Ash tasted so good. Who knew going down on a man could feel so amazing? I’d experimented a few times with my ex-boyfriend, Stan. Awkward, brief, he’d certainly enjoyed himself but I never had. And he’d never come down my throat. I’d never wanted him to, never let him.

But with Ash? I wanted to drink him down like a luscious dessert. The look of him standing there huge and strong in the shower? All muscle and tattoos, I swear, no wonder he had the entire world at his feet. Seeing him there, so powerful, so masculine and sexy, I’d dropped right to his feet. I’d felt a pull I never had before, a deep throb between my legs, an intense desire to take him into my mouth and suck his cock.

“You’re amazing, Ana.” He held me to him in the shower, after pulling me up from my knees. He rubbed my back, making lazy circles with his hands.

“Mmmm.” I dropped my head to his broad chest, my hand caressing his muscles as if trying to memorize every inch. I still felt like I was on fire, raring and ready to go. Honestly, going down on him had turned me on so much I’d come close to orgasm, myself. The feel of him shooting his come down my throat, the harsh, guttural noises he’d made, the way he’d lost himself in blinding pleasure? Yeah, that had been a turn on and my pussy still throbbed from it.

But he’d just come so he’d probably want to go to sleep. That had been my prior experience, anyway. An orgasm had been like the opposite of an alarm clock with Stan. Within minutes of his final thrust he’d pass out cold, dead to the world. It helped that he slept so soundly. He never once woke up while I masturbated next to him, bringing myself the satisfaction that he never could.

But Ash’s shaft still stood out huge and hard, pressing into my stomach. What a cock. Seriously. I knew I didn’t have a lot to go on. I hadn’t exactly assembled a full police line-up of cocks to compare it to in my prior experience. But he seemed huge, massive, like a fucking jackhammer, wide and driving and hard as hell. Could he be ready to go again already?

“Let me love you, Ana,” he murmured, bending down and kissing my throat. He massaged my breast, cupping me in his hand, the pulsing swirl of water making my skin slick and slippery. I arched into his touch, wanting more.

He turned off the showerhead and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around me.

“I’ve made a fire.” He nodded his head toward the main room of our hotel suite. “Let me show you.”

He swept me up into his powerful arms. Had we not been in Paris, had I not been so aroused and falling for him so fast and hard, it might have felt like too much. Over the top, carrying me to the fire, laying me down before it gently, on a soft rug.

As it was, I loved every second of it.

“You’re really good at making a fire.” I admired his work in the fireplace. He’d also started one inside of me, and it raged even brighter.

“I was never even a boy scout,” he said, bringing a hand up to the top of my towel.

“No, you’re no boy scout.” My breath hitched as he trailed his finger along the edge of my towel. The one he’d just put on me. The one he was going to take off.

I knew what would happen next. Just the two of us in a hotel room in Paris. Last night I’d passed out like someone had drugged me. But tonight, I was wide awake and panting with need.

I’d had a lot of reasons to object over the past couple of weeks. That no-sex clause we’d signed, but even more importantly the notion that I needed to keep this all-business. Make sure my heart didn’t get attached.

As if that were actually an option. I was all in, whether I liked it or not. And right now, I liked it. A lot. There was a time to stand on the sidelines and play it safe. And there was a time to hop up onto the back of the bad boy’s motorcycle, wrap your legs around him and go for a ride. Now was that kind of time.

I reached my hand up into Ash’s thick, jet-black hair, pulling his lips to mine.

“I want you, Ana.” He kissed me, his tongue exploring my depths, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip.

“I want you too.” I wanted him so badly. But a tiny glint of insecurity flashed at the corner of my brain. I’d only slept with one man, and we hadn’t exactly burned down the house together. I didn’t really know what I was doing when it came to sex. But Ash? He wasn’t an international sex symbol for nothing.

In a quiet voice, I admitted, “Ash, I’m not exactly experienced.”

His motions stilled and he looked into my eyes. “Have you never…?”

“Oh, I have had sex before. But only with my ex-boyfriend.”

Ash growled. “Can I rip his lungs out?”

“I don’t think you need to feel jealous about what we—”

“Did he ever get to touch you?” he interrupted me with a ferocious gleam in his eyes, all predator.

“Well, yes.” Minimally, inspiring little to no response.

