Undone, Volume 3 (11 page)

“No, I’m hungry
too!” I felt bad. Here I was starving her, all in service to my
lustful needs. I reached over and turned around the clock on the
bedside table. Close to noon. What day was it again?

“Is it the third?”
Ana asked. Clearly she was feeling the same disorientation.

I nuzzled into her
neck. “I think so. You want pasta or eggs?”

She laughed again. I
liked the sound of her laughter nearly as much as her desperate
screams when she came. Nearly. “You know I could probably make us
something. Maybe some pancakes. And bacon.”

“Bacon? Do you know
how to cook bacon?” Just when I thought she couldn’t get any
better.

Her laughter pealed out
once again. “It’s not hard.”

“Yes, bacon. Man
wants bacon.” She swatted me and sadly pulled away and into the
bathroom. This was all so new for me. Somehow overnight I’d gone
from the guy who kicked everyone out ASAP to the guy lying in bed
smelling the pillow where his girl had just laid her head.

OK, now. Time to get a
grip. I sat up and gave my head a shake. When she headed out of the
bathroom, I headed in, pausing to put a regretful hand on her covered
shoulder.

“What’s this? A
robe?” Did she really have to bother with clothing? Seemed a shame.

“Naked cooking.”
Ana shook her head no, making a face as if she were tasting something
sour. “Bad idea. But…” She looked up at me, a teasing light in
her eyes. “You can take it off of me after we eat.”

“Deal.” I’d
settle for that. And spring wood at the mere suggestion of getting
her naked again. I had it bad.

In the kitchen, Ana
hummed and bustled about, her hair up in a messy bun, tendrils
escaping around her shoulders. The robe parted nicely along her
chest, giving me glimpses here and there of her generous curves and
swells. I insisted on brewing coffee and scrambling eggs. A man liked
to feel useful.

She used her magic wand
to make us blueberry pancakes and bacon. She kept exclaiming with
delight over her finds in the pantry and fridge.

“Organic heavy
cream!” She’d pull something-or-other out and cluck over it. I
guessed our caretaker had done a good job stocking up.

“I mean, who has
fresh raspberries to make it through a snowstorm in January?”

“Nothing but the best
for you, my dear. I promise you shall always have fresh raspberries
in the middle of January storms.”

She smiled at me,
shyly, then turned her attention to flipping pancakes. Sooner or
later, we were going to have to talk about it. The fact that this was
all supposed to end in a week.

But outside the snow
still came swirling down. It looked lighter today and I could see
some blue in the sky, but the wind blew strong, creating massive
drifts. The entire landscape looked transformed, as if we were in an
arctic ocean, a ship adrift amidst the snowy waves. We still had more
of this, together, more time outside of time, where reality couldn’t
touch us.

Because reality might
bite. Out on a stage, in front of the cameras, I had all the swagger
money could buy. Here with Ana, the thought of asking her how she
felt about us, about me? I didn’t like to admit it, but it scared
the shit out of me. This might all be a romp for her, a walk on the
wild side and nothing more.

I couldn’t imagine
how destroyed I’d feel if she wanted to end things. So, instead of
worrying about that outcome, I devoted myself to seduction. A
win/win. I’d get more of Ana. She’d get more orgasms. It was a
match made in heaven.

We ate together on a
loveseat in the den, looking out into the snowstorm that would not
end.

“I hope everyone’s
safe in all this.” She looked out into it with a worried frown on
her lovely face.

“You are a much
better person than I am.”

“Why do you say
that?”

“Because I’m
selfish. All I can think is I hope it never stops.”

“You don’t really
mean that.” She shook her head, looking away.

“I do.” I set my
plate on the floor and wrapped my arm around her, drawing her close.
We sat like that, looking out into the storm, each of us lost in our
private thoughts. But slowly I could feel whatever tension she’d
been holding relax from her as she settled back against me.

“How do you feel
today?” I asked, running my hand along her arm. I circled my
fingers along her wrist, remembering how I’d bound her yesterday.
“Are you sore?”

“I feel good, but,
um, yeah, I am kind of sore.”

