Dirty. Sexy. Love.[*Complete*]

Chapter Two-- Asher

Asher

Fuck. Everything about Jezebel Rue set my whole existence on edge and made my cock so hard it hurt. I wanted to knock everything off her desk, pull up that tiny black skirt and make her take all of me again. But something in the back of my head told me that probably wasn't going to happen—ever. Last night hadn't been a pity fuck, but there wouldn't be a repeat performance all the same. Knowing that I'd never get to touch her again made me restless. Her rejection put her in the forefront of all my thoughts for the rest of the day.

I'd only obsessed over a one-night-stand once before. She was the vocalist and guitarist for a band who opened for us. Somehow through the all the drugs and everything else during that time of my life, I'd forgotten her band's name. We spent the day hanging out a decade ago, and then after we had sex, she walked out of my life for good. I regretted not saying anything to make her stay. But it worked out as in the end she became my muse, my one chance at happiness that left me hollow inside after I let her go. The worst part? She never gave me her name, and it'd been so long I barely remembered her beyond how right it felt to hold her for those two minutes she let me before leaving.

Now, besides my faceless half-remembered muse was Jezebel Rue. Even her name was practically pornographic. If I'd been smart, I would have convinced the guys to go to a different publicist no matter how good she was. Jez was trouble in all the ways only a woman like her could be. She'd put me on my knees, bend me to her will and make me like it. The thought made my cock twitch painfully in my skinny jeans while my band and I walked into La Rogue incognito.

No one paid us much attention. We were just five more guys in black hoodies who paid the cover charge to get in like everyone else. The show was a reunion for one of the bands who opened for us before we got arena tour famous. Oddly enough, there were more people in the place than I thought there'd be. The moniker on the bass drum read Sugar-Free. Zach, my drummer who arranged this little outing, hadn't told me the name of the band. For some reason, it bothered me that I couldn't remember them clearly.

I had a lot of holes like that though. One of the drawbacks of mild brain damage from a failed suicide attempt.

The band came out on stage as we sat around one of the bar tables at the back with our beers. They were four women in their mid to late twenties wearing heavy eyeliner and very little else. As I brought my pabst up to my lips, I caught a familiar sight that made me sit up straighter. I recognized the fingerless gloves with their little studs and the black nail polished hand that rested idly on the mic. My lips parted as I caught a glimpse of the fifty-caliber bullet belt wrapped low on her hips that was missing two of the shiny brass casings. I had one in the nightstand beside my bed. My mouth grew dry as the rest of the woman filled in before me. She was an older version of the girl that spent the night under and over me when she was eighteen, and I was nineteen some ten years ago.

Her body was tighter now than it used to be. Her abdominals ghosted under the skin as she moved, and her ample breasts jiggled as they half-spilled from the tiny shirt she wore—if you could call it a shirt at all. She dressed almost the same, a tiny schoolgirl skirt with holy fishnets and a tight, white, button-down shirt tied up, revealing her midriff. It framed her breasts more than really covered anything. Then there was the unexpected, a hickey that sat at her hip—the one I'd given Jez the night before. She pulled her long, stick straight, neon-pink hair back from her face, and I dropped my beer. It was Jez in a wig.

With the thick, dramatic eyeliner and black eyeshadow around her dark eyes and the muted pink lipstick drawing attention away from her full lips she hardly looked like the same woman I'd met in her office a handful of hours before—or even the one, I fucked in the green room the night before. The makeup made her face look decidedly sinister, highlighting that slight look of malevolence that was always there.