“We have some signature cocktails,” the bartender offered. He stood by us, at the ready. I imagined that happened a lot to Ash Black.
“What do you recommend?” I asked.
“The Bardot,” he answered without hesitation. I raised an eyebrow at Ash to see what he thought.
“It’s pisco,” said the bartender.
“Peruvian brandy,” Ash explained.
I smiled. It wasn’t even the type of thing I was embarrassed to not know. I wasn’t sophisticated and worldly and there was no use in pretending I was. “Never had it before, but I’ll try it.”
I shrugged off my coat and Ash helped me drape it along the back of my tall bar chair, such a gentleman.
“You look amazing.” His gaze raked over me, lingering a moment on my thighs. As I sat on the stool, my skirt rode up and exposed a long stretch of skin. Take that, Liv. I’d still caught his eye, even though I’d covered up my lingerie with clothing.
But I did have on lacy black panties underneath. Who knew where the night might lead? I’d been raised with a strict moral code, of course, and had the virtues of chastity extolled to me on more than one occasion. I had to admit, it had worked its way into my brain. When fooling around with guys, I could practically picture a light-up map of the bases, big red Xs flashing over every one but first.
I’d had sex before of course, with Stan. Stan the man, over and out in five minutes. He’d been pretty proud of his prowess in the bedroom. I didn’t think he had much to brag about, but what did I know, really? Maybe lots of women never had orgasms with their partners? I’d given myself much more pleasure with my fingers and hot fantasies, some of them starring Ash Black. But maybe that was normal? I figured I wasn’t a very sexual person, that’s what it came down to.
But sitting next to Ash, our legs brushing against each other, I felt pretty damn sexual. Every time our legs grazed against each other, every moment his fingers drifted toward my own, lightly caressing my skin, I tingled, a slow, warm buzz forming deep inside. He asked me about the rest of my day, how teaching piano went, what my roommates had thought when I’d told them the story of how we met.
“Oh, they were hilarious. They always are.”
“Did they warn you about me?” He took a sip of his drink and kept the tone of his voice light, but I sensed something more in the question. As if he earnestly cared what I thought of him.
“Jillian warned me, yes. But she’s also worried about every news story she reads about the city. And also weather events.”
“Weather events?”
“You know, like tornadoes. She’s made us an escape plan in place in case one hits.”
“We don’t get tornadoes in New York.”
“You never can be too prepared according to Jillian.”
He seemed amused. “How about your other roommate?”
“Oh, Liv wanted me to wear nothing but a bra and panties to come meet you.” As soon as I’d said it, I couldn’t believe it had slipped out of my mouth. I blushed and took a quick sip of my drink. It went down smooth and delicious, creamy and lemony all at once.
“I like Liv,” Ash declared.
“She put eyeliner on me, too.” He smiled, but his mind clearly was still on the image I’d created a moment ago. I hadn’t meant to say that. Nervously, I asked, “Have you ever worn eyeliner?”
“What?”
“You know, like Keith Richards. Rock star eyeliner.” What was I talking about? Anything other than my showing up naked.
“When I first started out, stylists tried that sort of thing on me for photos. There were a couple of early shoots where they made me look a lot like Captain Jack Sparrow.”
I laughed. “I’d love to see those photos.”
“I’ve burned them all.” He looked deadly serious.
“Really?”
“Oh, no, you can’t get rid of anything these days. Even if you try. Once it’s out in the media, it’s out.”
I nodded, thinking of his recent scandal with Mandy. All around us, I could tell people were noticing him, watching and whispering. He seemed oblivious, but to me it felt like that paranoia from middle school where you were so self-conscious you thought everyone was staring at you in your new shirt. Only this time, it was true. The walls really did have eyes.
“Hi, sorry to bother you guys, but could I take a picture with you?” A middle-aged woman in a big coat interrupted our conversation. She only had eyes for Ash.
