“You make me so hard, Ana.” His voice sounded hoarse. “I haven’t been with anyone else.” I stroked him through his jeans and he groaned. “I’m hard all the time. I’ve been taking my cock in my hands and jerking off thinking of you. I’m going crazy.”
“I know how you feel,” I panted.
“You do?” His eyes opened, fixed on me. The silence stretched between us. Then he whispered, “Have you touched yourself thinking of me?”
I had, many times, late at night. I felt embarrassed admitting it, but I gave a shy nod yes.
His voice came out strained. “Show me.”
“What?” I sat up, surprised, sliding my leg off of his.
“Show me how you touch yourself, Ana.” He kept his hand on my thigh, his fingers pressing into me, urgent. My pussy throbbed.
“I couldn’t.” I shook my head, no. I could never show him how I touched myself. That was naughty.
“Show me, Ana. We’re both going insane. Show me how you touch your sweet pussy and make yourself come.”
Shy, unable to believe I was doing it, my hand slid down between my thighs. Without thinking, on instinct, I slipped my fingers into my slick heat. I sighed at the touch. I was already so wet for him. I was wet for him all the time, wanting him. He’d gotten me turned on at the club, dancing with me, then stroking me in the car and I wanted more. I slid my fingers along my slit, quivering with need. My body wanted to come.
“That’s it.” Ash watched my hand. “Show me.” He pulled up my dress, bunching it by my waist. He took my panties in his hand and pulled them far down my legs and then completely off. Now he could see everything.
“That’s it,” he exhaled, his breathing shallow. “Now spread your legs for me while you touch yourself.”
I closed my eyes, losing the last of my inhibitions, spreading my legs for him so he could see everything. So slick, so wet for him, I was dripping as I touched myself. I wanted him to know it, to see it. I finger-fucked myself in a slow rhythm, moaning as I remembered how he’d eaten me in that closet, in the dark, so ravenous for my taste.
I could hear Ash breathing harsh and heavy at my side, so turned on at the sight of me. “What are you thinking about, Ana?” he whispered, so close.
“How you lick me,” I whispered, guilty.
“How I lick your pussy?”
“Yes, and how you bite me.”
“How I bite your clit?” he demanded as I worked myself, moaning. “Wider, Ana,” he barked. “Spread wider. Show me everything.”
I did it, loving following his order, wanting to give him everything, so dirty, so naughty, stroking my pussy with my fingers. He unzipped the side of my dress and pulled at my shoulder strap, baring my breast. With a hiss, he grasped my breast and flicked my erect nipple with his thumb. I picked up the pace, thrusting into myself, circling my clit, so close.
“Do you like it when I bite you?” he asked. I opened my eyes to see him fixated, feasting like a starving man on the sight of my fingers pleasuring my pussy.
“Yes! I love it when you bite me,” I moaned, loving to confess it to him.
“Are you close to coming, Ana?” He gripped my breast in his hand, urgent.
“So close!” I cried out.
“When I bite you, come on your fingers.” He dropped his mouth, taking my nipple between my teeth. He bit down on my sensitive tip.
I came apart, exploding on my fingers. He bought his hand down to cover mine and feel every one of my shudders, all of my juices. He groaned in appreciation, licking my breast, stroking my hand.
“So good, Ana, so good. So sweet.”
“Ash!” Wave after wave hit me. It felt so intense, showing it to him.
I never could have believed I’d do something so dirty for a man. Now I couldn’t believe I’d ever have to stop, in just two weeks. Time was speeding so fast. But just now, I buried myself in Ash’s shoulder, blissed out as the limo took us to the airstrip where we’d fly off to Paris.
14
Ash
I let Ana sleep in the plane the whole flight over. I wanted some sort of a medal for doing it, maybe a merit badge. I didn’t think they gave those out in Boy Scouts. The “I let my girlfriend sleep instead of fucking her” award.
She looked like an angel lying there, her head in my lap. Right next to my raging hard on. She might be an angel, but I was all sinner. Her full, lush lips. The moans that came out of them. She was the most insane mix of naughty and nice, it practically made me drunk.
