Undone, Volume 3 (13 page)

“Watch!” he
commanded and I realized I’d closed my eyes in the onslaught of
desire. I opened them again and watched as he circled my nipples,
drawing his fingers lightly along the edges of my dark pink buds.
Then he drew his thick fingers together over my sensitive tips. “It’s
like you’re made for me Ana. Watch,” he ordered me again, low and
gruff, and then he pinched his fingers together, hard.

My mouth opened wide as
I gasped and felt an electric shock of lust burst through my
throbbing, swollen clit. It was hard to keep my eyes open, but it
turned me on even more to fight through it, follow his command, watch
him play with me as he liked. And watch my response. He was right. We
were a perfect fit. I got so turned on from his every touch.

He stepped back. “Now
let’s take a look. Are you wet for me, Ana? Spread your legs.”

Whimpering slightly, I
slowly moved my legs apart a little. It made no sense, I knew I’d
shown Ash everything, but I still felt a twinge of embarrassment. It
still seemed naughty to me to enjoy this so much. That I should be so
turned on by being tied up and owned, possessed by this rough,
demanding man. Parting my legs and allowing him access would only
expose me further, show him how much I loved it.

“Wider!” he
thundered and I started at the intensity of his voice. He meant it. I
moved my feet apart farther. The wider I got, the more I had to stand
on my tiptoes because my wrists were bound. I spread them as far as I
could, standing for him in front of the mirror under the light,
parted legs, up on the balls of my feet.

“Good,” he praised
me and there it was again, the flush of response to pleasing him. My
pussy gushed with warm, wet joy when he pet me, when I pleased him.
There was no fighting the response. It was how I was wired. I just
hadn’t realized it until I met Ash. Ash tapped into it. It was Ash
who dialed into me so intimately, teaching me aspects of myself I’d
never known.

He brought one hand to
my breast again, cupping it, holding me there firmly against his
chest. Then he brought the other to my inner thigh, caressing it
lightly.

“What am I going to
find, Ana?” he teased me. I turned my head to the side, closing my
eyes, biting my lip. He was going to find me soaking wet, that’s
what he was going to find. I still hadn’t 100 percent accepted that
this was who I was, that this was exactly the kind of sexual play I
most craved. It wasn’t what good girls were supposed to want.

“Oh no, Ana. That’s
not going to work,” he whispered low in my ear, keeping his fingers
grazing my thigh, not up further, up where I quivered with need for
him. “You know the rules. You have to watch.”

I swallowed. This was
hard. He required so much. I had to give him everything.

“You need me to touch
you, don’t you, Anika?” Oh, did I. My clit throbbed in response
to his words and I whimpered with need. He knew exactly how to touch
me, just how to tease me, then right when he needed to get rough.
With his expert fingers, I could be coming full and fast and hard in
seconds. “Tell me what you need?” he asked, his fingers still
light, still not where I wanted them.

“Please, touch me,
Ash. Please.”

“You need me to touch
your clit?” He kept his voice controlled, his hand on my thigh
light, but his hand on my breast grasped me hard and it made me moan.

“Yes!”

“You know what I
require, Ana. You need to ask for it.”

“Please, touch my
clit! Please, Ash! I need it.”

“Watch!” he
commanded. I opened my eyes. He parted my folds and brought his thumb
down right on the center of my slick, pink nub.

“Ah!” I screamed,
watching him touch me right there, right where I was so slick with
need.

“Look how wet you
are.” He parted my sex and I could see it, how swollen and slippery
I was for him. How much my body cried out for his. He plunged a
finger up inside of me and it was hard to keep my eyes open, but I
did it. I knew he’d want me to. And it was riveting to see him
pleasure me in the mirror, one hand on my breast, the other sliding
in and out of my pussy. My juices coated his fingers and they shone
in the light, attesting to my desire. He slid along me, taking me
higher, higher.

But then he withdrew,
leaving me standing, panting, quivering, about to come but deprived.

“Ash!” I bit out,
shuddering.

“See what you do to
me?” He stood next to me and took his long, hard, thick cock in his
hand. I groaned, licking my lips. He was so fucking huge.

“You’re so thick,”
I murmured. I loved how wide he was, not just long but broad, too.