“Sure.” He gave her a gorgeous smile and the sigh she gave in return was audible. Mental note: he has that effect on all the ladies, Ana. Don’t think there’s anything special between you two.
“Could you?” She held her phone up to me and I positioned it to snap a photo of her and Ash. She wrapped her arms around him like she wanted to bring him home with her.
“My daughter’s a huge fan,” she explained. Yeah, right. This woman probably had an Ash Black mug she drank coffee out of every morning.
I took a couple of pictures, Ash looking magnificent in every one of them, and handed it back.
“Thanks so much. You’re so amazing,” she gushed.
Ash gave her a smile and a goodbye wave. Nothing out of the ordinary here. I took a sip of my drink.
“You OK?” he asked, hand to my wrist. Mmm. That shouldn’t feel so good, such a casual touch, but his fingers brushing my skin nearly made me fall right off the bar stool. His thumb stroked my wrist bone, then the sensitive skin inside.
“Um,” I cleared my throat and made myself say something other than ‘That Feels So Good.’ “Are you used to the attention?”
“You mean that woman asking for a photo?”
“Her, yes, but also all the other people here watching you, whispering about you.” In a quieter voice, leaning in, I murmured, “There’s a guy down at the end of the bar who hasn’t stopped staring at you. Not even for a second.”
“Yeah.” Ash nodded. “I know.”
“Doesn’t it freak you out?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Like when I’m getting chased by an angry mob.” He smiled and made light of the scene from earlier today. But he had been getting chased by a mob. They’d been one step away from yelling “Kill the beast!”
“It goes with the territory.” He shrugged. “You don’t get to be famous without that part of it, too. And most people are friendly.”
I sipped my drink, not too sure. It seemed pretty strange to me.
“Does it make you uncomfortable being here with me?” His dark brown eyes filled with concern over my well-being.
“I wasn’t trying to say that.” I looked up at him. “I’m happy here with you.”
“I only suggested the bar down here so you wouldn’t feel weird about meeting me in my hotel room. But it does happen to be a mere elevator ride away.”
“You’re staying here at this hotel?”
“Yes, I am.” He gave me a smile so inviting I just about fell into it. I had to get a grip. But it would be nice to be up in the privacy of his hotel room. No staring, no asking for photographs. Just him and me, me and him. It probably wasn’t a great idea.
Leaning in to me, he rested his hand on my bare, exposed thigh. His cheek so close to mine, his lips right at my ear, he whispered, “I promise, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” My eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. Such promise in that statement. I knew this man could get me to want him to do just about anything. Jillian, my mother and father, just about every Sunday school teacher I’d ever had jumped up and down in my head yelling “Are you crazy? Look at this delinquent with his tattoos and bedroom eyes! Run away!”
But his hand on my thighs felt so good, starting a slow burning heat for him between my legs. I wanted to part them, give him some access, see what he could do with those long fingers. He was a guitar player, after all, a master at playing an instrument. He must be sensitive to every response, so attuned to how each movement played into and aroused the next.
“Let’s get o
ut of here,” he whispered, husky and low, in that voice that made him world-famous. What was a girl to do?
“All right.” The words slipped right out of my mouth. He finished his drink, then carried mine and my coat across the bar, all eyes watching us, tracking every step. I had no idea how he was used to that spotlight.
In the elevator, I sighed with relief. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“You get used to it.”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine.”
“There are ways to manage. You can control a lot with the right PR and security. I’d make sure it wasn’t too awful for you if you, you know, spent some time with me.”
What was he talking about? My heart beat fast and I had to stop myself from biting my nails. Was he discussing arrangements for how to deal with the press if we started dating? Did Ash Black even date people? I didn’t know every aspect of his life story, but everything I’d heard seemed to suggest that he epitomized Rock Star, from the leather pants to the ever-changing face of actresses/models/popstars by his side. But he wasn’t wearing leather pants right now. He had on jeans, faded ones, though I bet they still cost $500 and it hadn’t been Ash Black who’d broken them in. But, still. Maybe there was a whole other side to him? A deeper, more serious side that wanted to find a real connection with someone? And maybe he needed someone outside of his celebrity bubble to do it?
