by Willow Aster
He leans against the doorframe and watches me smugly. He can’t wipe the mischief off his face and every now and then he’ll act like he’s coming toward me, only to make me jump higher. It sends me into a fit of laughter every time he makes a start for me. I’m like a little kid who screams just at the threat of being tickled, without even being touched.
I lean over and put my hands on my knees while I try to put a serious face on and catch my breath.
“Uncle,” I finally say when I lean back up.
“What’s that?”
“Uncle, you know … like, I give?”
“Oh, I just didn’t hear you. You were saying you give up?” He laughs as he stretches his arms on either side of the door, reminding me there’s no way out but past him.
I cross my arms and attempt a glare. “Yes, I’ve had enough tickling.”
He crosses his arms then, copying me. “Oh, you have? Are you sure?”
Something about the way he says that makes my blood go hot. “Yes?” I whisper.
His smile fills his face and you’d never know we’d been talking about traumatic things all night. My heart feels lighter than it’s ever felt.
“Come here, baby,” he says softly.
I inch closer to him, still not trusting him to be done tickling. I get close enough and he swoops me up in his arms and carries me back to his bedroom.
He lays me on the bed and holds up his finger for me to wait a second. He opens his suitcase and pulls out a large t-shirt. “Want to wear this?” he asks.
I nod.
“Can I put it on you?”
I nod again.
He grabs my hand and pulls me up until we’re both on our knees. He slowly lifts my shirt up over my head, looking in my eyes the whole time. When it’s off, he leans back and runs the tips of his fingers right above where the fabric of my bra starts. I’m so glad I’m wearing a pretty lacy one. He places light kisses down my neck—down, down, down—but comes right back up to look at me again. I’m breathless and don’t want him to stop.
“God, you are something else, Sparrow. You are … I could kiss every inch, all night long…”
Okay.
He undoes the buttons on my jeans and slowly pulls them off. I do a quick check to make sure my panties are matching, happy when I see they are. His hands cup my bum and for a moment, his eyes close and he catches his breath.
When he opens his eyes, he bites his lower lip and I wish I could do that myself. “Purple,” he says, patting my bra strap and grinning. “I’ve never loved purple so much.” He’s taking his time, his eyes roving up and down my body, making my nipples perk up and take notice. I don’t move. I let him look, surprised that I’m not trying to cover up. I want him to see me and enjoy it.
“I hate to do this. I hate it so much, but we should … get some sleep.” His eyes are betraying what he’s saying, even as he puts his t-shirt over my head and slowly tugs it down. It stops just below my underwear. He yanks off his shirt and jeans, leaving on black boxer briefs. I try not to stare but just can’t help myself.
Wow.
Ian groans as he hugs me close and pulls me down on the bed, turning me away from him and cradling my body from behind. We each hold the other’s hands, all four hands in a warm clump by my face, and eventually, I drift off, thinking this is the best night I’ve ever had.
The next morning, we’re still in the same position, only I’m sweating like a cow. I’ve always gotten so hot when I sleep. Ian has his arms wrapped tight around me, his body outlining mine. He feels divine.
I take a deep breath and he grips me even tighter. I struggle to not giggle like a schoolgirl about the way his body is pressing against mine. He unconsciously grinds into my bun cheeks and a little laugh sneaks out. He makes a groggy moan and says, “Let’s just forget I did that, okay? I was having such a great dream.” I laugh outright then and his body responds, but he doesn’t let go. “If we just ignore it, it will go away,” he whispers. I laugh harder. “Aw, hell, who am I kidding,” he mutters and starts to untangle from me.
“You don’t have to go anywhere, “ I say softly.
He nestles back in. “Mmm, okay.” He runs his hand down my arm and my nerve endings feel like bacon, sizzling and popping all over the place. “You’re hot!”
“Why, thank you,” I say like the cheeseball that I am.
