The Dating Games Series Volume One

by T. K. Leigh

  “I’ve never wanted something he had, never wanted to be him.” He returns his hands to my face, leaning toward me. “Until you.” His hold on me tightens as he erases the last bit of space between us, sealing my mouth with his.

  He leaves me no room to protest, his kiss touching every part of me, stealing my breath, invading my soul as I succumb to what this man does to me with just a simple meeting of our mouths. But nothing with us has ever been simple. His kiss isn’t, either. In it is a piece of his heart. And mine. Fusing together in this beautiful connection most people search for their entire lives.

  I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, curving into him, even a heartbeat between our bodies too much space. He moans, a surge of electricity reawakening me. His hands roam my body, his sensual touch making me feel wanted. Not like so many other men who just wanted to cop a quick feel of my chest before pulling out their dick. But not Asher. Hell, he hasn’t even brushed a single finger against my breasts, which only increases my need, moisture pooling between my thighs at the thought.

  A hand grips my hip, and he backs me across the room until my legs hit the baby grand piano. Grasping my ass, he lifts me onto the surface with ease, as if I weigh no more than a speck of dust. I try to stay in shape, but I’m not a waif. My five-seven frame is leggy, my Mexican heritage giving me an ample chest and curvy hips.

  When I part my thighs and pull his body between them, he groans, his lips leaving mine for the first time. A man starved, he runs his tongue along my jawline, the scruff of his unshaven face causing a delicious ache to settle in my core. I’ve never been so aroused, so ready to toss aside reason for one moment of ecstasy.

  “Fuck, Izzy,” he growls as I tighten the grip my legs have around his waist. When his erection throbs against me, I whimper, my body trembling from the sensation of him through our fully clothed bodies. If I’m on the cusp of coming undone from this, I can only imagine what it’ll be like when it’s flesh against flesh. I refuse to wait any longer to find out.

  I fist his shirt in my hand, tugging him into me, my fingers fumbling for the buttons. He straightens, abruptly stepping back. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach as my eyes lock with his. I swallow hard, unsure if I can handle him rejecting me yet again.

  Then a lazy smirk crawls across his lips as he leisurely unfastens the top button of his shirt, making a show of it. My shoulders falling out of relief, I place my hands behind me on the piano, sucking in my bottom lip.

  “If you’re trying to audition for one of those all-male reviews, I’ll have you know they’re quick with taking off their shirts. Hell, most of the time they’re not wearing a shirt at all.”

  He pauses, mid-unbutton, a single brow cocked. “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well then…” He smiles deviously. “Maybe you should give me a lesson.”

  “In what?” I straighten, my voice rising in pitch. “Stripping?”

  His eyes flicker with mischief as he closes the distance between us, leering at me in a way that strips me bare. In the most tantalizing of ways. “Didn’t you say Bernadette made you all go to striptease and pole dance lessons?”

  “She did, but…”

  He leans into me and his teeth capture my earlobe, tugging on it, erasing any objection from my mind. I’ll do whatever he asks if it means I’ll be rewarded with his tongue on me. On every inch of me.

  “Please, Izzy. Dance for me. Just like you used to whenever our band played ‘Amante’.”

  All it takes is hearing the title of one of his earlier songs to be transported back to my college days. To my roommate dragging me to a club where a hot, local band was playing. To falling in love with the music and making a point of returning week after week. To being unable to stop from swaying my hips whenever they played that particular song, a sensual, Latin-inspired rhythm that spoke to me the first time I heard the opening measures.

  He extends a hand to me. Does the idea of stripping for Asher turn me on? Hell yes. But to this song? One I always felt he wrote for me after he noticed me in the audience that first night. After his earlier confession that he’s been wanting to kiss me for years, it’s not that far out of the realm of possibility.

  My eyes focused on his dark pools, I place my hand in his. In one quick movement, he pulls me off the piano, spinning me around so my back is pressed against his front. The sudden motion steals my breath, a gasp escaping. My surprise turns into a burning need when he sensually circles his hips against me.

  “When I wrote it, I always imagined you stripping to it. Even though I didn’t even know your name.” He runs a calloused hand along my collarbone before easing his way up to my throat, wrapping his fingers around it. I crane my head, my breath coming in pants, a surge of hunger filling me from his possessive hold. His mouth skates near my earlobe, teeth nipping at my flesh. “Never thought that fantasy would come true.”

  He drops his hold on me, stepping back. I remain still, a bundle of sensation. How the hell did we get here? How did I go from wanting to clear my head to considering giving Asher a striptease in the span of mere minutes? As is always the case with us, some things just can’t be explained.

  The opening lines sound from Asher’s cell phone, and I close my eyes. My body still tingling, I’m on the brink of unraveling, a slave to Asher’s touch. And I’ll do whatever it takes to have his touch again.