His hotel suite was gigantic, easily far bigger than the apartment I lived in with two roommates. The living room, alone, had to be 400 square feet, with huge windows overlooking the city skyline at night. Front and center, the Empire State building shone lit up for the holidays, red then green, then red again at the top of that iconic spire.
“It’s so beautiful,” I admired, taking it all in.
“So beautiful.” He brought his hands to my shoulders and stood behind me. I could feel his heat, how close he stood, and somehow, even with the breathtaking view before us, he made me feel like it was me he was admiring.
“Here, let’s get comfortable.” He led me over to a plush couch, somehow threading the needle between grandly sumptuous and sleekly modern. Everything in the hotel room seemed like a unique piece of art, from the chunky industrial-sized coffee table to the burnished pewter lamp overhead. He must have pressed a button that did something to something, because soft music began, atmospheric jazz, blending perfectly with our view of the city at night.
“Not The Blacklist?” I had to tease him.
“Do you want to listen to my music?” He sat next to me, close, his leg against mine, his large, long arm draped across the back of the couch.
“No, this is perfect.” He handed me my drink and I took a smooth, lemony sip.
“I’m glad I have you here to myself.” His voice, so gritty yet so intoxicating, affected me even more than the alcohol.
“It must be hard, not having any privacy. You can’t go anywhere by yourself.”
“Why would I want to be by myself?” He dipped his head down and nuzzled my hair, not a lot, just a slight gesture but my stomach flipped right over. Even the Russian judge gave it a ten.
“I love walking around the city by myself.” It was hard to keep my thoughts assembled, but I tried. “There’s so much to do here, but sometimes I think my favorite thing to do is listen to music, walk around and people-watch. It’s like being inside a movie all the time.”
“Yeah, I can’t really do that.”
“That’s so sad.” I meant it. He couldn’t even go for a walk by himself. He was so restricted, so trapped.
“Do you feel bad for me?” he asked, toying with my hair, twisting strands between his fingers, feathering it out across my back.
“Well…” It sounded ridiculous, I knew that. Here I was, a nobody librarian feeling bad for a world-famous superstar.
“Do you know what would make me feel better?” His fingers found my neck now, circling, stroking, massaging. Divine. Unthinking, on instinct, I tilted my face toward him and he started kissing me. His mouth, warm and sure on my mine, worshipping me, parting my lips so slow and intense. He kept his hand on my neck, his palm and his fingers so large they circled it, holding me there as he kissed me deeper. His tongue, so wicked, coaxing, seeking me, drawing me out.
His other hand worked its way up my arm, along my side, up to the swell of my breast. He hissed in appreciation as he cupped it, full and round, and swept his thumb across my nipple.
“Oh!” I gasped as he grazed my swollen, pebbled tip, every nerve ending in my body wired into that point. I started to throb between my legs and I clenched my thighs, unable to believe the wild response he provoked.
“Anika.” He caressed my name as he did my neck, my breast, my lips, stroking and working me. “How do you like it?” He started trailing kisses along my jaw, still gentle and light. “Do you like it sweet?” He dipped down, taking advantage of my tipped-back head, my exposed skin to lick and kiss, sending shivers through my entire body.
“Or do you like it rough?” As he asked, he used his teeth to scrape and then lightly bite, pressing into the sensitive skin of my neck. Taking my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he pinched, not too hard, suggesting what it could feel like if he did get rough.
“Ah!” I cried out, arching my back and pressing my breast into his hand, tilting my head back even more. He felt so sure, so dominant, so good.
