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  I approach her as she's standing on the sidewalk. The floral wrap dress she's wearing opening near her thigh. Her hair is blowing loosely in the still warm breeze that punctuates the nights in the summer.

  "You made it." She glances down at the phone in her hand. "I didn't turn into a pumpkin after all."

  I laugh at the reference to the fairy tale she talked about on the phone. I rushed to get to her, not because I'm hungry and she told me that she was going to eat pizza alone unless I met her in this exact spot, under the awning of a shoe store, before midnight.

  "The best pizza is a block over." Her hand rises as she gestures to the right.

  The scent of her skin hits me. It's flowery, sensual. It's what I imagine when I'm in bed at night, my cock so hard that if I gave it a single stroke, I'd come and I wouldn't be able to lay there awake for hours, throbbing while thinking about what her body would feel like wrapped around mine.

  "You're from Brooklyn. You, of all people, should know the best slice is there," I quip.

  Her eyes are wide and open as she turns to look right at me. "Once you taste this, you'll see what I mean. It's the best. Nothing tastes as good."

  The words twist in my mind as they leave her full lips.

  Once you taste this...the best…nothing as good.

  Pizza is the last thing I want. I want to take her home, throw her on my bed and keep her there. I want to bury myself so deep in her that she'll feel the ache inside her pussy for days. I want to lick her nipples and sink my teeth into the flesh of her thigh. I want her in a way I've never wanted a woman. The desire to have her is relentless.

  "Are you coming?" She tugs on the front of my sweater. "I'm going to eat pizza with or without you."

  My eyes linger on her face. She's standing so close to me that I can make out the three small freckles I noticed the first time I saw her.

  "For the record," she says before she turns to the side. "It's after midnight so this isn't an actual date."

  ***

  "I was right. You have to admit it."

  I glance at the half-eaten pizza on the table between us. She didn't need to order when we walked into the restaurant. All it took was a smile and a wave on her part to the guy behind the counter and before I knew it we were seated, two ice waters in front of us and a fully loaded pizza on the way.

  "You're wrong." I lick my lips. "The best pizza is in Brooklyn. I stand by that."

  With an exaggerated exhale she throws her red and white checkered linen napkin on the table. "You're going to have to prove that to me. I doubt that you can, but I'm willing to give you a chance."

  "You name the time, I'll name the place."

  She runs her hand through her hair. "I've probably already been there. Tell me the name of the place."

  I cross my arms over my chest. "Not a chance. You'll know it when we get there."

  She takes a deep breath, holding my gaze. "You can't win, Asher. I'm considered a pizza expert in my family."

  "You know more about pizza than Elijah?" I say her brother's name with a familiarity that feels comfortable. I'm determined to follow through with my promise to have him come down to the recording studio. If someone had done that for me when I was fifteen-years-old, I might have had the confidence to chase my dream of making a career out of music when I was younger. "Aren't all kids his age experts on pizza?"

  "I know more about pizza than anyone."

  The conviction in her tone makes me believe her. Maybe it's the fierceness in her eyes. Whatever it is I want more of it. I want her to believe in me the way she believes in herself.

  "You may think you're an expert, but I survived by eating only pizza when I was in college. I went to school here so if there's a pizza expert in any of the five boroughs, it's me." I tap the toe of my shoe on the floor. "You're not going to win this, Falon."

  Her mouth curves as she turns towards me in her chair. She crosses her legs, the skirt of her dress falling open, revealing her long, beautiful legs. My eyes rake over them, stopping at the point where she's holding the fabric against the top of her thighs, covering her panties.

  "I'll go with you to this place in Brooklyn and try a slice but I guarantee that once we're done eating, you'll tell me that I was right all along." Both her tone and the glint in her eye are proof that she's challenging me.

  "You don't back down easily, do you?" I lean forward, resting an elbow on the table.

