Undone, Volume 3 Page 4

  Hopefully, today would be different. I didn’t know what the future held for us. I knew what was planned in our contract and I didn’t like it. A break up in one week. But that didn’t have to happen. If the world liked me dating a sweet children’s librarian, who said I couldn’t keep on dating her? I knew it was crazy to be thinking like this, so wrapped up, wanting so much more. We’d only known each other for three weeks.

  But it wasn’t a normal three weeks. We’d traveled to Paris. Met each other’s families. Hell, I’d proposed to her and she’d accepted. Yesterday, I’d taken that ridiculous ring off of her while she was asleep. As much as I liked the thought of seeing her wear my ring—and yes I did—that wasn’t my ring. That was Lola’s ring. And it looked like a reminder of everything that was fake, everything she wasn’t. I didn’t like the reminder. Plus it just looked almost uncomfortable, like she’d smack her hand against something and it would hurt.

  I didn’t know what would come next between us. But I did know we had a couple of days together now, just us. No interruptions, no interference. No paparazzi, no groupies or other celebrities or PR reps. My phone was turned off. We had a playground before us, and we didn’t have to share it with anyone else.

  In the warm, steamy shower, my cock pulsed with need. Hard as a rock. I’d been hard since last night, pressed against her in bed. Feeling her desire, stirring up her lust, so close to her wet center I’d almost said fuck it and lost myself.

  I’d wanted to come in her with a fierce, primal need, like a fucking firehose. The need hadn’t exactly abated overnight. I hadn’t had Ana in days, not since Vegas. Technically it was only two days, but it felt like two years. I craved her like I had never craved anyone before.

  I brought my hand down to my shaft, wrapping my fingers around it. Stroking my length, I could feel the release so close. Veins pulsing down its length, my balls tight with come, I pumped myself. It would feel so good to come, to explode.

  But I took my hand away, brought it to the wall of the shower. Slowly, breathing, I took back control. I didn’t want to come in the shower, hot and quick in my hand. I wanted to come in Ana. Again and again.

  Even if she didn’t remember the conversation we’d had last night, her impulses would still there, her instinct to respond. She wanted my power, my domination. She wanted to submit, let herself go, surrender to her dark fantasies. I’d take her there.

  Around eleven o’clock, she finally woke up, all rosy and sleepy. Her golden chestnut hair was in a tumble, so naturally gorgeous, thick with a slight curl to it.

  “Hi,” she said as she padded into the kitchen in a borrowed pair of socks, looking sleepy and shy.

  “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

  “Much better.” She smiled at me and I embraced her, relieved to see her looking like herself again. A sleepy self, but the color had fully returned to her cheeks. With some coffee and breakfast, she’d be back to normal. “I see you raided my clothes.” I had to tease her, but I loved it. She looked so cute in my T-shirt and boxers, oversized and draping off her curves. Those boxers would be so easy to slip right off.

  “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? I don’t even want to tell you that your bags are here, too.” I’d had the hotel pack her belongings and she had everything she needed here. But if I had anything to say about it, clothes weren’t going to factor much into the next couple of days. I had a couple of silk restraints I’d like to see on her, strategically placed around her wrists and ankles, but that was about it.

  “Wow.” She walked over to the large window above the sink in the kitchen. Yeah, that about summed it up. I joined her and together we watched the winter fury raging outside. “It’s a crazy storm.”

  “Worst one in years. And it’s going to be like this all day and into tomorrow.” I saw a slight blush creep to her cheeks, the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. Maybe she did remember our conversation from last night. But she needed some fuel in her first.

  Together, we made toast and scrambled eggs. I’d already brewed some coffee, nectar of the gods. The pantry was stocked full of my favorite Italian brand. As much as my celebrity status caused problems, it also brought many small blessings on a daily basis. Like expensive, imported Italian coffee in the middle of the storm of the century in the remote California mountains.

  “These are so good!” Ana ate her eggs with relish.

