Torn

by Deborah Bladon

  I feel the heat as it rushes through me. My hips rear up as I try to get deeper, burying myself to the hilt in her body. "You're perfect, Falon. You're so fucking perfect."

  Her hands fly back as she sits upright, grabbing her tits, tweaking her nipples. She's not shy, bucking and taking all she can from me. She comes then, her pussy contracting around me. The pulsing clenches my dick sending me straight into a state of heated bliss.

  I stare at her, spellbound by what she's feeling, wanting to give her all of this and more.

  She's drenched, the wetness from her climax sliding onto me. The sensation is more than I can take. I feel my own release as it barrels through me. I grab hold of her hips, push up and come harder than I ever have before.

  ***

  "Why don't you dance in your videos?" Her hand rests on my cheek as she asks the question.

  I stare into her eyes. We've been like this, looking at each other since we showered together quickly after we both came. She wanted to freshen herself up, I didn't want to let her out of my sight.

  "I'm a horrible dancer, Falon," I confess. "My career would be over if I danced in my videos."

  A small smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. "I don't believe you. I bet you're a much better dancer than you think you are."

  "I'm not," I say honestly. "I don't dance in public ever. I do that to protect my reputation."

  She moves her legs slightly, her toes trailing along the front of my calf. "Do you dance in private?"

  I clear my throat. "No. I never dance."

  Her eyes widen as she pushes on her top lip with her tongue. "Would you dance with me, Asher? Here? Tonight?"

  "Are you going to record it?" I ask, teasingly. "If you are, the answer is still no."

  "I wouldn't." Her brow furrows. "I just want to dance. We could dance to one of your songs."

  This right here is the true testament to how much I like this woman. I stand then because right now I'd give her anything she asked of me. I swipe my finger across my phone's screen to pull up one of my ballads and round the bed until I'm standing in front of her, completely naked.

  "May I have this dance, Falon?"

  She sits up quickly, reaching for my hands so I can pull her to her feet. I wrap one arm around her waist, drawing her chest into mine.

  She's barefoot so I tower above her by a few inches. I move slowly with her in my arm, her hand holding tightly to mine, as I shuffle my feet along the hardwood floor.

  "I knew you'd be good," she whispers as her head rests against my chin. "I knew you'd be the perfect dancer."

  "Only with you," I say softly. "Only with you."

  CHAPTER 27

  Falon

  It's Sunday which means Brooklyn family dinner night. I was going to bail because I have so much production to do on the images I took last week that I feel pressured to get it all done. I almost called my mom to tell her that work was too much but I didn't. The main reason is because she'll use that to remind me that I work too hard.

  It's not that she's not proud of me. I know that she is. She worries about me devoting so much time to my job that I don't have a social life. She wants me to meet a nice New York boy and settle down. I doubt that she wants me to have thirteen children though. Even though my parents love us all, I often wonder if they could do it again, if they would make the same decisions they made back then.

  "Did you get the hotel job, Falon?" My sister, Clara, asks as she shoves a basket of bread at me. I take it, knowing that I need to eat at least one slice. My mom bakes it every Sunday just for dinner. She always has and even though there are now more mouths to feed around this large dining room table, she still bakes the same size loaf as she did when I was growing up. The difference now is that she cuts the slices thinner so there's enough for my brother's wife, my sister's husband and my nephew.

  "I don't know yet," I answer back when there's a lull in all the other conversations taking place. "I'm booked to do the shots at the hotel in Tribeca on Tuesday. I should hear something a week or two after that."

  "How many other photographers are they considering?" She makes eye contact with me when she asks. Clara is, by far, my biggest supporter. She loaned me the money I needed to buy my first professional camera. She's an accountant and takes care of my financials. I pay her for that, even though she insisted I don't.

  "I'm not sure," I answer honestly. I've tried not to think about it. When one of the junior executives in marketing for Bishop Hotels called to tell me that they'd arranged for me to photograph their flagship hotel on West Broadway, I was relieved.

  I want this job more than I've wanted any other job. It could take my career to the next level.

  "You'll get it, Seven." Elijah taps my shoulder as he walks behind my chair. "Do you know when we're going to Asher's studio yet?"

  Dammit. I knew that was coming.

  The first thing on my agenda when I walked into the house today was to find Elijah to see if he'd come into the city on Wednesday to hang out with Asher. I wanted to keep that quiet and away from the bulk of my family.

  "Asher who?" My brother, Mike, turns towards me. "Who are you talking about, Eli?"

  "Foster," he says simply.

  "Falon is taking you to meet Asher Foster?" Clara chimes in. "As in the singer? You know him?"

  I don't respond because it's a trick that I've used successfully whenever I want to disappear under all the crossed conversations that take place when my family gathers under one roof.

  "Answer me." She's behind me now, her head lowered to mine. "How do you know him?"

  I turn towards her. "I took his picture, Clara. It's no big deal. He met Eli and offered to sign his guitar, that's it."

  "That's not it," Elijah says from where he's now seated across the table from us. "He's her boyfriend."

  "No." I try to giggle but it comes out as more of an anxious cackle. "I'm not dating him."