He stroked his length.
“Do you like how I stretch you?”

“Yes,” I groaned,
almost feeling him do it. It shattered me when he was inside me,
drove every thought from my body. He filled me so completely.

“You feel so tight
around my cock, Ana. I could fuck you all day.” I groaned in
frustration as he drew his hand rhythmically up and down his cock. At
first, he’d used the juices from my pussy to lubricate his shaft,
but now at his crown I could see drops of precome glistening. He
swirled his fingers across the tip, then worked it down his full
length, growing even bigger as he did it.

“Please!” I begged,
shaking with need. I didn’t care anymore, didn’t care if I
shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be so turned on by this dominant
play. I needed his cock. I needed him driving so deep inside of me,
no condom, just him fucking me until I could feel every last drop of
his come buried inside of me.

“You want this?” he
asked, his voice thick with desire, his eyes darker than I’d ever
seen them.

“Yes!” I cried out,
pulling against my wrist restraints.

“You need to watch it
all,” he warned me, pointing at the mirror. “If you want me to
fuck you good, you need to watch me do it.”

“Ah!” I cried out,
quivering, my desire literally dripping down my inner thigh. “Yes.”

Finally, he brought his
hands to my hips. I stood on tiptoe, spreading my legs as far apart
as I could, giving him as much access as I could manage. When I felt
his thick tip at my wet entrance, I nearly came from the contact. I
was right at the edge, panting.

In one, long,
completely satisfying thrust, he parted me and shoved his cock all
the way inside. I screamed, loud and long, my orgasm building up and
cresting over me as he held onto my hips and began driving into me
again and again.

“Watch!” he
commanded in my ear. I looked sideways into the mirror and saw his
large, firm hands guiding my hips, my breasts giggling and bouncing
with each hard thrust. My wrists bound tight, my body was stretched
out and held exactly where he could fuck me hardest. He stood with
his feet firmly planted on the ground, his thick, thighs corded with
muscle, his ass flexing as he ground his cock into me over and over
again.

The sight of him
fucking me nearly made me come again, the way he owned me, controlled
me. He brought a hand down to my clit and started rubbing me in
rhythm with his strokes. He was supporting almost all of my weight
now, assisted by the tie at the ceiling. I had nearly no strength
left, all melted, molten desire quivering through me.

“See how you take me
in? All of me.” I looked at his slick cock entering into me again
and again, to the hilt, burying himself into me until his balls
slapped against my pussy. He stretched me to the point of hurting,
but I only wanted more.

“Are you going to
come again, Ana, when I come in you?” He worked me like a giant
beast, sweaty, pounding, controlling all of me.

“Yes!” I called
out, every inch of my body responding to him, craving him, needing
his seed deep inside of me. The feel of him tensing, tensing, then
exploding inside of me released my own orgasm, bursting out from
within, shimmering up and out through every limb. Gasping, screaming,
I took in his come, my pussy clenching around him, milking out every
drop.

“Ana,” he cried out
my name, giving me his last shot of come, holding my body against his
as I’d now lost any ability to stand. I collapsed against him,
letting him support me, pull me close against him as if he couldn’t
bear even the slightest amount of separation. We’d melted into each
other.

I wasn’t completely
aware of how he unbound me, or how he scooped me into his arms. I
think I might have blacked out for a few moments from the intensity
of the orgasm. When my eyelids fluttered open, I was pressed against
his chest, held in his strong arms. He set me down on the large
bathroom counter and took a soft, warm washcloth to my limbs.

“So beautiful, Ana.”
He kept an arm supporting me as he cleaned me, gently washing off our
mingled juices. Then he took my wrists in his hands and held them,
warm and secure, working them, massaging. “How do you feel? Does
anything hurt?”

I shook my head no,
unable to speak yet. I felt like I was floating on a warm cloud of
fucking awesome, that’s how I felt. And nothing hurt, nothing at
all.

“I still want you to
take a couple of Advil. I’ve been rough with you. I can’t stop
myself.”

I took the Advil he
handed me and swallowed them down with water. Then I looked up at him
and found some words. “I don’t want you to stop yourself.” I
grinned up at him shyly.

He smiled back, then
scooped me back into his arms. “You’re going to kill me.” He
nuzzled into my hair, carrying me back into the bedroom, and then out
into the main room of the cabin.