I’d been with a whole lot of naughty. Over-the-top naughty. Trying-so-hard naughty it bordered ridiculous. Some of the nasty shit women said to me, it almost made me blush. Almost.
But Ana, to see her actually blush, honestly unable to speak the words and tell me she’d touched herself. And then get so turned on she actually did it, in front of me, spreading her legs wide to show me all of it. Fuck. I just about came from the sight of it, how quickly she responded to one bite, fantasizing about me. She might kill me. And we hadn’t even had sex.
I’d have her in Paris. I had to. Without fucking her I wouldn’t make it past customs on the way out of the country. The French authorities would stop me with my blue balls—“sir, we’re sorry, this is the country of love and romance. You need to take care of that before you leave.”
I had the most romantic city in the world as my wingman. Bistros and jazz clubs and walks along the Seine. Who knew, it might even snow, a light magical blanket covering the city? We’d have to head inside to get warm. And I’d warm Ana up, that much I knew for sure.
While Sleeping Beauty got her rest, I messed around on my phone. There was a ton of press about me and Ana, as I knew there would be. What I hadn’t known was how captivating the videos would be to watch. There was one of the two of us messing around in a snowball fight. It didn’t get cornier than that, especially when the whole thing had been staged right down to the pile of snow I’d had at the ready to ball up at her.
But what sounded real was her peal of laughter, first when I hit her, then more triumphant when she actually got me back, square between the shoulders. And then there was that look in her eyes, after I caught her and spun her around and set her down right up close next to me. She looked up, sparkling and alive and radiant, rosy cheeked and ready for the kiss I was about to give her. I paused on that frame more than a few times.
And then there was footage from earlier that night in front of the club. I liked seeing her again in that sexy, slinky silver dress. The stylists had really done their job well with her, putting her in something so simple and yet so tempting. Almost too short, grazing the top of her thighs, showing miles of leg down to her high heels. Short enough to bunch up at her waist as I’d bared her and she’d spread her legs and showed me how she pleasured herself.
With a groan, I shifted my weight in the seat. Ana stayed sleeping in my lap, completely unaware. I’d have to try to get some sleep myself, that was the trick with red-eye flights. You had to sleep the whole way and then you could hit the ground running once you landed. Usually, some sex and booze did the trick for me. On a private plane like we were on now, you could have anything and everything you wanted. This new self-imposed torture, spending time with the one woman I couldn’t have, that made sleep somewhat harder.
I watched some more footage from tonight. I liked the end of the clip. The same guys shouted out the same shit, about how I was a heartbreaker and wasn’t she afraid I’d do it to her. And she defended me. She called me a good person and told them to back off.
I couldn’t agree with her. I wasn’t a good person. And they were just doing their jobs, however rude. But she’d defended me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that. Really fiercely defended me, like I deserved it. She was crazy. And I loved her for it.
The L word. Where had that come from?
Resting my head back on the seat pillow, I told myself not to think about it. I needed to get some shut-eye. We’d arrive on the 27th so we’d really only hav
e three days in Paris before we flew back on the evening of the 30th. She’d never been before to my favorite city. Three whole days in Paris. But it was the nights I was thinking of as I drifted off. Three nights, with Ana, in a hotel room. Yes, the days would be fun but I was really looking forward to the nights.
§
“Ash, I have to ask you something.” Ana and I walked arm in arm along what had to be one of the more charming streets in Paris, in the sixth arrondissement. But what street in Paris wasn’t charming? The tiny restaurants, the bicycles weaving slowly along, the impossibly fashionable women with impossibly tiny dogs. Each apartment window was framed with intricate wrought-iron railings, each block dotted with warm, glowing lamps. It was dusk, just before five o’clock in late December and little white lights glowed along the edges of nearly every shop window.
“Yes, ma cherie?” We were in France. I was allowed to use terms of endearment. It was like a national right granted to every person on French soil.
“Are you a baron?”