  Eli's eyes drop to his phone before he sighs, heavily. "If you're not dating him, why were you kissing him?"

  Every conversation grinds to an abrupt halt as he turns his phone towards the table to show everyone, including me, a gossip website where there's a picture of me and Asher kissing in the pizza place in Brooklyn, completely oblivious to everyone around us.

  ***

  "Were you embarrassed?" Asher looks down at his guitar. "What did your folks say?"

  "I wasn't embarrassed at all." I want to make that clear before I say another word to him. "I kind of liked it. The caption under the picture identified me as unidentifiable brunette. That's my new claim to fame."

  He grins lazily as his eyes meet mine. "You're anything but an unidentifiable brunette. I'm sorry they posted that photo. I didn't know anyone trailed me that night."

  The words take a few seconds to register with me. I'm not oblivious to the world we live in. I know that online gossip sites and print magazines pay top dollar for shots of their favorite celebrities.

  I totally get that the men and women who take those pictures are just trying to put food on their tables the same way I am. What I don't understand is why they have to be as aggressive as they are.

  When I was searching for anything Asher Foster related the other night, I stumbled on a few video clips of the paparazzi chasing after Asher and a model. They both covered their heads as they held tightly to one another's hands. I didn't feel jealous of how he tried to shield her from the onslaught of cameras. I felt pity for them both. All they wanted was to enjoy an evening out, alone in Los Angeles and it turned into chaos as soon as they exited the restaurant.

  "Your folks?" His voice is low and deep, edged with curiosity. "Did they say anything about the picture? About me?"

  They hadn't really. My mom covered her eyes in jest, pretending to be embarrassed but later, as I was leaving she whispered that she thought Asher was cute. My dad told to me to be careful, patting his hand over his own chest above his heart. I told them both that it was a date, nothing more.

  "They di
dn't say much," I answer honestly. "My siblings had the biggest reaction. A few of them are fans."

  He nods, his gaze falling back to his guitar. He asked me to meet him here, at the recording studio after work today. I thought I might have heard from him last night after I was done in Brooklyn, but there was nothing.

  Today I did edits for most of the morning before I had a session with a family with twin five-year-old boys. I was wiped by the time I locked my studio door behind me. I'd typed out a text message to him on my phone telling him I needed to bow out since I have so much work. I deleted it before I sent it though, realizing that the work will be there tomorrow, but his need to see me might not be. I knew I made the right decision when kissed me as soon as I arrived at the studio.

  "I've been working on that new song," he says, his voice low and throaty. "You inspire me, I think."

  That's a compliment, I think. It is, right?

  "I inspire you?" I ask quietly.

  "You do." He clears his throat. "There's something about you that just gets to me. I can't explain it."

  I wish he could. It might help me. I feel the same way about him. I think about him constantly. I love being around him. I'm aware enough to know that the draw at first was because of who he is. It's shifted now though. I've never had as much fun with a man before, in or out of my bed. I like the way he looks at me. I love the way he touches me.

  He lifts his head to gaze at me. "I need to go to Philly next week. My manager booked a show there. It's a small venue. It's more a rehearsal for my tour than anything but I need to do it to make her happy."

  "Philadelphia?" I look down at my jeans. "I bet people are lined up for days to get tickets to that."

  "They sold out fast," he says. "It's one of the few shows I'm doing before my tour officially kicks off. I'd like you to be there, Falon. It's on Thursday night."

  "Thursday night?" I repeat back after a minute. "That's next Thursday night?"

  My mind is racing. I never thought we'd move beyond the late night pizza dates and the sex in my bed. I've never been to his place. The closest I've made it is here. I suddenly realize that maybe bringing me here, to his recording studio, actually means more than taking me to his apartment. This place feels personal and intimate. He's at ease here.

  Asking me to go with him to one of his shows feels like a big deal. It is a big deal. I don't know why I don't just tell him I'll be there. I want to be there.

  "I'm not the guy to ask about the going rate for concert photography."

  "Concert photography?" I close my eyes. It's not a date. He wants me to work. He's asking me to shoot the concert for him.

  "Isn't that what you call it? I don't handle that part of things, but we'll pay you well."

  "I've never shot a concert before." I sigh deeply. "You should probably hire someone there for that. I can ask around, get a few recommendations if you need me to."

  "I want you to do it, Falon." He scratches the side of his nose. "I want you there. I trust you more than any other photographer."

  I feel like I'm on a ship, cresting a wave of assurance every few minutes before I crash below the surface of doubt. Does he want me there for me or for my photography skills? There's only one way to find out.

  "You want me to go to Philadelphia so I can take pictures of you performing?" I rub my hand across my chin. "I just want to be clear, Asher."

  He tilts his head a touch as his brows knit together. "You're the only photographer I want there. If anyone is going to take pictures of me on stage in Philadelphia, I want that person to be you."

