Undone: A Fake Fiancé Rockstar Romance

by Callie Harper

  “You make me so hard, Ana.” His voice sounded hoarse. “I haven’t been with anyone else.” I stroked him through his jeans and he groaned. “I’m hard all the time. I’ve been taking my cock in my hands and jerking off thinking of you. I’m going crazy.”

  “I know how you feel,” I panted.

  “You do?” His eyes opened, fixed on me. The silence stretched between us. Then he whispered, “Have you touched yourself thinking of me?”

  I had, many times, late at night. I felt embarrassed admitting it, but I gave a shy nod yes.

  His voice came out strained. “Show me.”

  “What?” I sat up, surprised, sliding my leg off of his.

  “Show me how you touch yourself, Ana.” He kept his hand on my thigh, his fingers pressing into me, urgent. My pussy throbbed.

  “I couldn’t.” I shook my head, no. I could never show him how I touched myself. That was naughty.

  “Show me, Ana. We’re both going insane. Show me how you touch your sweet pussy and make yourself come.”

  Shy, unable to believe I was doing it, my hand slid down between my thighs. Without thinking, on instinct, I slipped my fingers into my slick heat. I sighed at the touch. I was already so wet for him. I was wet for him all the time, wanting him. He’d gotten me turned on at the club, dancing with me, then stroking me in the car and I wanted more. I slid my fingers along my slit, quivering with need. My body wanted to come.

  “That’s it.” Ash watched my hand. “Show me.” He pulled up my dress, bunching it by my waist. He took my panties in his hand and pulled them far down my legs and then completely off. Now he could see everything.

  “That’s it,” he exhaled, his breathing shallow. “Now spread your legs for me while you touch yourself.”

  I closed my eyes, losing the last of my inhibitions, spreading my legs for him so he could see everything. So slick, so wet for him, I was dripping as I touched myself. I wanted him to know it, to see it. I finger-fucked myself in a slow rhythm, moaning as I remembered how he’d eaten me in that closet, in the dark, so ravenous for my taste.

  I could hear Ash breathing harsh and heavy at my side, so turned on at the sight of me. “What are you thinking about, Ana?” he whispered, so close.

  “How you lick me,” I whispered, guilty.

  “How I lick your pussy?”

  “Yes, and how you bite me.”

  “How I bite your clit?” he demanded as I worked myself, moaning. “Wider, Ana,” he barked. “Spread wider. Show me everything.”

  I did it, loving following his order, wanting to give him everything, so dirty, so naughty, stroking my pussy with my fingers. He unzipped the side of my dress and pulled at my shoulder strap, baring my breast. With a hiss, he grasped my breast and flicked my erect nipple with his thumb. I picked up the pace, thrusting into myself, circling my clit, so close.

  “Do you like it when I bite you?” he asked. I opened my eyes to see him fixated, feasting like a starving man on the sight of my fingers pleasuring my pussy.

  “Yes! I love it when you bite me,” I moaned, loving to confess it to him.

  “Are you close to coming, Ana?” He gripped my breast in his hand, urgent.

  “So close!” I cried out.

  “When I bite you, come on your fingers.” He dropped his mouth, taking my nipple between my teeth. He bit down on my sensitive tip.

  I came apart, exploding on my fingers. He bought his hand down to cover mine and feel every one of my shudders, all of my juices. He groaned in appreciation, licking my breast, stroking my hand.

  “So good, Ana, so good. So sweet.”

  “Ash!” Wave after wave hit me. It felt so intense, showing it to him.

  I never could have believed I’d do something so dirty for a man. Now I couldn’t believe I’d ever have to stop, in just two weeks. Time was speeding so fast. But just now, I buried myself in Ash’s shoulder, blissed out as the limo took us to the airstrip where we’d fly off to Paris.

  14

  Ash

  I let Ana sleep in the plane the whole flight over. I wanted some sort of a medal for doing it, maybe a merit badge. I didn’t think they gave those out in Boy Scouts. The “I let my girlfriend sleep instead of fucking her” award.