  “You’ve seen it all from me now,” I confessed, enjoying them, myself. “I’ve boiled you pasta and scrambled you eggs.” Food generally appeared in my life. I hadn’t ever done much to procure it.

  “No more tricks up your sleeve?” Ana asked, smiling.

  “Not in the kitchen.” I winked at her and was rewarded with a faint blush again. Man, she was fun to tease. And I’d lied, just then. I had a few more kitchen-related tricks. They just weren’t related to cooking food.

  Outside, the storm blasted relentlessly as we washed our dishes. She sent her parents a quick text that she was OK. Then she turned off her phone. I flicked on the TV to check the weather report. They’d sent some poor schmuck out into the middle of it, wearing a parka with a hood so enormous it threatened to swallow him whole.

  “Stay indoors,” he warned us. I didn’t need to be told twice.

  “Oh, I didn’t see this before!” Ana exclaimed. Over in an adjoining room off, she spotted the grand piano. Normally, the room overlooked a spectacular view of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Today, it was surrounded by white fury.

  She sat down at the instrument and I had to join her. But I kept my hands away from the keys while she played me something classical I didn’t recognize, but I had to guess it was Russian with the intense passion in the chords. It complimented the storm raging outside. The Russians knew their snow.

  No bra, in my T-shirt, I liked the look on her very much. There was something so deliciously intimate about seeing her in my clothes. I’d never really had a girlfriend before, not like this. I’d had my name linked with others, most recently Mandy Monroe, but I was always on the go and it made it easy to go in separate directions. I’d always wanted it that way. Now I didn’t want Ana out of my sight.

  My fingers joining hers on the keyboard, we began creating something together, starting off simple then blending into a more complex melody. I’d bring us back to the chorus and she’d take it somewhere else. Then she’d bring us back and I’d build on it, see where it led. It was exactly like having a conversation, only I was better at this than at words. I’d always been better with music, communicating with my hands. And my body.

  “Do you remember our conversation from last night?” I asked as our fingers played over the keys.

  The blush on her cheeks grew deeper this time, blooming there from deep within. “Yesterday is kind of blurry. I remember feeling really out of it.”

  I played a few keys, the soundtrack of feeling so blue.

  “And I remember you kidnapped me,” she continued.

  I played sounds of a sinister villain stealing away the heroine from a classic Western. “Then I gave you a bath,” I added, moving my fingers up the keys, remembering how her skin had felt, so warm and soft as I lathered and massaged her.

  “That was good,” she agreed, feeding notes into my tapestry of sound.

  “And then we climbed in bed together,” I added, softly. “Do you remember that?”

  The intake of her breath, her nipples ripe and pebbling under my soft, thin T-shirt. She remembered.

  “We talked about you surrendering to me. Giving up control. I’d very much like to do that with you. I’d like to tie you up. Blindfold you and play with you. What do you think of that, Ana?” I took my hands off the keys and brought them to her waist.

  She inhaled at my touch, my fingers seeming to electrify her. “I’m not sure.”

  “Are you curious?” A smile played at the corner of my mouth. I could tell she was, but I wanted to hear her confess it.

  “Yes,” she answered shyly, her
head tilting down.

  “You don’t have to be shy with me, Ana.” I took her chin in my hand and brought her head up so I could meet her eyes level. “You don’t have to hide anything.”

  Her lips parted at my suggestion. She wanted to go there with me, she just needed the right invitation. She needed to feel safe.

  “I want to take control, Ana.” I caressed a finger down her face, her smooth skin, and she leaned into my touch. “But you can always tell me to stop.”

  She opened up her eyes and looked into mine. “Are you going to hurt me?”

  “No, baby, not like that.” I kissed her and gave her a reassuring embrace. “I don’t want to beat you or whip you or any of that hardcore play. There might be a little pain, but I’m not a sadist. I’m dominant. Let me show you the difference.”