He snickers. “You’re welcome. But seriously, you’re like a heater.” He leans over me and props himself up on his hands. His shirt is baggy on me and a V-neck, so it’s hanging low. With one finger, he wipes in between my boobs. “You’re sweating.”
“Uh. Yeah?”
“That’s hot.”
I laugh at him. “You’re crazy.”
He leans his head down and licks where his finger has just been. “You taste good, too.” He runs his tongue just under the lace and then he lays his head on my chest and gives a big sigh. He’s still for a minute and then his finger lightly touches the lace of my bra, like he just can’t help himself from sneaking a feel.
I think I stopped breathing back when I woke up, so when my stomach drops in on itself with that touch, I get lightheaded.
The next thing I know, Ian is on his feet, off the bed and hightailing it to the bathroom. He leaves me staring longingly at the back of him, propped up on both elbows and wishing I could have caught a better look.
I hear the shower running and five minutes later, Ian is out and walking through the bedroom in a hotel robe. His black hair is dripping wet, but still standing up everywhere. He looks like he didn’t even dry off, just put on the robe. He’s brushing his teeth and I hop up and skitter past him to the bathroom. I brush my teeth first and look at myself in Ian’s shirt. In the morning light, I’m a little embarrassed by how I look. My cheeks are flushed. My hair is massive and a little frizzy from the sweat. Tessa would say I have sex hair, but sadly it’s always without the sex. I decide to not over-think anything today and hop in the shower. I take the fastest shower ever, only pausing long enough to see if I can smell the shampoo. I think it smells good. Hopefully.
When I get out, I put on the other robe and walk out, wondering what I’m going to wear for the day. It wasn’t exactly planned for me to stay here overnight. The bedroom is empty; in fact, the whole penthouse is empty. My phone is next to the bed and there’s a text from Ian.
I’ll be back in 15, Your Hotness.
I smile and get to work on my wet hair. I have 15 minutes—wait, no, 7 minutes!—to get this mop looking fabulous. I quickly give up the thought of even trying when I realize I don’t have a single product in my purse. It will just have to be a frizzy day. I hurriedly put on a touch of makeup from my purse and am getting to the mascara when Ian walks in and stands beside me, watching.
He’s quiet. I look at him through the mirror and continue with the mascara wand. He reaches out and touches my hair reverently, following the trail of one curl from the crown of my head all the way down to my waist.
“I love your hair.” His voice sounds raspy and sweet, like hard whiskey sauce poured over bread pudding. Sweet, but with a kick.
“I love your voice,” I whisper back.
He hops on the bathroom vanity and faces me, carefully running his finger across my lips. “You have the kind of face artists want to paint.”
I stop what I’m doing and just look at him. “You should think about— oh, I don’t know—writing songs for a living.” I grin at him.
“It’s the truth.” He holds up his hand when I start sputtering back a retort. “I can say it if I mean it,” he yells over me. He’s laughing and tugging on me, leading me out to the bedroom. “You don’t need to do anything else. If you look any better, I’m gonna maul you on this bed right here and now.” His face falls when he thinks about what he said. “I mean … shi-oot, Sparrow. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Asher hangs over us, unspoken.
“Did you just say, ‘shi-oot’?” I don’t want the air to feel heavy. I wrap my ar
ms around his waist, trying to find a ticklish spot. He’s laughing at me calling him out, but he’s not even flinching. “What? Are you not ticklish?”
“Nope,” he says proudly.
“You have to be ticklish. Everybody is.”
“I’ve learned how to not be.”
“That’s impossible.” I’m tickling every spot I can think of, but he doesn’t budge. “Well, you’re no fun.”
He leans over and kisses me on the tip of my nose. “Take that back,” he says.
“Okay, I take it back.”
“I got some coffee and these chocolate pastry things that looked really good, want some?”
“Yeah! Are you kidding?” I race to the bag and pull out an enormous chocolate croissant. “Oh, how did you know? I LOVE THESE THINGS.”
“You are so fun to feed.” Ian laughs.
