his hand,
the Roman emperor accepting the adulation of his subjects. He did it
so naturally, I almost wondered if I’d heard him correctly. He
looked down at me and gave me a wink. “You ready for a wild night?”
he asked.

Before I could answer,
adoring fans were on us, wanting to hear about Paris, wanting to talk
about the show tonight. I let it all wash over me, letting the circus
play out without phasing me because through it all, Ash held my hand.
That constant connection, the warm pressure of his skin against mine,
I didn’t know how it could ground me so much but it did.

“This one here’s
the singer,” Ash insisted with one woman who couldn’t take her
eyes off of him, even as he pointed her attention directly at me.
“You should hear her sing.”

“I don’t know about
that,” I protested. In fact, I did know about that—my voice was
fine, but it was nowhere near as distinctive or strong as Ash’s. He
was just smitten with me. Wait, was he really smitten with me?

“There’s Yoko!”
An arm snaked its way around my shoulders, the touch having the
opposite effect of Ash’s.

“Hi, Connor.” I
hoped my voice didn’t sound as unhappy to see him as I felt. After
all, he was Ash’s closest band mate and best buddy.

“How’s our little
Yoko Ono doing tonight?”

I smiled weakly. He
meant I was breaking up the band, like Yoko did to The Beatles. Ash
clapped him on the back, letting his hand rest for a moment at
Connor’s neck, grabbing him there. “You’re a funny one,
Connor.” His voice definitely had an edge.

“You guys sure heated
things up in Paris!” Connor congratulated us. Then he leaned in,
just for me. “I liked what I saw in that video of you up against
the wall. I’d like to see more later.”

But then more people
rushed in, snapping photos, wanting a moment with Ash, a moment with
Connor. I brushed off his creepiness and tried to enjoy myself, at
the epicenter of celebrity stardom, affixed to a constellation so
bright even other genuine stars in their own right were there to
worship at his feet.

I guessed it made sense
so many were there tonight. What did celebrities do on New Year’s
Eve? Did they hang out with their parents like I’d done more than a
few times over the years, sipping wine on the couch, debating the
relative merits of Dick Clark vs. Ryan Seacrest? No, celebrities
PARTIED! And who did they party with? Other celebrities!

Before I knew it, Ash
was leaning in to give me a quick goodbye kiss. Show time! Sparkling
from champagne, I let Lola lead me away to get a touch-up from
stylists, then go hang out backstage where I could watch the show.

From the second the
band started up, Ash was on. He’d been amazing in concert when I’d
seen him before, but tonight he was on fire. He had such energy, such
power in his vocals, such a raw, live pulse pounding out of him.
Whatever he had, it was contagious, and I found myself singing along
with every word, raising my fist up in the air along with him at the
choruses, screaming for more along with the crowd after every song.
Every now and then, he’d look backstage right at me and give me a
nod or a smile or a wink, letting me know he was thinking of me. He
might be out on stage, but he knew I was right there with him.