“I only suggested the bar down here so you wouldn’t feel weird about meeting me in my hotel room. But it does happen to be a mere elevator ride away.”
“You’re staying here at this hotel?”
“Yes, I am.” He gave me a smile so inviting I just about fell int
o it. I had to get a grip. But it would be nice to be up in the privacy of his hotel room. No staring, no asking for photographs. Just him and me, me and him. It probably wasn’t a great idea.
Leaning in to me, he rested his hand on my bare, exposed thigh. His cheek so close to mine, his lips right at my ear, he whispered, “I promise, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” My eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. Such promise in that statement. I knew this man could get me to want him to do just about anything. Jillian, my mother and father, just about every Sunday school teacher I’d ever had jumped up and down in my head yelling “Are you crazy? Look at this delinquent with his tattoos and bedroom eyes! Run away!”
But his hand on my thighs felt so good, starting a slow burning heat for him between my legs. I wanted to part them, give him some access, see what he could do with those long fingers. He was a guitar player, after all, a master at playing an instrument. He must be sensitive to every response, so attuned to how each movement played into and aroused the next.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, husky and low, in that voice that made him world-famous. What was a girl to do?
“All right.” The words slipped right out of my mouth. He finished his drink, then carried mine and my coat across the bar, all eyes watching us, tracking every step. I had no idea how he was used to that spotlight.
In the elevator, I sighed with relief. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“You get used to it.”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine.”
“There are ways to manage. You can control a lot with the right PR and security. I’d make sure it wasn’t too awful for you if you, you know, spent some time with me.”
What was he talking about? My heart beat fast and I had to stop myself from biting my nails. Was he discussing arrangements for how to deal with the press if we started dating? Did Ash Black even date people? I didn’t know every aspect of his life story, but everything I’d heard seemed to suggest that he epitomized Rock Star, from the leather pants to the ever-changing face of actresses/models/popstars by his side. But he wasn’t wearing leather pants right now. He had on jeans, faded ones, though I bet they still cost $500 and it hadn’t been Ash Black who’d broken them in. But, still. Maybe there was a whole other side to him? A deeper, more serious side that wanted to find a real connection with someone? And maybe he needed someone outside of his celebrity bubble to do it?
His hotel suite was gigantic, easily far bigger than the apartment I lived in with two roommates. The living room, alone, had to be 400 square feet, with huge windows overlooking the city skyline at night. Front and center, the Empire State building shone lit up for the holidays, red then green, then red again at the top of that iconic spire.
“It’s so beautiful,” I admired, taking it all in.
“So beautiful.” He brought his hands to my shoulders and stood behind me. I could feel his heat, how close he stood, and somehow, even with the breathtaking view before us, he made me feel like it was me he was admiring.
“Here, let’s get comfortable.” He led me over to a plush couch, somehow threading the needle between grandly sumptuous and sleekly modern. Everything in the hotel room seemed like a unique piece of art, from the chunky industrial-sized coffee table to the burnished pewter lamp overhead. He must have pressed a button that did something to something, because soft music began, atmospheric jazz, blending perfectly with our view of the city at night.
“Not The Blacklist?” I had to tease him.
“Do you want to listen to my music?” He sat next to me, close, his leg against mine, his large, long arm draped across the back of the couch.
“No, this is perfect.” He handed me my drink and I took a smooth, lemony sip.
“I’m glad I have you here to myself.” His voice, so gritty yet so intoxicating, affected me even more than the alcohol.
“It must be hard, not having any privacy. You can’t go anywhere by yourself.”
“Why would I want to be by myself?” He dipped his head down and nuzzled my hair, not a lot, just a slight gesture but my stomach flipped right over. Even the Russian judge gave it a ten.
“I love walking around the city by myself.” It was hard to keep my thoughts assembled, but I tried. “There’s so much to do here, but sometimes I think my favorite thing to do is listen to music, walk around and people-watch. It’s like being inside a movie all the time.”
“Yeah, I can’t really do that.”
“That’s so sad.” I meant it. He couldn’t even go for a walk by himself. He was so restricted, so trapped.
“Do you feel bad for me?” he asked, toying with my hair, twisting strands between his fingers, feathering it out across my back.
“Well…” It sounded ridiculous, I knew that. Here I was, a nobody librarian feeling bad for a world-famous superstar.