  She looked like an angel lying there, her head in my lap. Right next to my raging hard on. She might be an angel, but I was all sinner. Her full, lush lips. The moans that came out of them. She was the most insane mix of naughty and nice, it practically made me drunk.

  I’d been with a whole lot of naughty. Over-the-top naughty. Trying-so-hard naughty it bordered ridiculous. Some of the nasty shit women said to me, it almost made me blush. Almost.

  But Ana, to see her actually blush, honestly unable to speak the words and tell me she’d touched herself. And then get so turned on she actually did it, in front of me, spreading her legs wide to show me all of it. Fuck. I just about came from the sight of it, how quickly she responded to one bite, fantasizing about me. She might kill me. And we hadn’t even had sex.

  I’d have her in Paris. I had to. Without fucking her I wouldn’t make it past customs on the way out of the country. The French authorities would stop me with my blue balls—“sir, we’re sorry, this is the country of love and romance. You need to take care of that before you leave.”

  I had the most romantic city in the world as my wingman. Bistros and jazz clubs and walks along the Seine. Who knew, it might even snow, a light magical blanket covering the city? We’d have to head inside to get warm. And I’d warm Ana up, that much I knew for sure.

  While Sleeping Beauty got her rest, I messed around on my phone. There was a ton of press about me and Ana, as I knew there would be. What I hadn’t known was how captivating the videos would be to watch. There was one of the two of us messing around in a snowball fight. It didn’t get cornier than that, especially when the whole thing had been staged right down to the pile of snow I’d had at the ready to ball up at her.

  But what sounded real was her peal of laughter, first when I hit her, then more triumphant when she actually got me back, square between the shoulders. And then there was that look in her eyes, after I caught her and spun her around and set her down right up close next to me. She looked up, sparkling and alive and radiant, rosy cheeked and ready for the kiss I was about to give her. I paused on that frame more than a few times.

  And then there was footage from earlier that night in front of the club. I liked seeing her again in that sexy, slinky silver dress. The stylists had really done their job well with her, putting her in something so simple and yet so tempting. Almost too short, grazing the top of her thighs, showing miles of leg down to her high heels. Short enough to bunch up at her waist as I’d bared her and she’d spread her legs and showed me how she pleasured herself.

  With a groan, I shifted my weight in the seat. Ana stayed sleeping in my lap, completely unaware. I’d have to try to get some sleep myself, that was the trick with red-eye flights. You had to sleep the whole way and then you could hit the ground running once you landed. Usually, some sex and booze did the trick for me. On a private plane like we were on now, you could have anything and everything you wanted. This new self-imposed torture, spending time with the one woman I couldn’t have, that made sleep somewhat harder.

  I watched some more footage from tonight. I liked the end of the clip. The same guys shouted out the same shit, about how I was a heartbreaker and wasn’t she afraid I’d do it to her. And she defended me. She called me a good person and told them to back off.

  I couldn’t agree with her. I wasn’t a good person. And they were just doing their jobs, however rude. But she’d defended me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done that. Really fiercely defended me, like I deserved it. She was crazy. And I loved her for it.

  The L word. Where had that come from?

  Resting my head back on the seat pillow, I told myself not to think about it. I needed to get some shut-eye. We’d arrive on the 27th so we’d really only hav
e three days in Paris before we flew back on the evening of the 30th. She’d never been before to my favorite city. Three whole days in Paris. But it was the nights I was thinking of as I drifted off. Three nights, with Ana, in a hotel room. Yes, the days would be fun but I was really looking forward to the nights.

  §

  “Ash, I have to ask you something.” Ana and I walked arm in arm along what had to be one of the more charming streets in Paris, in the sixth arrondissement. But what street in Paris wasn’t charming? The tiny restaurants, the bicycles weaving slowly along, the impossibly fashionable women with impossibly tiny dogs. Each apartment window was framed with intricate wrought-iron railings, each block dotted with warm, glowing lamps. It was dusk, just before five o’clock in late December and little white lights glowed along the edges of nearly every shop window.

  “Yes, ma cherie?” We were in France. I was allowed to use terms of endearment. It was like a national right granted to every person on French soil.