  I glance over my shoulder, flashing him a seductive smile. My tongue skates across my bottom lip in an elaborate show, as if I’m about to feast on the finest of delicacies. That’s exactly what this man is. Six-foot-two. Broad shoulders. Defined muscles. And that perfect V disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. I could overindulge on him for hours and still not get my fill.

  With slow motions, I face him, swaying my hips in time with the music as I advance toward him. My hands resting against the hard planes of his tattooed-covered chest, I push him into a chair in the corner of the room. He doesn’t protest, simply obeys my unspoken command, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I take several steps back, increasing the distance between us. One of the things I’d learned in my striptease lessons is that it’s important not to give it all away at first. Stay out of reach. Make them want you. Beg for you. That’s what I do.

  The music comes to an abrupt stop, and I dart my eyes to Asher.

  “I’m going to start the song over.” There’s a flash in his gaze. A heat. A warning. “If this is the only time I’ll ever experience this, I need to milk it for every damn second. Every chord. Every eighth note. I need it all.”

  “God, I love a man who can talk music to me,” I joke in a sensual tone, although my words hold a great deal of truth. Music has always been a turn-on for me. And a man who plays a musical instrument? One who appreciates the patience and practice essential to master it? That’s the kind of man I want to be with.

  “Well, you can blow my horn any day, baby.”

  I giggle, then quickly cover my mouth. “Sorry.”

  “What are you sorry about? I love your laugh.”

  “I know. It’s just… I’m supposed to be doing this whole seductive temptress act here.”

  “Well, tempt away.” He starts the song again before setting his phone on a nearby table, freeing his hands.

  I close my eyes, taking a moment to allow the provocative rhythm to invade my soul as it did all those years ago when I couldn’t help but move with the melody. It has a more mature sound now, evidence he must have re-recorded it. When his voice sings about spotting a beautiful woman in a bar who ends up infiltrating his every thought, it’s deeper, more raspy, more soulful. The way Asher is today.

  Shaking off my nerves, I fix my expression in front of me, emboldened by the fire I can make out in Asher’s gaze. The few flickering candles create the perfect ambience for this, the darkness a blanket protecting me, allowing me to pretend I’m all alone, dancing for no one. It’s not the first time I’ve danced to this song. This is no different fr
om dancing to it when his band played it during my college days.

  Except this time, I’ll end up naked when the dance is over.

  I sway my hips, subtly at first, allowing my soul to feel the music. Muscle memory kicks in, my body forgetting about the years that have passed since I’ve danced. I move with more confidence, tuning everything else out as I lose myself in the erotic sound of Asher’s voice filling the room.

  Approaching him, I run a lithe finger along his chest and collarbone before moving behind his chair. He attempts to glance over his shoulder, but I force his head forward. When I scrape my nails against his firm chest from behind, he throws his head back, a moan escaping his lips. Carnal. Wanton. Igniting.

  As desperate as I am to keep feeling the warmth of his body on my fingertips, I remove my hands and circle to the front of his chair. I can see the raw need emanating from every pore, the fire in his eyes enough to light all of Las Vegas.

  He reaches out, gripping my hip, pulling me closer. Giving him a playful look of admonishment, I take his hand, removing it. “No touching,” I murmur breathlessly.

  “God, you’re going to kill me,” he groans as I straddle him, pulsing my hips against his waist. I jut out my chest, leaning closer so I’m a breath away.

  His body tightens beneath me in all the right places, giving me an added boost of confidence, knowing I do this to him. That the sight and feel of me, even fully clothed, pushes him to the point of oblivion. There’s nothing so addictive. I now understand why some girls love stripping. I’d rolled my eyes when the woman teaching our class told us how powerful it made her feel, even when she felt she was losing control of everything else in her life. But the second she stepped into the club, she’d felt in charge, in control.

  I hoist myself higher, my long, dark hair forming a curtain around us as I continue teasing and torturing. The frustration builds in his expression, and I can tell it’s taking every ounce of resolve he possesses not to touch me, not to grip my hips or squeeze my ass as he takes charge of my seduction.

  My lips skim against his, and he cranes his head toward mine, chasing my kiss, but I don’t allow him to capture it just yet. Desperation blooms and grows, and I know he won’t be able to hold off much longer. I don’t think I will, either, the restraint I’ve had to exhibit until this point nearly making me combust.

  Playfully waggling my brows, I pull back, climbing off him in measured movements. My eyes locked on his, I slip my fingers into the waistband of my yoga pants, teasing him by exposing a flash of skin on my hip before retreating, dancing around him once more. When he groans, I inwardly smile. I’ve been with my fair share of men over the past several years. Not one of them had ever been so unabashedly shameless in his need for me. So many men, at least in New York, have a “take it or leave it” attitude, thinking if it doesn’t work out, there’s always someone else who’d give them a piece of ass. But Asher has no qualms about showing me just how much he needs me.

  Moving in front of him, I turn around, facing away. I pause for a beat, drawing in a breath. Once I do this, there’s no going back. Then again, there was no going back the second we kissed. We both knew what we were getting into, yet did it anyway.