“Then I want to rip his lungs out. You’re mine.” He sank down with a deep exhale, as if he’d been holding himself back. He ripped my towel off of me, baring me completely on the rug. In the firelight, he ran his hands over my body, caressing, kneading, stroking. Every inch came alive, singing to his touch, tingling and responding until I was moaning with need, clutching at him.

He dropped his lips to my stomach, kissing my breasts and palming them, playing with the stiff peaks of my nipples.

“Ash, please,” I shamelessly begged, twisting under his attentions, my sex dripping with need.

“Please what, Ana?” he asked, a dominant gleam in his eye as he made me crazy, taking pleasure in my desperation.

“Ash!” I cried out as he moved down to trail kisses along my inner thighs. I loved his mouth on me. I knew how good his tongue could make me feel, but I wanted more. I needed more. He was ready to go, his cock full and hard, engorged and at the ready. I wanted to feel it inside of me, wanted him to thrust in deep until I came all over him.

“Tell me, Ana.” He kissed my hips, my lower stomach.

“Fuck me, Ash!” I screamed out, unable to take it anymore. All of the build up, all of the teasing, I couldn’t stand a second more of it. “Please, fuck me!”

“That’s it.” He savored my response, rewarding me, drawing up against me. He brought his hands on my shoulders and pressed his hard shaft directly against the entrance of my wet, quivering pussy. “You want my cock, Ana?”

“Ah! Yes!”

He left my side for a moment and I nearly cried out in frustration, but then I heard the crinkle of foil and realized he was opening a condom. Good thing he still had a rational thought in his brain. But then even that thought vanished as he brought his thick crown to my dripping slit and held it there for just a second, a second that seemed to stretch out and on. And then, finally, he parted me, thrusting his tip inside, hard, all man. I inhaled sharply. He was so huge, so much bigger than anything I’d ever felt before.

“Are you going to take me in, Ana?” he asked me, his voice low and husky.

“Yes!” I dropped my head back, my thighs parting for him. I wanted him in, all of him. He pumped into me, slowly easing in, each solid inch making me more and more wet.

“Christ, you feel good,” he exhaled, breathing hard. “So fucking wet for me, Ana.”

He spread me so wide, already had me so full I couldn’t believe there was any more of him. But I wanted all of him and I thrust my hips up, needing it all. There was more. He sank fully into me, filling me so deep I couldn’t believe I could take him in. It almost hurt and my eyes widened

“You make me so big, Ana.” He dropped his head to my throat and licked me as he started to move, slowly, just an inch or two at a time. Slowly, he began to build into a rhythm, giving me some time to adjust, to spread wide and take him all the way in.

I clutched my hands to his back and began to move with him, rolling my hips against him, meeting his thrusts.

“Yes,” he panted, starting to move faster, go deeper. He was holding back, I realized. Keeping himself restrained. I wanted him to let go and take me like an animal. I dug my hands into his ass, sank my fingernails into his flesh and shoved my pussy against his cock, screaming at the feel of him.

With a deep groan, Ash’s hands on my shoulders moved from caressing to something more. Pressing me into the soft rug, his fingers fastened me there and he began to fuck me, drilling his cock into me harder and harder. Twisting under him, I took him all, bucking, working for it, writhing with need, my legs spread so wide.

“You want it hard?” he asked me, bringing a hand down to my inner thigh. He pinned it to the rug, stretching me, angling my pussy so he could take me as fast and hard as he wanted.

“Yes!” I screamed, clawing at his back, loving the way he held me down, the way he gunned into me. I felt so taken, so possessed as he drove into me again and again, both of us grunting, straining, sweat starting to glisten on our skin.

“You like how I fuck you, Ana?” he roared, pounding into me, slamming his huge cock into me, hitting my clit just right every time. I couldn’t even answer him, couldn’t form a coherent word, I just screamed, the passion coursing through my body. “I’m going to fuck you all night, Ana. I’ll never get enough of your pussy.”

His words, his thrusts, his huge cock, the feel of his hands pinning me down, I couldn’t take it anymore. The pleasure peaked, crested and crashed down over me in shuddering, orgasmic waves.

“Ah!” I cried out, my pussy clenching and squeezing around his cock as I came, shivering and screaming.

“That’s it.” He fucked me relentlessly, not stopping, not giving me a second to rest, no mercy. I threw my head to the side, another scream tearing from my throat. He gave a massive thrust up into me, so deep, claiming me completely. I clawed at him, sweaty, taking everything he had to give. I could feel his cock, so deep, so hard, pounding into me, as he called out and groaned.