  “Are you a baron?”

  “Am I barren?” I had to stop, leaning down to make sure I was hearing her correctly. I was wearing my hand-knit hat, after all, and she had lined it with thick fleece. An absolutely fantastic hat. I planned on wearing it to bits and pieces.

  “You know, since your grandmother is a baroness. Are you a baron?”

  Bursting out with a laugh, I drew up again. “I am so sorry to disappoint you. I am not a baron.”

  “Oh, I’m not disappointed. I just wondered.”

  “You are,” I had to tease. “You’re a little disappointed.”

  “I’m not!” she insisted, growing flustered. So fun to tease.

  “It’s not enough that I’m a rock star. No, you want me to be a baron, too.”

  “Ash!” She hit me on the arm, laughing now, too.

  “I tell you what.” I leaned down to her, whispering into her ear. “The next time I go down on you, you can call me the baron.”

  “You did not just say that!” Her eyes wide, she half-laughed, half blushed in response.

  I whispered, breathy, “Oh, yes, baron! Right there, baron!” She smacked me again. I sighed and stopped. For now. Ana never stopped entertaining me.

  “So, no, I’m not a baron,” I continued. “My brother Colton inherited that title, after my father passed away this summer.”

  “Colton’s your older brother?”

  “Yup, by two years. The title’s perfect for him. I’m just the angry second son.” I looked down at her, flashing a smile. “In years past they would have sent me off into the clergy.”

  Ana shook her head. “That wouldn’t have suited you at all.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I probably would have tarnished the family name by having affairs with married women.”

  “Good thing you were born in this day and age. When you could wear tight leather pants and shake your ass up on a stage for money.”

  “You did not just say that.” Now it was my turn to stop and give her a glare. But I had to admit, she’d nailed it. “What am I, Ana?” I asked, feigning hurt. “Am I just a sex symbol to you? Do you just want me for my body?”

  She laughed and shook her head again. I knew we were being silly, acting giddy together, teasing and laughing. I couldn’t get enough.

  Walking again, arm in arm, I let her know, “That’s OK with me, you know. If you’re just using me for my body. You can have me any time you want.”

  “Good to know.”

  Paris unfurled before us, every street corner revealing a breathtaking scene and beckoning in new directions, every restaurant boasting a menu fit for a king. We ducked into a small bar, ordering some red wine to warm us up. Our first day in the city, not a single person had looked at us twice. We were completely incognito. I’d received a few panicked texts from Lola, but I wasn’t falling for that trap. I was off the grid and loving it.

  Outside, a light flurry of snow began to fall. Lazily drifting down, in no rush. Earlier that day, we’d checked into our hotel, a small boutique spot without the glitz and glam of a place like the Ritz, but all the privacy we could want. We strolled down the street to a corner bistro, enjoying out dinner, but I could tell Ana was getting tired. She hid a few yawns behind her napkin, giving me sleepy smiles.

  I took her back to the hotel and built a fire in the fireplace. A classic old building in a classic old city, Paris let you burn it up. None of the California spare-the-air warnings, billboards telling you smoke from burning wood was bad for your lungs. Parisians wanted you to breathe deep, live for the moment and cherish your lover in front of a roaring fire.

  We settled on a plush couch together and I drew a soft blanket over us both. I gave Ana five, ten minutes tops before she passed out. The jet lag was really getting to her. She’d never traveled to Europe before, so I got it. This was all new to her. Tomorrow she’d be feeling 100%.

  “I’m sorry I’m so sleepy,” she apologized, snuggling into me. She fit so perfectly, my arm around her, her head on my chest.

  “No, don’t apologize. Rest. You’ll enjoy tomorrow more.”

  She yawned big, and rested against me content. After a moment, I could feel her smile against me. “I can hear your heart beat.”