“Mmm.” He drew his hands back into my hair, playing with it, his mouth light again at my ear. “You like it rough, don’t you, Ana?” I couldn’t answer. I trembled under his touch, my breathing starting to come in short pants. “Have you ever had it really rough?” As he spoke, he played with me, nibbling my earlobe, licking it, massaging my hair.
“Um, no.” My voice came out in a whisper. I felt half mesmerized, half shocked by the intensity of my reaction. Part of me wanted to get swept away by the fantasy. The other part of me asked what the hell was going on? Ash reached down and found my wrist, easily circling his fingers around it.
“I think you might like it, Ana.” He took my wrist and brought it up by my shoulder, pressing it back into the plush couch cushion. “You might like it, tied up. Your wrists bound.” He put pressure on my wrist as he spoke and I could imagine it, my wrists tied up, fastened over my head. Stripped naked, bared to him.
His lips down at a pressure point on my neck, he licked, then sucked. “What do you think, Ana? Would you like to be tied down and spanked? I’d love to spank you, hard, right before I fuck you.”
Um. “Where’s the bathroom?” I stood up.
He looked up at me, his eyes dark and smoldering. He pointed around the corner.
“Be right back.”
I ducked into the dark room and sat down, hands over my face. I needed to get a grip. I had to figure out what I wanted out of this night and I had to figure it out fast. Did I want to have wanton sex all over his hotel room, tied up and who knew what else, a reckless crazy night of abandon and passion? I’d probably have more orgasms with this man in one night than I’d given myself my whole life. OK, that was probably an exaggeration, but I’d never responded to anyone the way I had with him. We’d been sitting on his couch for all of ten minutes and he nearly had me agreeing to let him tie me up then spank and fuck me.
It might be too much. I’d told myself I’d hop on the motorcycle the next time it drove past me in life. But really, who was this guy? What did I know about him? He was sexy as sin and obviously knew exactly how to touch a woman to make her insane with lust, but that was because he’d done it over and over, every day of his life for the last decade, to hundreds maybe thousands of women.
What did I want? Did I really want to join the chorus line of girls who’d been fucked by Ash Black? Was that my life’s ambition?
Damn it. Apparently, you could take the good-girl librarian out of the library, but you couldn’t take the library…no, wait, that wasn’t it. You could take the…Anyway, I didn’t think I could do it. It was exactly the kind of thing that filled my
late night fantasies, but this wasn’t that. This was reality. I’d have to rain on this parade, tell him it had been fun meeting him, but I wasn’t that kind of girl.
Shaking, I walked back out into the main room. He was standing next to the window, a tall, dark silhouette looking out at the view. He brought his hand up to his brow and rubbed, shaking his head. I stepped forward.
“Hey, there you are.” He walked toward me. “Listen, I’m sorry. I was, you know, coming on sort of strong there.”
“Oh, it’s OK.” I shrugged it off though, yes, he’d had me in his hotel room all of ten minutes before he’d started in with the bondage talk. That was sort of strong.
“I’m not used to being with girls like you.”
“I should probably go,” I said reluctantly, looking for my coat.
“No!” He sprang over to my side and took my hand in his. “No, don’t go. It’s just that I’m used to being with models and strippers, you know, or celebrities as famous as me.”
“Not helping, Ash.”
“Sorry, I suck at this.”
“You’re not great.”
“I’m sorry.” He really looked it, too.
“No, I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I should be cooler. I’m pretty nerdy. I’m a librarian and a piano teacher. I knit.”
“Knitting is cool!” he protested.
“No, knitting is not cool. And I’m sure you expected…I mean, you’re a rock star and I came up to your hotel room, so—”
“No, it’s not like that.”
I looked up at him, arching an eyebrow. He broke into a smile. “OK, so it’s almost always like that. But that’s why I like you! You’re different! You’re real. You’re not like the kind of girls I usually spend time with.”
Why did it feel like he was trying hard to convince me to stay? This whole night was surreal. I figured the second I hesitated, he’d have me out the door so fast my head would spin.
Undone, Volume 1 Page 7