Free Aston's Story (Vanish #2) by Elle Michaels Page B

incredible
softness of her neck. The scent is euphoric. I can’t help but to suck against
her skin.
    We were given roles, Auna. The good girl. The rich son. We
denied them. So they sent us into exile. Here, we met again. It’s a whole new
world now. And it’s ours for the taking.
    “Aston,” she moans. “Not in front of the other customers.”
    I groan, but I acquiesce. “Sorry.” I certainly don’t want to
give any of these pigs the impression they’re allowed to do the same to her. I
can only imagine the lines they already cross on a regular basis. I know what
some of the other girls do in the private booths, I’ve seen the exchanges. The
fact Auna’s been able to sustain herself here without bowing to that speaks to
her strength.
    She stands and pivots, twisting her perfect body before me.
Her tits bounce a little as she stops, and my eyes drag down from them along
her glistening front, a stretch of skin the color of a desert, but as wet as a
jungle, smooth, dear God, smooth. The sheen of her sweat glows with the red
lights that flash around us. Her thong buries itself between her legs, its
strings rising out and over her hipbones, wrapping around to the rear, where
they disappear again into her voluptuous ass. Her fingers slide along her frame
until they slip beneath the strings. She pulls them out in a teasing fashion,
drags them down, allowing the sliver of fabric to pull from between her cheeks,
but the tiny triangle stays over her slit. It’s low enough to see she’s
completely shaven, the space above her pussy is a smooth, golden zone of
perfection I can’t wait to lay my lips on. It drops a little lower, just low
enough to see the top of her vagina, a beautiful wet line revealing her
excitement. She pulls the thong back up, raises it into her ass and over her
pussy. She straddles me and I realize how rock hard I am.
    “Auna,” I moan. “Is it time yet?”
    She pulls back and looks me in the eye. It’s the stare that
envelops me in a sea that suffocates. I don’t understand it, which is why I
can’t stop seeking it. She has the body of Aphrodite, and her moves, too, but
these eyes hold a cherished secret that sets her apart from every other woman
in this room. It’s a whisper in a stare, loud enough to say it’s the world, but
it’s just too quiet to discern.
    Her eyes steal away from me, glancing at what I know to be a
clock on the wall behind me. While she squints to see it, I catch the gaze of a
man from across the room. It’s a hazy, drunken stare, not uncommon at the
Pussycat Lounge. But the man is the good side of forty, ripped, and handsome. I
can make out some ink across his arms. What is this? Some sort of bad boy? I
scoff. He’s got no clue what Auna is, and it drives him mad not having her. She
has that effect on men of a certain age, those who still hold hope in their
futures. Their rare here, but when they show, it’s her they pine for. Sometimes
it irks me she pities them.
    With his eyes on her backside, I casually raise my hands and
grab hold of her ass, wrapping my fingers around her cheeks, which feel like
perfect satin cloth. He downs his dark colored drink. That’s right, friend.
    She lowers back down into my lap and stares into my eyes
once more.
    “Alright,” she says. “We can go.”

 
    3.
     
    The wheels screech when they’re tearing out of the parking
lot, I see for a split second the image of the forlorn bad boy receding in the
rear view. I can’t help grinning. Auna wears her customary torn jeans and tank
top, a far cry from the scintillating outfits she wears in the Pussycat Lounge.
That’s alright. She’s radiant whatever she wears. Whether I see the thin red
strip disappear between her gorgeous ass cheeks, or I see her face in the
morning with only the slightest trace of what makeup she wore the night before,
there’s something unique about her visage. She is simply a beautiful person.
Her hair dances about her face while the wind rushes through the