My hands on his back, I relished the feel of him so tense, then the feel of his massive release. He sank down on top of me, resting most of his weight to my side, but still covering me with his leg, his shoulder, his arm. I never wanted him any other way. I wanted his touch, his taste, his cock, on me, inside of me, every second of every day for the rest of my life.

I was in trouble now.

The next morning came and went, the sunrise completely unnoticed by either me or Ash. We had our own world, inside our hotel suite. It didn’t matter if Paris was outside, the city of lights and romance. We had everything we wanted inside, behind closed shades.

He’d made good on his promise, taking me all night long. Again in front of the fire, then in the bed. Late in the morning, I’d awoken to the feel of him by my side, along my back. His amazing cock pressed full and insistent against my backside.

I’d arched my back toward him, offering myself to him without words. He’d wrapped his large hand around my hip and angled me so he could thrust right up inside. He had me so close to coming from that alone, the breathtaking feel of him claiming me, filling me. When he brought his fingers down to my pussy, fucking me and strumming my clit, I came for him. He fucked me until I was sore, shaking the bed and coming with a mighty roar.

Still inside of me, he bit the nape of my neck. I gasped, but loved it.

“I think you just left a mark.” I still felt a twinge of pain where his teeth had met my skin.

“I want to mark you,” he murmured, pressing my hips against his. Damn if I didn’t feel his cock start to throb again, getting harder inside the wet walls of my pussy. I wiggled down on him, pressing my ass into his groin.

“You’re mine.” He ground my ass back into him, holding me there fast with his hand. His other hand traveled its way up my body to my nipple where he teased my peak, already stiff for him. He’d worked me hard all last night and now into the morning, but still I wanted more. I’d never felt anything like this before, this consuming fire, this raging, throbbing need. Every orgasm he gave me—and I’d lost count at this point—just fed my desire for more. The feel of him, the smell of him. The sounds he made, the way he worshipped my body, as if he couldn’t get enough, he’d never get enough.

Between his thumb and forefinger, he gently rolled my nipple. Teasing, light, he made me pant. “Mine,” he repeated. I closed my eyes, lost in the intensity of the feelings rolling through me. “Say it, Ana,” he commanded me, clamping his fingers down on my sensitive, swollen bud.

Pleasure shot down to my molten core, his cock hardening again deep inside of me.

“Yes, Ash.”

He twisted my nipple and thrust into me, his mouth back on my neck, licking, sucking, biting. “Say it.”

I’d never felt so owned, so claimed. It was overwhelming, suffusing my senses, leaving me breathless. There was no doubt about it. Every bone in my body answered him. “I’m yours, Ash.”

“Yes.” He drove into me, fucking me hard once again. Sore, my body still needed him and I thrust back into him, wanting him to mark me, wanting him to bruise me. I needed him and it wasn’t a tame, organized kind of a feeling. It was a wild, driving, consuming passion. My fist twisted into the pillow and I ground myself back onto his cock, wanting him to come again, wanting him to come in me without a condom. Now I was really crazy, and he wouldn’t do it. He’d been religious about condoms. Even now he withdrew and put on a new one before thrusting back into me, wet and ready for his cock.

But he made me crazy, stripped all rational thought from my brain. I didn’t care about anything but Ash, his smell, his grunts, his huge cock driving into me, parting me and fucking me like no man ever had. Like no other man ever would.

A few hours later after we dozed again, I got up to go to the bathroom. Some bodily needs could not be ignored. I brushed my teeth, washed my face and looked at the reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing it as my own. My lips swollen from kisses, my cheeks scraped pink from his stubble, my hair looked like I’d teased it mercilessly with a fine-toothed comb. I brought a hand to it as if starting to attempt to fix it.

Fuck it. I dropped my hand down in surrender. I had the unmistakable look of a woman who’d just been properly and soundly fucked for hours on end. A smile crept over my face. That’s exactly who I was.

As I crossed through the main room of the suite, I saw Ash’s phone lighting up like a Christmas tree. He might want to see it. It might be something important, news from his family.

Climbing back into bed, he greeted me with a drowsy kiss. “Welcome back.”

“I was only gone two minutes,” I laughed.

“Too long.”

