Undone volume 2, p.18
Undone, Volume 2, page 18part #2 of Undone Series
“You’d better make sure she doesn’t lose it!” The ring was a loaner, of course, with a 10-carat stone worth about $300,000. “It’s a jaw-dropper,” Lola promised me.
Somehow I knew the kind of ring Lola would pick out wouldn’t suit Ana at all. Ana would want something special, not a wow-factor rock but a ring with some personal significance. Maybe her mother would know if she had any special jewelry or preferences? Family was so important to Ana, maybe there’d be a stone from a grandmother’s ring she’d want included? And inlaid, on her band, I could picture a music note. Something she loved, something that bound us together.
Wait, what I was thinking about? Designing Ana’s wedding ring? For real?
Aw, fuck. I ran my hand through my hair. I felt so twisted up. What was going on here? And was Ana feeling it, too? I knew I should talk to her about it, ask her if she wanted to give this a try, see what was really between us away from all the PR and the staged shows of affection. But I’d been too busy fucking her and now she was sleeping and then we’d plunge headlong into Vegas, baby, with my band mates and the staged event of all staged events: MARRY ME ANA on the jumbotron.
Why did part of me wish it weren’t just a set-up? Part of me, a growing part, wanted it to be real.
Ash woke me up so I could see the lights of Vegas from the plane. I’d never been there before, but I’d seen the shot so many times on TV, in movies, it almost looked familiar. The reds and blues and even greens from some of the larger buildings, set among a smaller constellation of tiny white lights. He pointed out a giant one as The Palazzo, and said we were staying at the MGM where he’d be playing that night, the last day of the year. The night we’d get engaged.
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 he
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.
“He’s the sexiest fucking man on the whole fucking planet,” a girl next to me exclaimed with her tongue practically lolling out onto the floor. I wanted to tell her to roll that tongue right back up into her mouth, that was my man. But I really had to agree, he was the sexiest fucking man on the whole fucking planet. The way that unbuttoned shirt teased the crowd, sometimes slipping down one of his broad, tattooed, muscular shoulders. The shoulders I’d bit and dug my nails into. The way he thrust his hips, rolling them, probably sendi
By the time they’d finished their set, I’d practically melted into a puddle on the damn floor. Ash rushed off, electric adrenaline practically shooting off of him. A guy took his guitar from him, another removed his microphone, and another handed him a towel, but he locked his eyes on me and never looked away. He grabbed my hand and pulled me, fast and urgent, through the backstage crowd and into a room for the band.
“You’re driving me crazy!” He dragged me in and locked the door after us. “Dancing backstage in that dress.” He was on me in an instant, his lips crushing mine, licking, sucking, biting down my throat. What did I do? I did what every woman and half the men in that audience had wanted to do for the last hour and a half. I reached up, grabbed that damn shirt and ripped it right off of him, baring his magnificent chest for me to devour.
I sank into him like a starving woman, running my tongue along his pecs, licking the hollow of his neck. He tasted like salt and man, all power and sex.
He grabbed my hips and pulled me with him, over where he leaned back against a table. “Are you worked up, Ana?” he growled in that low, sexy voice he’d just used to make thousands of people go wild.
“Yes!” I growled right back, grinding my hips into him. My dress was short enough that his hands instantly found my bare upper thighs, then pulled it up for more. After having watched him on stage, felt his magnetic presence, let him get me worked up the way he did everyone, I couldn’t believe I got to sink my teeth into him. So I did just that, right at his shoulder, the one he’d occasionally flashed to the crowd. Now it was mine.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He pressed me against him, loving every second of it. He pushed my panties to the side and found my wet heat, melting liquid for him. “Oh, you want it, don’t you, Ana? You want my cock?”
by Callie Harper have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes