Did I even know who he really was? Our bodies clicked like we were made for each other. But what did that really mean? I suddenly felt a moment of nostalgia for boring old Stan. He’d practically bored me to tears, but maybe that was better than this craziness?
Maybe I should end it. Maybe I should pack up my things and head home, tell Ash it was over. He’d probably already gotten enough publicity out of this to make the stunt worthwhile. He could tell people I’d broken it off and he’d be telling the truth. Who knew, he might even still chip in the money for the library?
Ending it would probably be the smart thing to do, because I’d never felt so confused in all my life. I’d always trusted my instincts with people, but now my wires were all crossed. What we had between us felt so real to me, but maybe it was all fake for him? A public performance he extended into his private bedroom.
My phone itched in my pocket. I pulled it out. With morbid fascination, I typed in his name.
There it was on YouTube, the back of Ash’s head bent down over mine. The title of the video: “Ash Black Hot and Heavy.” Wincing already, I pressed play.
16
Ash
I came back in the early hours of the morning. I’d paid a taxi to drive me around, then let me out in Saint-Germain. I walked around the Left Bank of the Seine like a wolf on the prowl, collar up, hat down, not pausing to look in the shop windows. They were all closed anyway. I did stop in front of a Benedictine Abbey. Built in the sixth century, it claimed to be the oldest in Paris. Descartes was buried there. He was the one who came up with, “I think therefor I am.”
Thanks a lot, Descartes. Too filled with my own thoughts for my own good, I jammed my fists back in my pockets. I wasn’t good at thinking. Acting on instinct, or just acting on pure need, feel, that I was good at. I felt music. I could sense what a crowd wanted on stage. With a woman, I could tune in and lose myself completely, sense her pleasure and what she needed maybe even more than she did.
With Ana, it had been on a whole other level. I’d lost myself completely. I didn’t think I’d had a single rational thought for hours after she went down on me. I’d taken her, again and again, in front of the fire, in our bed, and she’d craved it as much as me. I think I’d been hard the entire time. Her skin, her scent, her moans, the way she arched back into me in bed, grinding her ass onto my cock. The way she took everything I could give and still wanted more, even though I could tell I was stretching her, pushing her to the utmost.
It burned in me, the need to consume her again, to have her and hold her and never let her go. But she’d kicked me out.
Or, at least it had felt that way at first. I’d stormed out of the hotel room, mad as hell. I’d been pissed off at the cameramen who interrupted our moment, scaring her and violating our privacy. But then she’d yelled at me and it had been easy to turn my anger on her, decide she was being unfair and jumping on the #HateAshBlack bandwagon.
Only, that wasn’t it, was it? She had a point. I had dragged her into all of this. And I knew exactly what shit I’d been dragging her into. I’d lived it for years now, this insane existence, every wall around me just a one-way mirror with countless, faceless spectators on the other side. At first, it had been a rush, all the attention and all the women. The money had been fun, too. I’d grown up with it but it hadn’t been mine, it had been my father’s and my family’s but none of them wanted much to do with me. I’d always felt like the unworthy black sheep, all the more reason to call myself Ash Black.
So at first, I’d enjoyed the ride. I’d sought it out, finally in my element, able to act as crazy as I wanted and only find applause at the end of my stunts. After years of disapproval, teachers and parents and my older brother all wagging their fingers at me, it had felt like pure bliss. A big, giant middle finger up to everyone who’d told me I was worthless, a disappointment. See how much everyone else loved me? See?
But the ever-present audience had been wearing on me for a while now, a pain more than a gift. It wasn’t that I cared when tabloids dragged up shit on me. That I didn’t care about. But somewhere along the line the fame had started feeling more like a fishbowl than adoration, more like I was a specimen being examined than an idol being worshipped.
But it wasn’t until Ana came into my life that I truly began to hate it. Maybe because before her I didn’t have anything truly special to keep out of the spotlight. I had nothing I wanted to protect, guard, keep safe with my life.
Now that I had her, I wanted to fight to the death. Those tears she’d cried? They’d ripped me up. That cameras had turned what we had between us into something ugly and embarrassing? I could kick a thousand chair legs into a thousand walls. But she’d scolded me for doing it, and she was right. Kicking things didn’t make anything better.