“Your phone is blowing up.” I handed it to him. It hadn’t stopped vibrating and lighting up the whole time I’d been holding it.

Grumbling, he took it from me, but moved to put it on the bedside table. “I don’t want to know.”

“It might be your family,” I said. Then I realized the stupidity of my words. I was the one who checked in with her parents on a daily basis, sending them emails and texts and leaving them voicemails to always let them know I was OK. Ash’s father had passed away. He didn’t seem close at all with his mother. And though his grandmother clearly cared for him, to her he was still just one among many in a large, extended family. The only people checking in on him as frequently as my parents checked in on me were the people making money off of him. His PR reps, his agent. That had to suck.

With a sigh, he resigned himself to looking at his phone. “There it is,” he said, clicking on a link that had been sent to him.

I drew up next to him under the covers and together we watched ourselves. In the little bar from last night, we sat close on the piano stool and sang to each other. It felt strange, to say the least, seeing our intimate moment broadcast like that. The way we looked at each other, the flirtatious way we sang, it made my heart swell up all over again in my chest.

Me and over 800,000 other viewers.

“Is that right?” I pointed at the number under the window, labeled ‘views.’

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “It’s been making its way around.” Then, reluctantly, he pressed on his voicemail, letting it play through speakerphone.

“You fucking killed it!” Lola’s voice rang out, sharp and clear into our hotel room. I didn’t like her intrusion, but I guessed she was a necessary part of Ash’s life. “You had me worried, Ash. But you came through. That video is genius! Taking her to Paris! You’re nailing it!”

Ash sat up, clearly not enjoying Lola’s entry into our scene, either. “Work it today!” Lola called out from his phone. “Get some shots in front of the Eifel Tower.”

He ended her call, then looked up at me sheepish. “She’s fun.” He made light of it. But there it was, the undeniable reminder of what this was between us. A month of fake romance, for public consumption.

I smiled at him weakly, suddenly wishing I had on some clothes. I already felt vulnerable enough without also lying there stark naked.

“I should have gone with my first instinct and thrown the fucking phone out the window.” He looked pissed off and miserable.

“Come on.” I tossed a small pillow at him. “Let’s go out and explore. We’re in Paris.”

I got up and headed to the shower, telling myself to shake it off. Lola didn’t get to decide for us what this was. But her voice stayed with me as I soaped up my hair, letting the warm shower spray massage my aching body. “Work it today!” she’d said. She really knew how to make a girl feel like dirt.

I soaked up Paris like a dry, hungry sponge. I’d never been anywhere more beautiful. New York would always be my favorite city. It was the city I’d grown up near, the one I’d cut my teeth on, gritty and bustling and loud. Paris was like New York’s sophisticated, older cousin. All of the hustle without any of the crass brassiness of New Yorkers.

The women were so slim and chic, but it was the small touches that really blew me away. The drape of a woman’s scarf and how perfectly it matched the color of an accent on her boots. The little jacket on a dog and the way it complimented her owner’s outfit. Nothing seemed slapped together in the kind of rushing tornado my roommates and I enacted on a daily basis, barely managing enough time to dry our hair before braving the freezing cold outside. Every detail seemed deliberate and planned. I could people-watch in Paris for days on end.

Ash and I walked through the Luxembourg gardens with its statues and fountains, then stopped in a café to warm up. It was the one night a week that the Louvre stayed open late, and Ash suggested we head to it at night, taking advantage of the after hours.

I felt more eyes on us today, more people watching our movements and a couple of times I’d started at a camera flash. But it was hard to know if I was just being paranoid or if we were, indeed, getting followed around. Tons of people had cameras in Paris. Tourists walked every block wearing their big cameras across their winter coats. Maybe I was making some of it up?

At a small café, I sank my teeth into the most divine cheese I’d ever tasted. I didn’t know what the French did to make every single piece of food in their country taste divine, but I did know I was enjoying the hell out of it. Every sip, every bite I’d tried in Paris had melted in my mouth.

“You have to try this.” I spread some of the soft cheese onto a piece of toasted bread and handed it to Ash. “It’s straight from Heaven.”

“I’m sorry about Lola’s call.” Ash surprised me by saying.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I can tell you’re still upset.” He was right. I had been tense ever since her call earlier that day. But I hadn’t realized I’d been showing it, or that he would notice.