“You need a bath.”
I stood up, cursing myself that I hadn’t thought of it sooner. I
should have made sure she was all right last night even before she
went to sleep, but we’d both passed out so completely.

“It’s nothing to
worry about.” She blushed, looking awkward. She must be remembering
all we’d done last night. What I’d done to her. What she’d let
me do and loved.

“Come on.” I
grasped her hand firmly in my own and helped her up. I didn’t want
her sinking into anxiety or embarrassment over what we’d shared.
She shouldn’t regret a second of it, and I’d do my best to keep
her at ease. “I’d take you into the hot tub, but it’s still
coming down out there. Let’s draw a bath in the tub.”

I had it filled
quickly, warm steam rising from the surface. I eased the robe down
off her shoulders and saw faint bruising on her hip from where I’d
sunk my fingers into her last night. I was a bastard. I needed to
make her feel better.

Stepping into the bath,
I raised my hand to her and helped her in as well. It was a giant
tub, more than big enough for the both of us. Resting against the
back of the tub, I settled her between my legs and drew her back
against my chest. She exhaled deeply, closing her eyes, sinking into
the warmth. With a soft washcloth, I began caressing her limbs,
working slowly, working any tension out of her, soothing every inch
of her with my touch. I moved gently, wanting to make her feel
cherished, cared for, adored.

“Tell me something
you’ve never told anyone before.” Her words rose light like the
steam around us.

“What?” I knew I
sounded tense while she sounded playful. But what did she want me to
tell her?

She repeated herself.
“And I mean it, something you’ve never told anyone before.”

Huh. I rested my head
back against the tub. I’d done lots of bad, stupid shit in my life.
But that didn’t feel like what I wanted to talk about right now. It
wasn’t that I wanted her to think I was perfect. Far from it. I
wanted her to know me, really know me, like no one ever had before.

That was it. I cleared
my throat. “So, you know why I became a musician?”

“No?” She sounded
delighted by the question.

“Well, it’s because
I sucked at absolutely everything else.” She laughed, assuming I
was joking. “No, really,” I continued, remembering myself vividly
back then as an awkward, skinny, un-athletic thirteen-year-old. “I
was a train wreck.”

“Really?” She
twisted around to look up at me, as if she half-expected me to break
into a smile and tell her I was just kidding around. I had to be
crazy to not do just that. I’d devoted a lot of energy to leaving
those days behind me, way, way behind me. But with Ana I wanted to
tell her everything, let her get to know the real me. Not the image,
not everything that had been carefully cultivated. The me I tried
desperately to hide. I’d been so worried when I’d first became
famous about photos circulating, ones from middle school. So
painfully awkward.

“At 13 I was almost
this height, but I weighed about 50 pounds less.”

“No.”

“Yes. And we moved to
England, after my parents divorced.”

“You lived with your
grandmother?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t
help it. I could feel my voice grow tense even as I wanted to talk
with her about all of it.

“Why didn’t you
live with your mom?”

I fell silent for a
moment. I never talked about this shit. I mean never. I sort of
didn’t know how to begin. So I just began. “When I was around 11
it came out that my dad had cheated on my mom right after she’d had
my older brother, Colton. She found out he had a son from the affair,
with some woman out in Montana. It wasn’t the first time my dad had
cheated on her, but that was it. She was done. I didn’t know what
was happening so much at the time, but she basically had a
breakdown.”

What I remembered most
was the silence, how quiet our house got. Where before it had always
been filled with the noisy chatter and play of four kids plus mom and
sometimes dad, after he moved out it was like all the lights and
sound got turned down real low. She always had a migraine. We always
had to whisper. She leaned on Colton the most.

“Anyway.” I pulled
myself out of the pain, remembering I was supposed to be talking to
Ana about it.

“You don’t have to
tell me if it’s too painful.” She placed a comforting hand my
wrist.

“No, I want to. So,
my father left, my mother fell apart and the four of us were packed
off to my grandmother’s in England. I was 12 when I got sent off to
boarding school and I sucked at everything.”

“Not everything.”
Ana shook her head.

“Yeah, everything. I
couldn’t sit still in school. I could barely read.”