  I wanted to lean down and capture her lips with mine, feast on her, but I needed to give her this space, this distance in which to make her decision. I could feel her teetering on the edge, wanting to take the plunge, but I couldn’t push her over. If I did, I’d run the risk of her spluttering with indignation when she surfaced. No, this had to be her choice. She had to relinquish control to me.

  “Do you trust me?” I asked her, unable to stop myself from leaning in for a nibble. Her neck felt so sweet, her light scent and smooth skin a rare delicacy.

  Her breath caught in her throat, right where I licked and sucked. “Yes,” she breathed, her body still tense. But tension could be good. Tension could build and heighten the ultimate release.

  “Then let me play, Anika. I’ll make it good for you.” I trailed kisses along the edge of the collar of the T-shirt she wore. I wanted it off. As I murmured into her skin, “No one has to know,” a shiver traveled up her body. She began a soft pant, her nipples hard and ready, pressing against the fabric of her shirt. She liked that idea. The intimate, private playground we could create together, here in the mountains.

  “We’re snowed in,” I whispered, husky against her, my hands traveling up to cup her breasts. So soft, so responsive, I needed her naked now. But before I did that, I need her to say yes. “This will be our secret.”

  “Yes.” She spoke it softly, a whisper of an exhale more than a declarative yes. I pulled away and looked into her eyes.

  “Yes?” She needed to be sure.

  “Yes.” This time she spoke with more authority, more sure of herself. She wanted this.

  I didn’t need any more invitation. Standing up, I pulled her up with me and picked her up into my arms. She didn’t weigh that much and she felt so good pressed against me. We kissed our way into the master bedroom, leisurely. My blood pounded and boiled within me, tense urgency filling my veins. But I slowed myself down. We weren’t in a rush. We weren’t going anywhere and no one was going to interrupt us. There was every reason in the world to make this last.

  Gently, I placed her down next to the bed. I took a few steps away. “Strip for me, Ana.” I’d seen her naked before, of course, but we’d been so frenzied, so frantic for each other. I wanted to watch her reveal herself to me, see her arousal deepen as she grew more vulnerable.

  She brought her fingers to the hemline of her T-shirt, looking up at me and biting her plump lip. Then she pulled it up and over her head in one swift motion. Her breasts jiggled with the movement, soft and ripe, pillowed above her trim waist. Her nipples were a perfect dark pink, like lush strawberries atop her creamy mounds. I wanted to sink my teeth right into them.

  “Boxers,” I demanded, already feeling the stiff press of my cock against my jeans. She got me hard just sitting next to her on the piano bench. Watching her stand there topless, nothing but my boxers covering her lower half wasn’t going to last long.

  She tucked her fingers into the waistband and slowly slid them down her curves, stepping out of them with a natural grace. Even the curve of her spine as she bent down turned me on. Every movement, every shift made me harder. She drew herself to her full height, Venus rising from the ocean. Only, thankfully, her hair just grazed her shoulders and didn’t leave anything to the imagination.

  “Lie down on the bed on your back,” I commanded. If she hesitated, I didn’t see. I was already reaching for my bag where I’d packed a few restraints. I’d never been a Boy Scout, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know how to always be prepared.

  When I returned to the bed, she was lying there as I’d told her. I pulled the silk band taut in my hand with a snap. She jumped at the noise, looking at the restraint nervously. With swift, sure movements, I caught her wrist and bound her to the bedpost, then did the same on the other side. She watched me as I worked, tense. I made sure she was held tight but not uncomfortable. I wanted her to be able to squirm, enough room to pull at her restraints, but not enough to break free. She needed to feel bound.

  I worked more slowly with her legs, teasing her with the silk, wrapping it around her calf and slipping it down to her ankle. I knew the smooth fabric felt good against her skin, slipping and sliding. But then I tied her ankle to the post at the end of the bed. She twisted, still keeping her legs together, as if there was any chance at remaining demure, chaste.

  I let her keep her thighs pressed together, watching her rapid breathing, her peaked nipples, her pulse pounding.

  “I’m going to tie your other leg down.” I caressed it as I spoke, softly, gently. “I want you spread open wide for me. Do you understand?”