“Ana, I mean it.” He reached across the table and took my hand. I looked up and met his serious gaze. “I know I live in a circus. I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s not your fault.” I waved him off, not wanting to discuss it. I felt too raw. Having to explain why it hurt to be reminded that this romance was fake would lead us onto tricky ground. It hurt because to me, it didn’t feel fake, not at all. But that wasn’t a conversation I was ready to have with him.

“Ana.” He brought his other hand to mine. “Don’t let Lola spoil this.” Then he leaned over and kissed me, soft and full on my mouth. He felt so good and I couldn’t help it, my whole body responded. I craved him, inhaling his scent. He ran his thumb over my bottom lip, looking like he wanted to take me right then and there across the café table. I wanted him to do it, too.

“Let’s enjoy our time here together,” he murmured, kissing my hair.

“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling the tension slip from my body. He was right. We didn’t have much time left in Paris. We flew out tomorrow night. Our time together was too precious to let it get spoiled.

At the Louvre that night, we couldn’t stop touching each other. We kept it PG, holding hands, caressing each other’s backs, stealing a few brief kisses in shadowy passageways. But he lit me up, his nearness, his touches, keeping me at a steady simmer the entire time.

He flirted shamelessly, relentlessly, each blush he coaxed from me encouraging him more. We stood in front of the Mona Lisa, all boxed up in heavy glass, and he pronounced me far more beautiful than any masterpiece. At the sculpture of the half-naked Aphrodite, he declared me more tempting than any goddess. The light kisses he feathered at the nape of my neck, the way he ran his fingers along the inside of my wrist, it felt as if he were making love to me room by room, building my desire. By the time we got to an early 1800s French portrait of a nude woman reclining, one foot sensuously grazing up the side of her calf, her eyes turned over her shoulder to beckon the viewer into bed with her, I was nearly panting.

“Let’s get back to the hotel,” Ash murmured in my ear as we stood in front of it, one hand on my stomach, his groin pressed into my back. I could feel him through our clothing, the full length of him, all male and hard, ready to drive into me again. I trembled, already wet for him. I couldn’t wait.

Outside, he pulled me into the shadowy recess of an overhang.

“Ana,” he breathed into me, his hands at my waist, his mouth on me. I pulled at his hair, clasped his neck, pushed my hips against his. I’d never felt so wanton, so hot, so consumed with need. I felt so sensitive to his every touch, so aware of every brush of his fingers.

His hand at my hip, he slipped his fingers just inside the waist of my jeans. The hot feel of his fingers under my shirt, against my skin, so close to the forbidden as we stood outside, had me wild. I panted, licking the hollow of his neck.

“Are you wet for me, my Ana?” he asked, low and husky in my ear. His fingers trailed across my skin, slowly, teasing me.

“Yes,” I murmured back, wanting him to know. Wanting to show him. I wanted him to feel me, sink his finger down into my sex, have the satisfaction of knowing what he did to me.

“Have you been thinking about me fucking you?” He pressed his huge, hard bulge against my stomach. I sighed in response, grasping his hip, hating the clothes between us.

“Yes,” I admitted, remembering the feel of him, velvet steel plunging into my wet heat. He filled me so completely, stretched me so wide it almost hurt, but the pain burned so good. I wanted him to take me rough again, fuck me hard and long all night. “I want you to fuck me again, Ash,” I panted, licking his earlobe.

He groaned into me, thrusting against my hip. I could almost feel him thrusting inside me and I moaned.

“How do you want it, Ana?” He wound his fingers down, shielding me with his large body, keeping our moment private in the dark corner. His hand found my sex, tight in my jeans, and he drew his fingers along the seam. I wondered if he could feel my heat, my growing wetness through the denim. I hoped he could, hoped he knew how nasty he made me feel, how much I wanted him.

“Do you want it soft and slow?” He began stroking me through my jeans, somehow finding exactly where to touch me, pressing against the nub of my clit. I whimpered at his touch, my hand clutching at his t-shirt, pulling it up so I could press my hand against his hot, lean stomach.

“I worked you hard last night,” he continued, sounding so satisfied. “You must be sore today.”

“I am sore,” I admitted, pushing my throbbing sex against his hand. “I love it,” I whispered, almost not able to believe I was saying it, so dirty. But I meant it, every word, and I wanted him to know.