  CHAPTER 28

  Asher

  I've pretty much fucked this up as royally as I could have. I thought I was doing Falon a favor by asking her to come to Philly with me next week to take some photos of me and the band performing. Dita brought up the idea of hiring Falon last night when she called me to tell me that I was playing there. She didn't ask if I wanted to do the show. She booked the venue, spoke to my band behind my back and then she arranged for the tickets to go on sale before she bothered to pick up her phone to call me. I was stuck, yet again, in a web she'd woven for me. She billed it as a surprise thank you show for my fans, but I know what it is. It's punishment for me backing out of those European dates and it's her way of making sure I'm ready to take center stage on the world tour. Philly is a chance for her to see me in action. That's what it really is.

  I don't give a shit at this point. The break from New York may actually be good. My dad still hasn't called me back, most likely because he's chasing after another money hungry model. My mom is basking in the attention she always gets from her friends in Los Angeles. Gabriel is fussing over his wife, Isla, and Caleb is training to be the next Olympic gold medalist judging by how often he sends me selfies of himself running at five in the morning.

  All of their lives are moving forward without a missed beat. Mine is stuck back at the moment I heard that goddamn voicemail. They're all Fosters, even my mom, who still has the name because of all the invitations to private parties it gets her. I took the name for granted. Now, whenever I sign my name to anything or see it written in a headline, I die a little inside. I don't know who the fuck I am anymore. If that wasn't enough, I've gone and pissed off the one person who has kept me afloat through this.

  I expected her to jump at the chance to come to Philly to shoot pictures of me while I perform. She didn't respond the way I thought she would. She just crossed her arms over her chest and tensed her jaw.

  "Dita showed me some of the shots you took of me in your studio." I rub my palm on my thigh, hoping the denim will absorb the moisture that's settled there. "I know there are other photographers who could handle the concert, Falon, but your work is impressive. You'll capture me the way I want. I have no doubt about that."

  I know, from my limited experience with her, that appealing to her creativity is the way to go. The woman is beautiful, she's the most sensuous lover I've ever had, but beyond that, she's talented. It's fucking amazing how talented she is.

  "I'm glad you liked the shots, Asher."

  I can't tell her that I want her to take on the job because I'd rather she collect that fee than some guy in Philadelphia who doesn't need the money the way she does. She's young. Her studio is in the heart of Manhattan. She has a one bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. If I can help lessen her financial load by sending work her way, I'm going to do it.

  "I want you to be there with me, Falon. If you're not interested in the job, that's fine, but I want to know you're near the stage when I'm performing and I want you in my bed at the end of the night."

  Her stance softens slightly, her shoulders lower. "I'd need to see the venue to understand the available light or where I can position lights. If you have the name of it or a link I can look at, that will help. I can go over that tomorrow and let you know if I'm comfortable taking on the shoot."

  She's all business. This is the woman people bear witness to when they book sessions with her. It's the same woman I went toe-to-toe with the first day I met her. She didn't back down from me then. She's confident in her craft, as she should be.

  "I'll get Dita to send you all that and a proposed contract." I look down at my guitar. "That's the business part of the trip, Falon. I want to talk about the pleasure."

  "Pleasure." The word rolls off of her tongue. "Does that happen after the concert?"

  "That happens tonight, the night of the concert, hopefully a lot more nights after that."

  Her mouth curves. "Are you asking if you can come home with me tonight?"

  Leaning forward, I kiss the tip of her nose. "I want you to come home with me tonight."

  ***

  "I don't have anything other than water or juice to offer you." I stand behind her as she gazes at the view of midtown Manhattan. "I don't drink alcohol. You might have noticed that."

  "I don't either," she says softly without moving. "I don't like the taste of it. I never have."

  "I like the taste," I a
dmit as I move to stand next to her. "It's a gateway for me. It opens the door to other things. Things I need to avoid."

  She turns to look up at me, her eyes catching mine. "I understand. My sister has addiction issues. I've gone to my fair share of Nar-Anon meetings."

  "You probably saw my brother, Gabriel, at a few." I turn my head towards the window. I shouldn't feel ashamed. I've used my recovery as a tool to shape the life I want. Gabriel helped me with that by attending dozens of Nar- Anon meetings when I was using. It gave him the insight he needed to offer me a guiding hand. I never would have recovered without him.

  "I can't say." Her chin tilts up. "There's a reason it's anonymous, you know."

  I laugh. "Maybe I've seen your sister in some Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Does she look like you?"

  She pauses. "She's never been to a meeting. She's not where you are. She still uses."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," I say honestly. "Are you close to her?"

  She takes a quick, deep breath, her hand jumping to touch her forehead. "She's not close to anyone. Her pills are her best friend."

  CHAPTER 29

  Falon

  I stare out at the city. The views offered from my apartment aren't like this at all. At any given time I can gaze out my bedroom window to see the street below. It's generally quiet since it's on one of the brownstone lined streets on the Upper East Side. I love it there. I'm not complaining but this view, from Asher's apartment, is what a photographer's dreams are made of. I can see the landscape of much of the city from here. I feel like I'm almost on top of the world.

  I feel his hands on my waist as he takes a step so he's behind me. He rests his chin on the top of my head. "You're staring, Falon. You love this city as much as I do, don't you?"