We sit down and begin to eat. The coffee is hitting me just right and the croissant is so good, I can’t think straight. Ian watches me with an amused expression. His look of adoration is something I could certainly get used to. It fills me up with more boldness than I’m used to feeling. I like it; I like what he does to me.
“Little Bird?” he says softly. “I’m not the best at talking things out, but I think we should talk about Asher more and about what happened to you.”
“I don’t know what else to say about it. I don’t even know how to make sense of it. Not knowing all that happened, I can’t even process how to feel about it. I’ve remembered a couple of things. One was yesterday, when we were…” my voice awkwardly trails off.
“Is that why you ran out of here so fast? You remembered something? I just thought you needed to confront him.”
“Well, that too.” Suddenly, the room feels like it’s closing in on me and I don’t want him to look at me anymore. “I remember him throwing my bra across the room,” I say, embarrassed. “And then, nothing. I must have passed out right after that. So, maybe I totally made the moves on him.”
Ian’s gaze cuts through me as he listens. When I don’t say anything else, he says, “No, Sparrow. If you passed out, you weren’t making the moves on him. How much did you drink, anyway? Do you think he put something in your drink?”
I hadn’t even thought of that. I don’t even want to think of that. Despite everything, I still need to think Asher isn’t that coldblooded. I don’t tell Ian how sore I was for days after it happened. That’s probably normal. I wouldn’t know.
“He kept giving me flirtinis and I don’t drink very often. I’ve never even gotten drunk before,” I moan. “I can’t believe I did that. But I … trusted him.”
Ian jumps up and grabs his phone. “I’ll be right outside, I need to make a phone call. Are you okay for a minute?”
“Of course.”
He’s outside for closer to ten minutes, and he seems more relaxed when he comes inside. He kisses my forehead before he sits back down. “I hope you don’t mind—I called Jared. Tessa was with him and she offered to bring by some of your things. Is that okay? I told them about the tickets and they’d like to go. You still don’t have to come to the show if you don’t want, you can lounge around here, if that sounds better.” He looks at me, trying to read what I’m thinking.
“I want to come to the show! If you want me there, I’ll be there.”
“I want you wherever I am,” he leans across the table and kisses me gently. When we can’t seem to stop, he stands up, never breaking contact and pulls me out of my chair. I lose myself in him. When his mouth touches me—anywhere—I feel it throughout my body. His hands are just grazing the edges of my robe and he’s beginning to move us toward the bed, when someone knocks on the door.
He leans back and smiles. “That’s probably Tessa.”
“How did she get here so fast?”
“Well, we’ve been kissing for about … oh, twenty minutes?”
“No!”
He laughs. “Time stand still when you’re with me, baby?” I roll my eyes and take his hand while we walk to the door. My lips do feel a little bit raw. “It stood still for me,” he whispers, “I just saw that clock right there when I first stood up to kiss you.” He points at the huge clock on the wall.
Tessa is wide-eyed when we open the door. Me in my fluffy white robe and Ian in his clothes. Her face is speaking volumes, but she maintains her composure. She has a load—a little rolling suitcase and a couple plastic garment bags draped over her arm. She beams at me and hugs me after Ian relieves her of the luggage.
“You did it!” she whispers.
I pinch her arm. “Shush.”
She leans back and assesses my face. She scowls when she sees my expression.
“Sparrow? I need to go run a quick errand. Do you mind if I head out while you’re getting ready?” Ian asks. He’s distracting me by running his hand through my hair.
“Of course, go ahead.”
“Tessa, make yourself at home,” he says, grinning.
As soon as he goes out the door, Tessa sets in. “What? Still no? Whyyyy—” If she were typing, it would be in shouty caps. “Ro, you are the last one on earth still holding onto your V-card. This guy that you have mooned over for years is looking at you like you’re the last goddess standing.”
I laugh at her and she waits for me to answer her nonsense. “What did you bring?” Distraction is always the best way to avoid confrontation.