“You’re sore because I fucked you so hard,” he whispered. The ownership in his words, the way he strummed me with his fingers, I whined and swallowed, hard, closing my eyes. He pressed against my clit in a rhythm, like the rhythm of him fucking me, thrusting deep inside of me.

“You want it hard again, Ana?” he asked, his fingers drawing along the length of my pussy through my jeans.

My hand fisted in his t-shirt, quivers starting to tremor up through my body. “Yes, Ash.”

“Tell me how you want it,” he ordered me, taking me so close.

“I want you to fuck me hard, Ash,” I begged him, bucking against his hand. “Please.”

“Yes,” he growled, taking my mouth in his, feasting on me. He pushed his hand full onto my pussy, cupping me hard through my jeans.

And then the bright flash of a camera went off.

“Fuck,” Ash swore, bringing his arms up on either side of me, his head down over my face. “Get the fuck away!” he barked out over his shoulder.

More flashes. “What you up to, Ash?” a male voice called out, taunting, knowing.

“Show us who you got there, Ash!” another voice called out.

Oh God, this was a nightmare. What had they seen? What had they caught on camera? On video?

“Come with me,” Ash said to me, quiet, quick and urgent. He grabbed my hand hard and pulled me with him, holding me to his side. Shielding me with his coat, he propelled us forward. I could hear voices calling out, see more flashes, feel the push of foreign hands

“Stay the fuck away from her!” Ash thundered out as he rushed us forward, somehow breaking through the throng and getting us curbside where we ducked into a waiting taxi. They followed us right up to the car and I almost thought a few might try to get in with us, but Ash slammed the door shut and barked out the name of our hotel to the driver. He sped away into the night.

I shook as Ash held me to his chest. “Fuck!” he exploded. “I’m so sorry, Ana.”

“What do you think they saw?” I hated how scared my voice sounded, but damn did I feel it. What would come out from that on video? What would everyone see, my boss at the library, my piano students, my younger cousins? My parents? Hot tears sprang to my eyes and I sank my head into my hands.

“Ana, I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“No, no.” I shook my head. No to both questions. No, they hadn’t hurt me, but no, I wasn’t all right.

“Damn it!” Ash pounded his fist against the door of the taxi and the driver turned his head around in concern.

“Tout va bien,” Ash reassured him, then added some more stuff in French. He spoke French on top of it all. Add that to his list of lady-killing attributes. The list was long and it had made a complete fool out of me. So much so that I’d let him finger me nearly to orgasm on a public street, begging for him to fuck me. Oh my God, did they have microphones good enough to pick that up? Would there be audio to go along with it all?

By the time we got to the hotel, cold panic had set in. A lone photographer waited for us by the entryway. So they’d figured out where we were staying, too. Ash glowered at him and swept me in underneath his coat.

Up in the hotel room, the two of us paced the living room like wind-up dolls set in opposite directions.

“I can’t believe this!” I cried out, feeling sick to my stomach.

“I’m going to kill them,” Ash spat out, fists by his sides, seething with rage.

“What do you think they got?” I asked, wincing at the memory of everything I’d said. All that dirty talk. Had I told him I loved feeling sore because he’d fucked me so hard? Dear God.

“Nothing.” He fisted his hand in his hair as he paced. “They got nothing. I think they got nothing.” He stopped in front of an armchair and roared out, “Fuck!” He gave the leg of the chair a violent kick. It shot right out, the leg detaching from the furniture and launching into the air where it hit the wall and left a small dent. The chair toppled over to its side.

“Ana.” He came over to me, urgent, grasping my shoulders hard. “I’ll make this right. I swear I will.”

“I can’t do this, Ash.” I shook my head. “I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“All the cameras, all the time.” I was shaking and crying, a sick pit in my stomach. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Fuck!” he yelled. He spun around and smacked his palm into the wall so hard a painting fell to the floor. A gorgeous ancient-looking painting in an ornate, gilded frame.

“What are you doing, Ash? Are you trashing the hotel room?”

“Yes, I’m trashing the goddamned hotel room!” he yelled as if it were his God-given right.

“What are you, a toddler throwing a tantrum?” I yelled right back at him, all my fury now unleashing on him. He was the one who’d put me in this position. He should have known better. He’d been in the celebrity spotlight for years now. He shouldn’t have exposed me like that.

“How could you do this to me?” I screamed, seething with anger. “How could you let them catch us like that?”

“I’m sorry, Ana!” He tore his hand through his hair looking tortured, frenzied.