  She reaches towards me. Her right hand pats my shoulder before it settles there, her forehead against mine. "I won't back down if I know I'm right. You can wave the white flag of defeat right now if you want, but what fun would that be?"

  "I don't give up," I say as I reach up to run my index finger over her right forearm, tracing a small circle that draws goosebumps to the surface. "You'll be the one telling me I was right."

  "You're dreaming. That is never going to happen." She bites the corner of her lower lip. "When we go for pizza in Brooklyn, will it be before midnight? I'm just wondering if it will be an actual date."

  I brush my fingers over her cheek. She's stunningly beautiful. Her features are delicate, her skin flawless. I pull her closer, the desire to kiss her again overwhelming. I don't care if we're sitting in a surprisingly busy pizza place in the middle of the night. I want to taste her lips again. I can't wait.

  She smiles softly as I lean forward, her lips part, her breathing quickens. My heart pounds; each beat stronger than the last. As I close the distance, we both stop in place.

  "I'm going to fucking die right now. You're not Asher Foster, are you? It's you! Holy shit, it's you!"

  CHAPTER 19

  Falon

  The woman standing next to us shrieking in my ear has to be at least a decade older than me. You wouldn't know that by the way she's literally jumping in place and squealing. She's actually squealing. It's so high pitched that I'm sure I'm going to suffer temporary hearing loss.

  I edge the wooden chair I'm sitting in back an inch or two along the tile floor.

  "Asher, I love you. I absolutely love you," she screams. She doesn't say it. She screams it right into his face.

  His eyes latch on mine. There's frustration in his expression. I see it in the way his jaw has tightened and his lips have thinned.

  I can't even being to comprehend what it must be like to be that recognizable. I've been surprised, each and every time I've seen him since we met a few days ago, that he doesn't have a bodyguard following him around.

  He must get accosted like this constantly. He can't even go out for a coffee or a pizza without it turning into a fan fest. Other patrons, who moments ago didn't even look our way, are now pointing and whispering. I can already see people pulling out their phones, readying for their picture with him.

  "Do you know her?" I blurt out. "Why is she calling you that name, David?"

  The woman's neck cranes towards me, her brow knit in confusion. "Who's David?"

  "Answer me, David." I pound my fist onto the circular table which sends our silverware flying. "If you're fucking around again, we're done. I'm not taking your sorry ass back again."

  He smiles. It's quick, wicked and unnoticeable to the woman standing next to us who is now hugging her phone to her chest.

  "I'm not." His voice is low.

  Apparently my acting skills aren't any match for her desire to see Asher half-clothed. She grabs hold of the collar of the lightweight, long sleeved, grey sweater he's wearing, yanking it away from his skin as she tries to peer at his chest. "Who are you trying to kid? This is Asher Foster. He has tattoos under this. "

  "You think David has tattoos?" I throw my head back in what sounds like genuine laughter. "David is scared shitless of needles. He passed out cold on the floor when he had a flu shot last year."

  Asher pulls away, ridding himself of her touch. "I hate needles," he mumbles.

  "He looks exactly like Asher Foster." She points at him. "You can't tell me that it's not him. I know he's in New York right now."

&nb
sp; "You're not talking about that singer, are you?" I scratch my chin. "That's it, isn't it? You think David looks like him? Really?"

  She tilts her head as she studies Asher's face. "It's him. He's in New York writing music non-stop for his new tour. I follow him on Instagram. He posted a picture of Central Park today. It was this afternoon."

  She waves the phone in front of us before I grab hold of her wrist, pretending to study the photograph. "That's not a bad picture. The focus could have been better. David didn't take it though."

  "Asher Foster took it." She motions towards him. "He was writing music in Central Park all afternoon."

  "David was in therapy with me from two until four. We're working on his commitment issues." I throw air quotes around the last two words for good measure as I roll my eyes. "It's not going well."

  "My husband had commitment issues too." She turns towards me now. "It took time but we worked it out. We've been married for six years. We have two sons and another on the way."