She opens up the suitcase and proudly shows me all my toiletries, curling iron, my prettiest underwear and hidden underneath that, she holds up a sexy nightie. “To push you on over,” she smirks.
“Tess,” I groan. However, I pick it up and see if it’s the right size. It is.
“This is a nice hotel.” She knows a thing or two about distraction.
“Isn’t it something?” I open the garment bag and see a gorgeous green dress that is so short it looks like a long blouse. It looks tiny, but the material gives, so it should fit. It’s something the girlfriend of a rockstar would wear and I gulp when I think of going out in it. I will have to avoid leaning over even the slightest bit. So help me, if I drop something, I am NOT picking it up.
“Open that zipper, I put the shoes in there.” Tessa motions toward the outside pocket of my suitcase. An amazing pair of shoes are in there.
“How did you pick this stuff out? He barely called you, not even an hour ago!”
“Well … I might have heard from him yesterday. And he might have asked me to pick up something for tonight then,” Tessa grins mischievously.
“Really. Well, thank you, Tess.” I hang up the garment bag. “But you could have picked up something that would at least cover my …”
“Oh, I had specific requirements to follow. This man LOVES your legs, let me tell you. Under no circumstances was I allowed to buy something to cover them up.” She laughs. “Now these two outfits were just supposed to be comfortable, but of course, I had to find cute AND comfortable.”
“Wow, I can’t believe you both did all this. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me he was coming!”
She looks at me sheepishly and shrugs. “Surprise?” she says.
I think about all the trouble Ian has gone to this weekend—when I had no idea he was even coming—and I smile at Tessa.
“I think I might give him a chance,” I tell her.
And by might, I mean I am definitely going to forget about all my fears regarding this man and go with my heart.
- 15 -
Watching Ian on electric guitar is a full sensory experience. I’ve seen him play both electric and acoustic guitar, and he says he prefers the acoustic, but there is something about him strapping on the electric that makes me want to take him down on the stage and have my way with him. He looks feral; his light eyes taking on different colors with the spotlights and his hair with all its haphazardness. He has on a fitted blue t-shirt that outlines his toned arms and torso. I just want to take it off…
Ian does background vocals here and there, but mostly just plays the guitar li
ke a maniac. It’s obvious the band is thrilled that he’s with them. They feature him on guitar solos practically every song, grinning and closing in on him as he plays these crazy, screaming runs. I can’t take my eyes off of Ian. Every now and then, he’ll make a hilarious face, and it pulls me out of my lustful state just long enough to laugh at him.
Girls scream like banshees whenever Ian takes a solo. They yell his name, and the ones closest to the stage hold their arms out to him, as if just touching the bottom of his shoe will make them complete.
When the show is over, we go backstage where Ian has told us to meet him. I’ve already gotten a text from him, saying: Where are you?
It takes us a while to get through the crowd, even though we’re in the front. We wind our way through and get to the guard who stands blocking the door. He asks for my name and when I tell him, we get through. Various people from the show are either chatting or busily getting gear out to the bus. I’m trying not to be paranoid, but it feels like the room goes quiet and all eyes are on me. I lower my head to avoid making any eye contact with the gawkers. I just want to get to Ian.
He’s standing just outside the room where he told us to come. He’s sandwiched between two tall models who have their hands all over him. He doesn’t look bothered, which annoys me. He looks amused and a little distracted. It might be the only time I’ve ever been happy with my height. I’m just as tall as they are. However, they’re gorgeous. One is leaning over and whispering something in his ear, and he laughs and shakes his head. I’m ready to turn around and keep walking when he spots me.
“Baby!” he says, loosening himself from the leeches. My insides warm that he just called me ‘baby’ in front of these two. “Holy fuck!” he says and then lifts both hands high in the air. He’s trying to drag his eyes back up to my face but having a really hard time. He pulls me to him and grabs each side of my face. “Sorry. That just popped out.”