  She looked at me, heavy-lidded, still slightly hesitant. But then she nodded her head yes. At that, I grabbed her remaining leg and pushed it to the side. I wrapped the silk around her ankle and stretched her wide open for me. She gasped as I did it, her wrists straining against the silk.

  Once I’d fastened her tight, I stood to admire my handiwork. She looked like a painting, an incredibly erotic one. They couldn’t display this at the Louvre, though if they did, they’d probably double their daily visitor count. Her legs spread wide, I could see how her sex already glistened with desire. Her breasts stood out large and completely exposed and her stomach moved rapidly in and out with nervous, aroused pants. She was mine for the taking.

  “I like seeing you like this, Ana.” She stilled in response, letting me enjoy the sight of her. “But I have a question for you. And you need to answer me honestly. Did you touch yourself last night after I left you?” She’d been slick with need, aroused and at the point of coming when I’d taken away my hand.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because you told me not to.”

  “Good.” I hissed, tracing my finger along the inside of her leg, stroking her calf. “Was that hard to deny yourself?”

  She nodded her head, yes it was. But that wasn’t good enough. “Answer me, Ana,” I said, stern.

  “Yes, it was hard not to touch myself.”

  Satisfied, I continued stroking her. Even though she was bound, she had a little freedom of movement.

  “I can see that you’re slick now, Ana. You look so good. Are you wet for me?”

  “Yes,” she exhaled, so obedient.

  “This is how I’ve wanted you from the moment I first saw you.” I moved to her side so I could better reach her. She pulled against her wrist restraints, panting as my tongue trailed down her stomach. I knew she wanted to touch me. But not now. Now, I would make her suffer. Now, I would travel slowly, my tongue dipping a lazy circle around her belly button.

  “Ash!” she cried out.

  I chuckled, low and wicked, looking up into her eyes. “You like being tied down.” I told her instead of asked. I could tell. She more than liked it. She loved it.

  I traced her curves, stroked her limbs, drawing her attention to her restraints. She’d never done this before and I knew she was shocked by it. It took such trust and desire to turn herself over to me, letting me tie her up.

  But I could tell she’d thought about it. Those naughty, late night fantasies. But up until now, she’d been a good girl. She’d played it safe. And up until
now, she’d never nearly blacked out from orgasms.

  I thanked the powers that be for the snowstorm, trapping us. I was glad I’d indulged my wicked mind, letting myself abduct her. Were it not for this, she might have flown back to New York City. Right now, she might have been back at work, 3,000 miles away from me, helping kids check out books. Instead of letting her inner nasty girl come out to play. I knew she wanted this.

  She lay there completely naked, tied spread-eagle on the king-size bed, writhing and whimpering. She begged for release, but I knew it wasn’t from bondage. It was from the intensity of the building, cresting orgasm quivering up inside of her. But like a good girl, she needed me to free it. She was a natural sub, and together our wires charged each other, our arousal heightened by the other’s.

  I whispered, licking her neck, sucking her there at her sensitive flesh. She tossed her head to the side, baring her skin, giving me full access with a moan.

  “Ash,” she begged, shameless, her breasts arching up into two needy, pebbled points at her nipples.

  “I knew you had this in you. From the second I met you, all buttoned up in that library, I knew.”

  “You couldn’t have,” she protested. But it was true. Underneath that white Peter Pan collar, she might not even have known she had this within her prim and proper exterior. But I could tell. There were pheromones in play, that elusive pull you couldn’t even really articulate. Something intangible. You couldn’t always put together the why. One plus one didn’t always equal two when it came to attraction. If you’d asked me a month ago if my dream woman would be a sheltered children’s librarian who didn’t particularly like to party and had had only one sexual partner in her life, I might have laughed. I liked my sex hard and wild and filthy. From the description of her, she sounded like she’d be more likely to call the cops on me than surrender and submit.

  But here she was. All alone. In a cabin shut off from the world in the storm draught-stricken California had been waiting for for years.