“Do you know what would make me feel better?” His fingers found my neck now, circling, stroking, massaging. Divine. Unthinking, on instinct, I tilted my face toward him and he started kissing me. His mouth, warm and sure on my mine, worshipping me, parting my lips so slow and intense. He kept his hand on my neck, his palm and his fingers so large they circled it, holding me there as he kissed me deeper. His tongue, so wicked, coaxing, seeking me, drawing me out.
His other hand worked its way up my arm, along my side, up to the swell of my breast. He hissed in appreciation as he cupped it, full and round, and swept his thumb across my nipple.
“Oh!” I gasped as he grazed my swollen, pebbled tip, every nerve ending in my body wired into that point. I started to throb between my legs and I clenched my thighs, unable to believe the wild response he provoked.
“Anika.” He caressed my name as he did my neck, my breast, my lips, stroking and working me. “How do you like it?” He started trailing kisses along my jaw, still gentle and light. “Do you like it sweet?” He dipped down, taking advantage of my tipped-back head, my exposed skin to lick and kiss, sending shivers through my entire body.
“Or do you like it rough?” As he asked, he used his teeth to scrape and then lightly bite, pressing into the sensitive skin of my neck. Taking my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he pinched, not too hard, suggesting what it could feel like if he did get rough.
“Ah!” I cried out, arching my back and pressing my breast into his hand, tilting my head back even more. He felt so sure, so dominant, so good.
“Mmm.” He drew his hands back into my hair, playing with it, his mouth light again at my ear. “You like it rough, don’t you, Ana?” I couldn’t answer. I trembled under his touch, my breathing starting to come in short pants. “Have you ever had it really rough?” As he spoke, he played with me, nibbling my earlobe, licking it, massaging my hair.
“Um, no.” My voice came out in a whisper. I felt half mesmerized, half shocked by the intensity of my reaction. Part of me wanted to get swept away by the fantasy. The other part of me asked what the hell was going on? Ash reached down and found my wrist, easily circling his fingers around it.
“I think you might like it, Ana.” He took my wrist and brought it up by my shoulder, pressing it back into the plush couch cushion. “You might like it, tied up. Your wrists bound.” He put pressure on my wrist as he spoke and I could imagine it, my wrists tied up, fastened over my head. Stripped naked, bared to him.
His lips down at a pressure point on my neck, he licked, then sucked. “What do you think, Ana? Would you like to be tied down and spanked? I’d love to spank you, hard, right before I fuck you.”
Um. “Where’s the bathroom?” I stood up.
He looked up at me, his eyes dark and smoldering. He pointed around the corner.
“Be right back.”
I ducked into the dark room and sat down, hands over my face. I needed to get a grip. I had to figure out what I wanted out of this night and I had to figure it out fast. Did I want to have wanton sex all over his hotel room, tied up and who knew what else, a reckless crazy night of abandon
and passion? I’d probably have more orgasms with this man in one night than I’d given myself my whole life. OK, that was probably an exaggeration, but I’d never responded to anyone the way I had with him. We’d been sitting on his couch for all of ten minutes and he nearly had me agreeing to let him tie me up then spank and fuck me.
It might be too much. I’d told myself I’d hop on the motorcycle the next time it drove past me in life. But really, who was this guy? What did I know about him? He was sexy as sin and obviously knew exactly how to touch a woman to make her insane with lust, but that was because he’d done it over and over, every day of his life for the last decade, to hundreds maybe thousands of women.
What did I want? Did I really want to join the chorus line of girls who’d been fucked by Ash Black? Was that my life’s ambition?
Damn it. Apparently, you could take the good-girl librarian out of the library, but you couldn’t take the library…no, wait, that wasn’t it. You could take the…Anyway, I didn’t think I could do it. It was exactly the kind of thing that filled my late night fantasies, but this wasn’t that. This was reality. I’d have to rain on this parade, tell him it had been fun meeting him, but I wasn’t that kind of girl.
Shaking, I walked back out into the main room. He was standing next to the window, a tall, dark silhouette looking out at the view. He brought his hand up to his brow and rubbed, shaking his head. I stepped forward.
“Hey, there you are.” He walked toward me. “Listen, I’m sorry. I was, you know, coming on sort of strong there.”
“Oh, it’s OK.” I shrugged it off though, yes, he’d had me in his hotel room all of ten minutes before he’d started in with the bondage talk. That was sort of strong.
“I’m not used to being with girls like you.”
“I should probably go,” I said reluctantly, looking for my coat.
“No!” He sprang over to my side and took my hand in his. “No, don’t go. It’s just that I’m used to being with models and strippers, you know, or celebrities as famous as me.”