  I sigh heavily. "You're living my dream. I want your life."

  "I have a picture of my kids." She yanks open her large leather bag, burying her gaze in it. "It's in my wallet. They're my angels. They both look exactly like me."

  I use her distraction to my advantage, stealing a glance at Asher's face. He's smiling. His grin is so wide that I can't help but smile too.

  "Well, shit." The woman, who just seconds ago, was rummaging through her bag, suddenly stills. "I was so caught up in thinking your David was my Asher that I forgot I have pictures of my kids on my phone."

  "Is there one I can see?" I ask merely out of politeness. I already know what's about to happen.

  She answers by pulling on the back of a vacant wooden chair that was at the table next to us. She sets it beside me, plops herself down and starts scrolling through the pictures on her phone, providing commentary for each and every last one of them.

  ***

  "David?" He studies me. "Where did that name come from?"

  "You look a little like a David to me," I joke as I watch Rhonda, the woman we just spent the past thirty minutes with, walk out the door. "I had to think fast. She was ready to rip your clothes off."

  He taps his fingers on his stomach through the thin material of his sweater. "At least she went for the shirt. Some of them head below the belt straightaway."

  My eyes drop to his jeans before I look back up. "They try to touch you? There?"

  He chuckles as he leans back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Some fans are aggressive. They grab at whatever's in reach."

  "Why don't you have a bodyguard?"

  His brows rise. "I usually do. When I'm in New York, I typically don't. I'm approached less often here than you might think."

  I laugh softly. "I've been out in public with you three times and two of those times, women have thrown themselves at you."

  "You handled it better than I did." He straightens in his chair. "She'll never know that she actually sat right next to me eating our pizza. Right next to Asher Foster that is, not David."

  I move closer to the edge of my chair, my finger tracing a tight circle on my knee. "You owe me now."

  "I owe you?" His right hand falls to my thigh, just above my knee.

  I watch as his finger shadows mine, picking up the same path. I pull mine away.

  "You do." I look into his eyes.

  "Tell me what I need to do to repay it." His finger stalls before it moves an inch up my thigh. It picks up the same hypnotizing motion as it glides across my skin. It feels electrifying. His touch is gentle, yet magnetic. I don't know if it's the same confidence I felt earlier when I called him to meet me for pizza, or if this is new, but whatever it is, it's urging me closer to asking him back to my place.

  I swallow hard. "What is it worth to you?"

  Any restraint he may have possessed disappears as his hand slides up my thigh. I watch as it disappears beneath the fabric of my dress. I sit mesmerized as he stares into my eyes while his fingers brush against the soft lace of my panties.

  "Take me home with you and I'll show you."

  CHAPTER 20

  Asher

  I glide my lips across her thigh, trailing her own scent over her skin. She whimpers and pulls on my hair. It's a silent warning to give her time to catch her breath. Any caring man would do that, wouldn't he? He'd let her still so she can ground herself after coming hard on his tongue.

  I was so fucking impatient when she let us into her apartment. I kissed her, my hands seeking and tugging, while trying to undress her. She pushed me away and did it herself, revealing her perfect body to me.

  Her tits are exactly the way I imagined them to be. Small globes with nipples that are tight and straining with the arousal she felt the minute my eyes saw all of her.

  My lips slid along her flesh, my teeth stopping to nibble on the tender skin between her breasts. My hands ran all over her body, yearning to caress every inch of her.

  The delicate skin on the back of her knee and the smooth skin of her ass were just the prelude to what I really wanted. I kissed my way back up and over her hipbone, small bites of pleasure as I licked a path to what I craved.

  I turned her onto her back, pulled her legs over my shoulders and buried my face in her pussy. I listened to the pace of her breathing, felt when her fingers tugged and when they eased in my hair. I found the spot that sent her reeling and when I honed in on that with my finger and her clit with my tongue, she let go.