“We’ve got to get
out of the bedroom or I’m going to try to fuck you again. And then
I think we really both might hurt ourselves.”

I burst out laughing
and he started in as well. We really were crazy for each other. Who
knew the hazards of dangerous attraction? I certainly hadn’t
experienced it before.

He found a soft blanket
and wrapped it around me. “Here. I think it’s a necessary
precaution.” I laughed again, enjoying the thought of my body like
a weapon. I rather liked the idea of him finding me so devastatingly
sexy. I could threaten him, “You’d better watch out, or I’ll
get naked.”

I stood, wrapped in the
blanket, and he surveyed me. “Shit, you still look fucking
tempting.”

Behind him, I saw the
answer to our problems. “You, go put on some pants.” I used my
stern librarian voice on him. “Then meet me over at the piano.”
He grinned and did as he was told.

If someone asked me how
long we spent playing piano together that afternoon, I honestly
wouldn’t have been able to answer. It could have been an hour. It
could have been three. The snow swirled around us outside. The music
swirled around us inside. Together, we created our own private world,
conversing in the best language I knew.

We played each other
bits of pop tunes we’d grown up with, singing along or belting it
out as appropriate. Ash Black, shirtless and tousled with a day’s
worth of stubble, singing Justin Bieber or Brittany Spears just about
killed me. I had yet another moment of gratitude that no paparazzi
were present to capture the performance. It would have gone viral in
sixty seconds, and I would have been in it as well, half-naked. I had
a feeling my just-fucked beehive of hair wasn’t as sexy as his
black, reckless tumble, but with Ash alone, I didn’t care. He made
me feel like the most gorgeous woman on the planet, so desirable I
was hazardous to his health. Who needed stylists and makeup artists?
Ash made me feel like a glorious incarnation of the goddess
Aphrodite, brought back to life in the form of a piano-teaching
librarian. Implausible, yes, but here it was happening right before
my eyes.

“Play me something
from way back. Like, one of the first songs you ever wrote.”

“Yeah?” He looked
at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I want to hear it.”

“Even if it sucks?”

“Absolutely.”

He played me a basic
tune, catchy and simple. I mostly listened, joining in when I could
feel where.

And then he started
singing. “You’re so hot, so hot, so hot. You’re so hot you melt
my face off.”

“Um, what was that
now?” I turned to him, unable to stop a smile from playing at my
lips.

“Some early lyrics.”
He grinned at me. “I told you I had some really sucky early stuff.”

“Melt my face off?”

“Yup.”

“That’s
disturbing.”

“And never made it
onto an album,” he confirmed. But then he took the tune he’d been
playing and morphed it into the chorus of one of his more famous rock
anthems. I could hear how he’d developed it, grown it, and changed
it into the hit it became. We both belted out the famous lyrics that
did not in any way reference melting faces.

“Much better,” I
told him as he hit the closing notes.

“Now you.” He
looked up at me, taking his hands off the keys. “Play me something
you love.”

“It might be
classical,” I warned him. I still found it strange how many people
said they loved music, but never listened to classical. To me, pop,
rock, jazz, hiphop, classical, they were all pieces of the same
glorious puzzle. But I’d had enough conversations with enough
people to realize I was a bit of an anomaly.

“Give it to me.”
Ash settled back on the piano bench, his arms folded against his
chest.

My fingers tickled
their way along the keys as my mind roamed among songs, solos I’d
memorized for auditions, pieces I’d absorbed over the years because
my parents had played them so many times. Then it came to me, the
Rachmaninoff concerto.

From the opening
chords, it commanded great swells of emotion, rumbling along the
keys, evoking dark, fraught trouble but moving, slowly, effortlessly
through the piece into lighter, swirling moments of sweetness. I’d
always been in awe of this concerto, how subtly it changed between
emotions, how fully it ranged across the keyboard from bright,
prancing, showy notes ripening into full, deep tones. It blended,
creating an entirely otherworldly mood, another space in time. I
could hear the piano together with the sweeping strings, woodwinds
and brass of a full orchestra, swelling and accentuating and bringing
it all to life. As my fingers came off the final, triumphant notes, I
opened my eyes and wondered, what did Ash think of all that?