I never should have stopped and done all that on a public street corner, exposing her. I’d gotten too caught up in her to be smart. My lust for her had made me dumb.
Resigned, feeling sick, I took out my phone. Any videos or photos they’d captured would be up by now. Better to rip off the Band-Aid and deal with the wound they’d inflicted.
I ducked into a sheltered corner and pressed play. Video came on, shadowy, grainy. You couldn’t hear what we were saying. I knew what we’d been telling each other, nasty, hot and yearning, how she belonged to me and I was going to make her mine again. But thankfully it was all muffled and dark. You could tell it was me, but you couldn’t exactly tell it was Ana. Relief poured through me. I had sheltered her.
At least I’d managed that, blocking her from view with my body. I was much bigger than her. She was just the right size under my hands, under my frame. I could move her exactly how I wanted her, angle her and position her, but she had enough to her that she met my force with force of her own. And I was big enough to shield her from cameras.
Had she seen this video? I clicked around on photos. They were even less revealing. A picture of my back standing in a dark alcove. An action shot of my angry face reaching out to shove away cameras. Big fucking deal. To me, at least, they got nothing. But would she feel the same way? This was all new to her.
I knew I should probably get another hotel room. I could check into one and crash there, send her a text to call me when she was ready. I would do that, if I weren’t crazed for her. A fever burned inside me and I needed her, needed to touch and taste her. She might not be happy to see me, might tell me to get lost, but I’d take that chance. Because there was the possibility, no matter how slight, that she might say yes, sinking into me the way I needed to sink into her.
Back at the hotel, I let myself in quietly. I figured she might be asleep. If she were, I told myself I’d crash on the couch. Assaulting her in her sleep wasn’t my style.
But she was up, sitting, waiting for me.
“Ash, I’m so sorry.” She rushed at me and I caught her in my arms, kissing her ferociously, clutching her to me.
“Don’t be sorry,” I insisted. She’d been right. I had been to blame for exposing her like that. I should have known better. It didn’t matter that she made me so crazy I couldn’t think straight and take the usual precautions. I needed to think straight for the both of us, help her navigate this crazy world I’d dragged her into.
“It was my fault.” I breathed her in, her light vanilla scent, her feminine musk. I licked her neck, trailing my tongue along her soft, sweet skin, sucking her there. She gasped and leaned into me, always wanting more of everything I gave. It made my blood boil, the intensity of her responses, how quickly and easily she melted at my touch.
I backed her up against the wall, panting, holding her there with my strength. She tossed her head back and I licked her throat, then bit at her. I swear, I felt like I wanted to eat her alive, consume every inch of her.
“Ash,” she moaned, her hands up at my shoulders, clutching, clasping, pulling, wanting me in that same, crazy, wild way.
“I have to have you.” My words sounded harsh, strained, frenzied. I ground my h
ips into hers, pressing my long, erect shaft into her. She groaned and pushed right back, moving against me.
She didn’t wear much and I ripped it off, quick. A t-shirt and short shorts lying on the ground. She didn’t have on a bra and I wanted her like that all the time, easy, quick access to pure heaven. I dropped my face to her breasts, sucking, licking, claiming.
She still wore panties, but I made quick work of them, too, yanking them down and discarding them with the rest of her clothes. No panties. I wanted her in short skirts with no panties so I could reach up and stroke her, find her slick sex in an instant.
A low, guttural moan escaped her lips as I began to finger fuck her, plunging deep up inside of her.
“I need to fuck you, Ana,” I whispered, taking a breast into my mouth and sucking, hard on her erect nipple. “Here. Now.”
“Yes,” she murmured, her hands down on my hips, pulling me toward her. “Fuck me, Ash. I need it.”
“You need it?” I asked, unzipping my jeans and pulling out my cock. Long, hard, it jerked in my hand as I palmed it, showing it to her. She moaned at the sight of it, and the raw sound of her longing made me hard as a jackhammer. I grabbed a condom, quick, from my pocket and rolled it along my length. Her eyes followed my every move, hungry.
Fast, I grabbed her wrists in my hands. She was slender and I could fit them both in my grasp. I pinned them up above her head. Her eyes widened with surprise and more. Lust. Excitement. She liked the power I had over her. There was a lot more where that came from.