Undone: Ash & Ana (Beg For It 2) - Page 26

She laughed. “I don’t mean that, Ash. You’re obviously crazy talented. I loved watching you last night.”

“You did?” I loved hearing her say it. But she returned to her former subject.

“I just mean, books are a joy. And you might love reading if you learned some strategies.”

“Are you going to be my reading tutor?” I leaned down, nuzzling her hair. Near her ear, I whispered, “I’ve always been hot for teacher.”

She laughed again, though this time it sounded a bit more breathy.

“Do you have a pair of glasses you could wear? So you could look at me all stern?”

“And then fling them off?” She smiled up at me.

“Or I’d fling them off. That would be the first thing to go.” My gaze swept down her body, her lush curves. I could practically see her naked, spread before me on my bed.

A flash shone from behind a tree. Click. The moment had been captured. Right. We were putting on a show. I saw it in her face, too, that reminder. Enough with this public PR bullshit, I needed to get her alone.

“Let’s get you a hot chocolate and then head to my place.” I brought my hands up to her shoulders and rubbed her, warming her up. It definitely warmed me up.

“Do we have time?” She pulled out her phone, concerned. “You have a show tonight. I wouldn’t want to make you late.”

“We have time.” What I had planned would happen hot and fast. Then later, after the show, we could go slow, see how far I could take her before she screamed in pleasure like she’d never known.

Baseball cap pulled down low, collar of my jacket up high, we entered into a small, gourmet warming hut without too much notice. No angry mobs, just a few eyes following us, but I was used to that. I got Ana her hot chocolate with whipped cream on top—I’d like to lick some whipped cream off of her top—and myself a cappuccino.

She’d fallen silent, and when I looked down I saw why. Underneath the counter ran a long display of magazines. Us Weekly had leapt first into the fray, but People and Entertainment Weekly and followed suit, and pictures of the two of us took space on all of their covers. The Rock Star and the Librarian. The press loved it. But there were also a couple of rags, the type that claimed alien abductions and paired celebrities with fake long-lost children. They weren’t as kind to Ana. One had somehow found an unflattering photo of her scowling and wrapped in a long, bulky coat. “Short, fat and ugly!” Their headline yelled. “How did she get Ash? Is it black magic?”

She turned tail, fast. I paid almost as fast and ran after her, catching her marching toward the street.

“Ana, wait. You can’t pay attention to that crap.”

“I know.” She nodded her head, but she avoided my eyes and her cheeks had turned a deep, embarrassed shade of pink.

“Come on, tomorrow they’ll be saying that I had a baby with the ghost of Audrey Hepburn.” That brought out a smile, but it looked weak. “I’ll get us a car and we’ll head up to my place.”

The ride was short, not much traffic mid-day on a Thursday, and we weren’t going too far. I wrapped my arm around her and tried to keep her mind off it, telling her about all the outrageous stories I’d seen printed about me over the years. I’d been romantically linked to people I’d never met, accused of parenting children with people I’d never touched. One rag had even declared that I was the secret love child of Sean Penn and Madonna. I kind of liked that one.

I’d learned to laugh it off, but just then I felt like an asshole. I’d dragged Ana into this, exposed her to those hyenas, offered her up on a platter knowing full well the kind of shit that would get thrown around. And I’d never considered, not even once, the effect it would have on her. I wasn’t a good person.

“You know it’s not true,” I murmured into her hair, silky and smooth. “You’re gorgeous.”

She gave a puff of a laugh, more like a fast exhale. “I’m burning that coat.”

“I don’t know.” I lifted up her hair and dropped my lips to her neck, kissing her light on her warm skin. “I can see some appeal. If you showed up on my doorstep wearing that coat and nothing underneath.” Dipping lower, I licked her neck, giving her a kiss, a teasing nip and suck. She tilted her head back, so natural at surrendering, her instinct to give herself over to the pleasure. I’d do everything I could to give her ample opportunity to experience it.

Starting now. The driver pulled up, we got out and climbed up the stairs of my home. A classic San Francisco Victorian, it was smaller and less modern than what I could afford, but I’d loved it the second I’d seen it. Built in 1920, it had withstood earthquakes and fires and the living room overlooked the bay, golden in the morning and flushed red at sunset. It couldn’t be beat.

And now I’d get Ana to myself, for a least a couple of hours before our show.

I let her into the entryway, high-ceilinged and bright with light. “Would you like a glass of wine?” It had to be around three o’clock. Regular people started drinking that early, didn’t they?

“Sure.” She followed me in, taking in the details in the woodwork, the framed rock memorabilia. I’d had someone decorate it for me, of course. I wasn’t going to take the time to line shit up and mess around with a hammer and nails. But I’d personally collected each and every piece.

“You like Joni Mitchell?” She stopped in front of a framed, signed copy of Blue from 1971.

“Yeah, that’s a great album. James Taylor plays guitar on it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And Stephen Stills. They used to live here, you know. Crosby, Stills and Nash.” I was rambling now, sharing nerdy rock history facts. How did this girl make me nervous?

“They lived here?” She looked around my place, surprised.

“No.” I realized what I’d said. “Not here here, but near here.”

“You’re such a rhymer,” she teased me.

I smiled down at her, forgetting all about the wine. She made me feel like such a kid. No one teased me. They sucked up to me, too aware of my power and wealth. Ana didn’t seem to care. I loved it.

“Rhyming is my secret weapon,” I agreed, pulling her closer to me, hands along her lower back. “You’re so pretty. Not all gritty.”

She burst out laughing, bringing a hand up to my shoulder. “That’s so bad.” But she didn’t take her hand away. She left it there, caressing my muscle as if she’d been wanting to do it for a while now.

I eased my hands underneath her shirt, wrapping them around her waist, her soft skin finally underneath my hands. My fingers were calloused from playing guitar all day every day, and when I trailed them across her sensitive stomach, she caught her breath. Her shirt was a thin cotton and I could see her nipples start to pebble underneath the fabric, pushing out, asking for my attention. Tracing a finger along the waistband of her jeans, working my way over to the button, I drew my lips down again to her neck.

“You’re so sweet,” I murmured, trailing my way down, on my way to her breast, down to her peaked point. But I had to make her laugh one more time, once more before I turned everything into panting, moaning, begging. I loved the way her laugh rang out, unstudied, real and true. “You’re so sweet. Feel my heat.”

She burst out laughing again, bringing her hands to my hair. “Oh, Ash.” I loved that sighing quality to her voice, as if she were amused but also something more. “That’s going to be your new hit song. I just know it.”

I smiled, too, Just before I brought my mouth down on her stiff nipple and she cried out.

“Starting the party early, are we?” Connor’s voice came from behind me in the hallway. I swore, I hoped under my breath. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that he’d be here, but it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise. We were like brothers. We didn’t actually live together, but he had a key. Mi casa es su casa and all that.

“Ashley, is it?” Connor approached us, a lecherous gleam in his eye. “You’re a tasty thing, aren’t you?”

“It’s Ana,” she corre

cted, looking at me nervously. I cleared my throat and scratched my head. This wasn’t going to go well.

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