  The orgasm was intense and as I licked her through it, she muttered whispered words that I couldn't make out. I strained, under the pressure of her thighs on either side of my head, to hear my name, but it wasn't there. She didn't say it.

  I already feel like a starving man. I want another taste. I want to lower my lips to lick her slowly this time so I can take her to the edge before I flip her onto her stomach and plunge my tongue inside of her.

  "Take off your clothes, Asher," she says softly. "You've seen me. I want to see you."

  I didn't plan on keeping my clothes on this long. When we left the restaurant and got into a taxi, I had everything mapped out in my head. My dick was at the helm though.

  I wanted to be inside of her as soon as I could. In the cab, the material of her dress fell to the sides again and I saw those panties; those pretty sheer lace panties that did nothing to hide what was underneath.

  Once we got to her place, everything changed. She stripped, I caved and all I wanted was to savor every single inch of her.

  I lean forward, running my tongue gently over her pussy before I pull away. She shudders, her knees shaking as her own hand moves to take the place of my tongue. I stall, wanting to watch, but her fingers only rest between the folds, any movement is so slight that I can't see it.

  Reluctantly, I move to the side of the bed and onto my feet. I tug the sweater over my head, pulling the necklace I'm wearing with it. I ease the pressure of my erection by unbuttoning my jeans and pushing them down, followed by my boxer briefs.

  "When we first met you weren't wearing any of those. You were only wearing jeans with nothing underneath."

  I look down at her. She's relaxed. Her hand is still cupping her mound. One of her fingers is touching her clit, the movement slow and easy. Her nipples have stiffened into tight points. A light sheen covers her skin, a mix of some sweet scented lotion and the sweat that blossomed there when she ground her hips in small circles as I ate her.

  "I don't always wear them." I pull off the bead bracelets around my wrist. They're gifts, thrown on the stage by eager fans who want to get my attention. "I did today."

  She grins as if that fact is amusing to her. I stare at her, at that smile.

  "Condoms?" I arch a brow while I fist my cock. "I don't have any with me."

  Her mouth parts as her eyes shadow the movement of my hand. "I'll get one."

  "Two," I correct her. "We'll need two. One for now and then another so I can fuck you again before I leave."

&nbs
p; She only nods before she rolls to the left, her hands reaching for a tinted glass jar on the bedside table. She opens the lid, pulling out two foil packages.

  I watch in silence as she tucks one package under the pillow, the other she rips open easily, before holding it in the air towards me.

  I take it even though all I want is to be inside of her with no barriers. I never want that. I used to carry condoms in my pockets, so whenever the chance was mine to take, I'd be ready, sheathed and protected.

  I stopped doing that when the novelty of fucking random strangers wore off. Now, if I'm with a woman and there's no condom in sight, I ask her to leave or I find the door myself. The days of ordering someone from my crew to bring a box of condoms to my tour bus or a hotel room are over now.

  As I roll it over my dick, I keep my eyes locked on hers. My cock is ready and judging by the way she's squirming on the bed, she's ready. Why the fuck do I feel like I never want this to end? I want to freeze this moment right here when the only two people in the entire world are Falon and me.

  ***

  I squeeze her ass in my hands, plunging my cock deeper still. I'm rewarded with a soft grunt as she pushes on my shoulders.

  I sat with my back leaning against the headboard before I told Falon to lower herself on my cock. I'd gathered her in my arms then, burying my face in her neck as I pumped up and into her. She caught my rhythm easily, her movements in perfect sync with my own.

  I can't take the need now so I brace my arm behind her back, my hand still holding onto her ass. I lower us both, the movement fluid and quick until she's flat on her back and I'm above her.

  "Oh, God," she hisses between clenched teeth. "It's so good."

  It's so good. Fuck, this is so good.

  My mouth drops to hers, luring her into a deep kiss. I glide my tongue along her lips and she parts them, just as she clenches her muscles around my cock.