Undone volume 2, p.16

Undone, Volume 2, page 16

 part  #2 of  Undone Series


Undone, Volume 2

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  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.



  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.

  With my other hand, I angled her hips. “I’m going to fuck you up against this wall, Ana.” My cock at her wet, hot entrance, I could already feel how much she needed me. She moaned in response, licking her lips, her gorgeous breasts thrust up at me as I pinned her hard against the wall.

  Then, in one long, strong stroke, I plunged into her, my full, hard length. Fuck it felt so good to sheath myself in her, her tight, wet heat, quivering and made for me. I wasn’t going to go easy on her. I needed this like a panther needed a meal. Keeping her pinned, I used my other hand to cup her ass.

  “Wrap your legs around me. This is gonna get rough.” She did as she was told, winding her long, sexy legs around me, spreading herself open. And I began to fuck her, pounding into her, fucking her hard up against the wall, using the hard surface to work more friction into it. I ground into her, mercilessly, bruising her hips, grunting as I drove into her deep again and again.

  “Yes!” she called out, hoarse, guttural, unable to move her hands. She closed her eyes, tossed her head to the side, taking my thrusts with wild, animal abandon.

  “Feel how deep I am in you!” I commanded more than asked, wanting her every thought consumed by me. “How deep I fuck you.” I rocketed into her, filling her to the hilt, her wet depths taking me in all the way. I could already feel the tension in my balls, the need to come driving me to pump into her harder, more frenzied.

  “Ash!” She dug her heels into my thighs, spreading her legs as wide as she could, angling herself into me so she could take all of my cock all of the time. She shoved her pussy onto my shaft, matching my thrusts, as crazed as me. Her tits jiggled each time I slammed into her. I shook her entire body with my force.

  I could feel it build in her, the tension, the shudders. She was close, too.

  “Are you going to come for me, Ana?” I positioned her hips so I hit her just right, my cock smashing into her clit every time I plunged into her. She couldn’t even answer me she was so close. All that came out of her mouth were cries of need, desperate, raw. Sweaty now, I crashed into her again and again, fucking her at a brutal speed, pounding into her like I’d never before.

  “Look at me when you come!” I commanded. At my order she opened her eyes and came all over my cock. Wild, pulsing, she screamed and looked straight at me as she gave me everything she had, her pussy clutching my cock, squeezing me, milking me until I came, too. Rocketing deep into her, I came and came, shooting into her like I’d die if I didn’t get out every drop.

  I dropped my hands to her ass and supported her weight. She was jelly, collapsing between me and the wall, unable to speak, unable to stand. I’d fucked her senseless.

  With a deep sense of male satisfaction, I picked up my well-fucked woman and carried her over to the bed. Reluctantly, I withdrew from her so I could place her down gently. I removed my condom and then joined her on the bed, holding her to me.

  “Oh my God, Ash,” she managed, nuzzling into me, her eyes already closing.

  “You’re mine, Ana. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” I made her crazy promises I was just crazy enough to keep.

  “Yes, Ash,” she murmured, so at peace in my arms. I stroked her hair, wondering at her softness. Everything about her, her thighs, her lips, her heart. She had such a kind heart, opening it to me. What had I ever done to deserve her goodness? She’d spent the adult years of her life studying for degrees, maintaining a tight bond with her family, helping children discover a love of reading by day, a love of music by night.

  What had I done with my life thus far? Strut around on a stage in leather pants. Trash hotel rooms and have what I’d thought was great sex with groupies.

  What an ass I’d been. I didn’t know how, but I promised myself, I’d become a better man for her. Even with the heavy burden of my thoughts, after the stress of the night and the burst of release, we both fell into a deep sleep.


  Late on our last day in Paris, we awakened in our hotel room, a tangle of limbs. I couldn’t even get enough of her while we slept. I reached for her, wanted her splayed over my chest, wanted my thigh hooked over hers. Mine.

  I ordered us room service. My Ana loved her some chocolate croissants. I kissed away the buttery flakes from her lips, using the excuse to lick and taste. Even that playful flirtation left us both breathless.

  We didn’t even have two weeks left of this arrangement, this fake romance turned real. She was supposed to break up with me in ten days. I couldn’t let that happen. I needed her like I needed to breathe.

  But I didn’t want to scare the poor girl. I was half-insane over her, but that wasn’t exactly appealing, now was it? A nice girl like Ana, she needed stable and secure. A man who could provide, not tantrum in hotel rooms. I’d see what I could do about being that for her.

  We were in Paris, after all, arguably the most fashionable city in the world. It was our last day and she hadn’t bought herself a single thing. Of course, I was the one with the money. How had I managed to not take her shopping?

  I took her to the areas I knew about, the Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, the Rue St. Honore, and of course the Galleries Lafayette. But gett
ing this girl to spend my money was work.

  “I don’t need it, Ash,” she protested, standing there looking hotter than hell in a slinky dress.

  “Sure you do.” I didn’t want to overwhelm her, tell her that was exactly the kind of thing she’d need to wear out with me as we kept right on going as a couple month after month, year after year. You couldn’t spring that on someone, surprise them with the announcement that you felt that way. Hell, I wasn’t even used to feeling that way. I never had before.

  So, instead, I took her shoe shopping. I had more success when it came to shoes. The art, the whimsy, the unique designs, her eyes lit up as she looked around at all the choices. I wasn’t exactly a connoisseur of women’s shoes, but even I knew that Parisians really took shoe design to the next level.

  “How do people even walk in these?” she asked, holding up a pair of boots with an intricate flower-and-vine pattern woven into the leather. “They’re pieces of art.”

  “So are you,” I told her. Smarmy compliments had never felt more honest coming out of my mouth. “Let me get them for you.”

  She finally relented over a couple of pairs, not nearly enough, but something. The flash of delight in her eyes made it so worth it.

  “Thank you, Ash. I’ll always think of you when I wear them.” Why did she sound forlorn as she said that, as if we were about to say goodbye? Like she’d be wearing them day after day without me in her life? I wasn’t going anywhere.

  I got a call from Lola and let it go through to voicemail. But I listened to it while we strolled down yet another perfect avenue. “I love all the drama,” Lola congratulated me. “I love how you’re pretending to hide and get pissed off with all the attention. This is going so well. I think we’re talking Super Bowl halftime again here, Ash. Keep it up. You’ve found a goldmine in that girl. She should be a professional actress. Are you sure she’s not?”

  Lola really had a way with words. With only a few, she could sew seeds of doubt. I looked at Ana, so pretty, so innocent, and I actually wondered. Was she faking it all? Could she be playing me, the one taking me for a ride?

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