“That doesn’t change anything!” His apology wouldn’t rewind time and take video down off the Internet.

“Fuck!” he roared again, kicking a baseboard.

“Kicking things won’t help!” I yelled at him.

We stood there, panting, looking in separate directions. Only minutes ago we’d been pressed up against each other, panting for entirely different reasons. That seemed a lifetime away.

Emotions stormed through me. He looked so wrecked, I wanted to reach out to him, wrap my arms around him, kiss the pain away that I saw etched there on his face. But then a hot wave of shame rose up through me, bubbling over the top until I felt tears stinging at my eyes again.

“I think I just need…” I brought my hands to my face. I didn’t really know what I needed. But that was the problem, I needed some time to figure shit out.

Maybe I could go outside and take a walk. I always felt better after a walk, brisk on a city street. A walk always managed to clear my head.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” I said out loud. I still had my coat, gloves and boots on and I headed toward the door.

“Are you crazy?” Ash asked, bringing his hand to my arm. “They’re out there waiting for you.”

I stopped in my tracks. It was like some kind of a horror movie, as if zombies were clustering at our front door. I couldn’t go outside or they’d eat me alive. I was trapped. My eyes went wide.

“I’ll head out.” Ash decided, heading toward the door. “I’ll give you some time on your own. If it’s what you want.” He paused, standing, looking at me distraught.

“It’s not that I don’t want you around,” I protested. “I just—” Hands to my face again, I closed my eyes, wishing everything could go back to the way it was. But, like in a horror movie, that never worked. When I opened my eyes again, it was still just me and Ash in a hotel room freaking out over the fact that paparazzi had just taken pictures of and possibly videoed me nearly coming on his fingers.

“You don’t want me around,” he finished for me. “I get it.” Hand to the doorknob, he turned to say one last thing. “I never wanted to hurt you like this. I never meant to pull you into all of this with me.”

“But you did,” I said, quiet and filled with regret.

He looked at me and swallowed, grim. Then he left, the door closing behind him with a click.

The second he left, I felt worse. I knew he hadn’t actually wanted me to get humiliated in public like that. I shouldn’t have lashed out at him. It wasn’t his fault.

Or was it? He’d deliberately brought me into his media circus, invited me in with the express purpose of getting more attention, elevating his profile, filling the airwaves with scenes of our romance. A sickening thought occurred to me. Had he wanted that moment to be captured? Maybe he’d intended for it to get leaked? Hot and heavy, if our little piano duet got nearly a million clicks, what would this one get?

Shrugging off my coat, I poured myself a drink of water and sank down on the couch. What a mess. I wondered if footage could already be online? If I took out my phone and clicked. Would incriminating pictures or video already be loaded and running?

I wasn’t ready to find out. I sipped my water and told myself to breathe. Just breathe. Maybe I’d over-reacted. Maybe they hadn’t captured anything, just some dark, shadowy photos and you couldn’t even tell who was in them.

But then what? Say this all blew over, a tempest in a teapot. What then? I’d slipped into a little fantasy world, tucked into this hotel room with him, lulled by the day and a half we’d had in Paris under the radar. But that wasn’t his reality. Ash’s real life was stalked and filmed and dissected. And from what I’d seen in the tabloids in the past, he gave as good as he got. He slept around and partied all night and trashed hotel rooms. Just a minute ago he’d kicked the leg right off of what looked like an antique armchair.

Did I even know who he really was? Our bodies clicked like we were made for each other. But what did that really mean? I suddenly felt a moment of nostalgia for boring old Stan. He’d practically bored me to tears, but maybe that was better than this craziness?

Maybe I should end it. Maybe I should pack up my things and head home, tell Ash it was over. He’d probably already gotten enough publicity out of this to make the stunt worthwhile. He could tell people I’d broken it off and he’d be telling the truth. Who knew, he might even still chip in the money for the library?

Ending it would probably be the smart thing to do, because I’d never felt so confused in all my life. I’d always trusted my instincts with people, but now my wires were all crossed. What we had between us felt so real to me, but maybe it was all fake for him? A public performance he extended into his private bedroom.

My phone itched in my pocket. I pulled it out. With morbid fascination, I typed in his name.

There it was on YouTube, the back of Ash’s head bent down over mine. The title of the video: “Ash Black Hot and Heavy.” Wincing already, I pressed play.