  “Yeah?” I suddenly felt vulnerable. Was it beating fast? Here she was, so relaxed she was about to fall asleep. But I didn’t feel tired, and it wasn’t just my travel expertise keeping me awake. It was Ana, being around her, the way she made me feel, the anticipation of more time together. I was playing it cool, but I felt eager and slightly nervous, just her there with me. No entourage, no cameras, no band mates. It was everything I’d wanted but I realized how little time I’d spent over the years without all the trappings. I felt stripped down, in every sense.

  “Mmm.” She brought her hand to my chest, meaning nothing by it. She wasn’t trying to stir my blood, send awareness shooting down to my cock. But it happened, with just the touch of her hand. Her eyes drifted closed. I kept my hand around her shoulders, listening to her breathing. I could stay like that all night.

  “S’funny,” she murmured, sounding half-drunk but I knew it was just half-asleep. We’d shared some wine, but only a couple of glasses, and the steak frites she’d eaten for dinner had put something nice and substantial in her stomach. “Never wanted to before.”

  “What’s that?” I tilted my head down near hers, trying to catch what she was saying. She really was mumbling, almost talking in her sleep from the jet lag.

  “Thought it seemed gross. Til you.”

  “What seemed gross?” She was talking nonsense, now, I knew it. Sleep talking. I wondered what she’d say next, probably something about aliens wearing mittens or cooking spaghetti in applesauce. My younger brother Heath had shared a room with me when we were little kids and he’d talked in his sleep. Funny, I hadn’t thought of that in a long time. He used to say the most random shit.

  “Sucking you.”

  Say what now? All alert attentiveness, I bent down closer to her mouth. Had she just said what I thought she’d said? Her eyes were completely closed.

  “Never thought I’d wanna do a blowjob. But I wanna blow you.”

  Out like a light. Drop the mic, she’d left the building.

  Well. Quite the way for her to finish off the day.

  Now my cock was hard as a goddamned rock, practically hammering at the seam of my jeans. She wanted to give me a blowjob? I almost wondered if I’d made that up, some fiction of my fantasy life taking over reality. But, no, I was pretty sure she’d actually said it. I’d been sitting on the couch thinking rather tame thoughts, content holding her in the firelight and reminiscing about a moment from my childhood. She was the one with the dirty mind.

  Now my mind caught right up with hers. The thought of her perfect lips descending on my cock. She’d be shy about it, but she’d have that eagerness, too. I could picture her kneeling between my legs, her wide, toffee-colored eyes looking up at me as she took me into her mouth. Jesus, it would feel like heaven. My own
eyes closed as I imagined it, the warmth, the pressure, the way she’d lick me. Fuck. How had she managed to fall asleep with that coming out of her mouth? I bet she didn’t even realize she was talking out loud.

  Nice to know her mind ran as nasty as my own when we were together. I enjoyed my small glimpse into unfiltered Ana. What else did she think about doing with me? I had a long list with her.

  You know what was funniest about the moment, though? I guessed she and I were both having a first. She’d been snuggling into me, falling asleep, having an unfiltered moment with sex on her mind. I guess I was the first man she’d ever wanted to go down on. There was a God.

  What got me, though, was the fact that she was the first woman I’d ever wanted to just sit on the couch with. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to fuck her and fuck her long and hard. I wanted her up against the wall and over the couch and tied to the bed for hours at a time. I wanted to fuck her so hard she’d have trouble walking, shoot come so deep inside her she’d see stars. I wanted it rough, wild, driving, pounding into her like an animal.

  But I also wanted to sit with her on the couch. Her body resting gently against me, she slept, trusting and sweet. The fire crackled, a giant clock over the mantle ticked, and I felt an entirely strange sensation. No roar of the crowd, no hype from my PR team, no pressure from groupies or band mates or photographers. Just me and Ana. Time stretched out. And for an impatient man, always climbing from one peak to the next, seeking the spotlight, center of attention, I had a unique feeling. For once in my life, with Ana sleeping on my chest, I wanted the moment to last.

  §

  The next morning, Ana woke rosy and early, clearly with no memory of her over-sharing the night before. I still remembered it, with a deep ache in my balls, but I didn’t say anything. I knew I’d find the right time to do something about it, though. I couldn’t let her fantasies go unrealized, now could I?