“You’re dyslexic,”
she protested on my behalf.

“Yeah.” I laughed
without humor. “That wasn’t so much something British
schoolmasters cared about back then.”

“Well, I think they
suck.”

I kissed her on the
head, grateful for her indignation on my behalf. “I absolutely
agree. But, back then, I sucked at school. I sucked at sports. I
looked like a praying mantis.”

“Ash,” Ana chided
me, thinking I was being too hard on myself.

“It’s true,” I
insisted. “I hated everyone. Everyone hated me. And then I met
Connor. He played bass and one day he invited me along to this
storage shed at the back of campus where he had a couple of amps and
a spare guitar.” I shook my head, remembering that day. It had felt
as if, after a lifetime of being surrounded by people speaking a
different language, I’d finally found the right words.

“And the rest is
history,” Ana supplied for me.

“The rest is
history.” I wrapped my arms around her tight.

“I’m so sorry you
ever felt so worthless.” She circled her arms around mine and
turned to kiss me on the shoulder. “You’re so amazing.”

I rested my head next
to hers, at a loss for words. Until I decided that she owed me.

“OK, your turn.”

“What?” She looked
up at me.

“Your turn to tell me
something no one knows.”

“Hmmm.” She brought
her hand to her chin. “OK. But it’s not really as dramatic as
yours.”

“That’s all right.”

“It’s pretty
nerdy.” She hesitated.

“I just explained to
you that deep down I’m a huge nerd.”

“Well,” she began
hesitantly. “When I was in high school, I used to lie to my
parents.”

“That’s
unacceptable,” I teased her, shaking my head.

“Ash.” She swatted
my knee.

“No, I’m sorry,”
I continued. “Everyone has their limit and that’s mine, lying to
your parents. You just crossed it.”

“OK, shut up.”

“All right.” I
happily agreed.

“So, Wednesday
afternoons in high school I would tell them I was going to this
literature club at school.”

“Yup, sounds
believable.”

“I said we read
Russian classics. Tolstoy, Lermontov, Dostoevsky.”

“But you weren’t
really doing that, were you?” I had a feeling I might like this
story. Naughty Anika.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Are you blushing?”
I twisted and leaned forward to look at her face. It was hard to tell
in the warm water of the tub, but she looked flushed.

“Maybe,” she
consented.

“I’m so intrigued.
What did naughty teenage Anika do when she told her parents she was
reading Russian literature? Smoking in the girls’ room?”

“No.”

“Trying on slutty
clothes at your slutty girlfriend’s house? And sometimes, when it
was just the two of you—”

“Sorry, Ash,” she
cut me off. “No girl-on-girl action in this story.”

“Damn it.”

She laughed. I loved
how her breasts jiggled when she did it. I felt my cock stir, so I
shifted to the side. I wanted to hear her story.

“Don’t tell me you
had a secret boyfriend who took you riding on his motorcycle?” I
asked, not liking the idea one bit.

“No.”

“Good. I’d have to
beat the crap out of him.”

“I was too scared of
those kinds of guys.”

“Until you dated me
and completely wrapped me around your little finger.” I picked her
hand up out of the water and kissed her pinky. Then her palm. But,
wait, I wanted to hear her story. “So what were you doing instead
of literature club?”

“Right, so,” She
shook her head, as if my kisses had distracted and clouded her
thinking as well. I loved how easily we revved each other up, so
quick to spark. “I told my parents I was reading great literary
works from our Russian heritage. But really I’d sneak to the town
library and go down to the basement and read romance novels.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’d even
wear a baseball cap when I snuck into the library so no one would
know it was me.”

“Did that work?”

“No, I’m totally
sure the librarians knew it was me. I was there every Wednesday and
we had a town of a few thousand total. But it added to the
clandestine drama.”

“I don’t know what
clandestine means.”

“Secret. Hidden.”

“Right.”

“Oh, Ash, it’s such
a gorgeous library. It’s the fourth oldest in the state of New
York!” Man, I had fallen for such a nerd, and I loved it so much.

“Let me get this
straight,” I said. “You lied that you were in a book club so you
could go read books.”