  Hooking my fingers into my waistband, I slowly slide my pants down my legs, praying those years of ballet classes will pay off and keep me upright. I lean over, my legs remaining straight as I tease Asher, my ass dangling in front of him like a delicious treat.

  A hiss echoes in the room. “You’re killing me, Izzy.” The unquenchable thirst in his voice nearly pushes me over the edge. I don’t want to rush this. Don’t want this to end.

  Straightening, I step out of my yoga pants, sauntering back up to him, clad only in my tank top and panties. When I draw near this time, he cups my ass, tugging me toward him.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” I curve into him, my lips hovering over his. “Didn’t I already have to warn you once about touching?”

  “I’ve never been one to listen to directions. You should know that about me.”

  “I do. But you were the one who asked me to strip.”

  “I changed my mind.” He brings a hand to the back of my neck, his hold firm, unwavering, demanding. “If I don’t have you right now, I’ll lose my fucking head.” He crushes his mouth against mine, his kiss stealing my breath with its ferocity. He thrusts his tongue past my lips, his loss of all control like the most addictive drug. Growing dizzy from the kiss, I manage to push away, panting.

  “I can’t deprive you of your fantasy.”

  “Don’t you realize? You are my fantasy.” This time when he kisses me, it’s not as frenzied, but still brimming with want. Maybe more so. It’s slower. Heavier. Sharper.

  His hands go beneath my tank, skimming against my abdomen, deliberately making their way up to my chest. When he cups my breasts, I succumb to his touch, needing more. The tips of his fingers skim against my nipples, which harden instantly, eliciting a moan.

  “Take off your top,” Asher murmurs against my lips before burying his head in the crook of my neck, licking and sucking before pulling back.

  Unable to deny him anything, I grab the hem of my shirt, yanking it over my head in one quick move, tossing it onto the floor.

  He takes a minute to look at me. But unlike every other guy I’ve been with in the past, he doesn’t stare at my chest. Instead, his eyes stay on mine. A finger traces the curve of my face before he threads his fingers through my hair, drawing my lips back to his.

  “You are so fucking beautiful, Isabella.” He eliminates the last breath between our mouths, but I retreat.

  “I don’t want to give it all up so soon. Not when you were hoping to get the most out of this seduction.”

  “Trust me. I have.”

  “How? I only danced for half a song.”

  He clutches my cheeks with both hands. “You seduced me the first time I saw you. Maybe not physically, but in here.” He releases me, tapping the side of his head. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he brings that same hand to his heart. “And here. The more time I spent with you, the more I got to know you, the more you seduced my soul.” He grips my nape, pulling me back toward him. “Every fiber of my being.”

  His words are so choked with emotion, my brain refuses to fire. What can I say to that? A voice inside tells me he doesn’t mean it, that this is just part of his seduction. After all, he is a writer. A musician. A poet. These words are second nature for him, as easy and natural as jotting down his grocery list. But I can’t ignore the truth in his eyes. It’s vibrant. Real. Spellbinding. Even the most practiced of actors couldn’t fake that.

  “So, to address your concerns, you needn’t feel like you’re short-changing me.” He nibbles on my lower lip. A moan rattles from my throat at the perfect contact. “I’ve been able to enjoy a decade worth of your dance of seduction. Now I can finally join you. Let me join you.”

  I slam my lips to his, pressing my body as far into his as possible, needing to feel every strained muscle, every hard surface, every drum of his heart that only beats for me.

  He runs his hands along the lines of my stomach, brushing the swell of my breasts before retreating once more. I don’t want him to retreat. Only want him to push forward. Grabbing his hands, I press them against my chest, throwing my head back when he rolls my nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

  He leaves a trail of desperate kisses along my jawline, his scruff rough but achingly pleasurable as it scrapes against my skin. Cupping my breasts tighter, he lowers his mouth. I curve back as best I can in our awkward position, my breathing increasing at the promise of feeling his lips on me.

  Suddenly, I’m lifted, and I fling my eyes open. “Hold on,” he rasps.

  I do as he commands, tightening my grip around his neck as he transitions me into a cradle carry. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he walks with purposeful strides out of the studio, practically running up the stairs and into my bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. I want to ask why he d
idn’t take me back to his room, but before I have a chance to worry about that, he places me onto the mattress, slithering up my frame.

  A whimper falls from my throat when his tongue traces delicate circles around my belly button. The touch is light, but hits me so deep, the way he worships me pushing my body higher and higher.

  “Please, Asher,” I beg, gripping the sheets as I writhe below him.

  He cranes his head up, a salacious smirk forming on his lips. “Something I can help you with?”

  Chest heaving, I clutch his face in my hands, tugging him toward me. “If I don’t feel you in the next two seconds, I’m going to get myself off. And I’d much rather you do that.”

  “Now that sounds fucking hot.” He seals his mouth over mine, his tongue sweeping against mine as he caresses the contours of my frame, inching farther south. When a finger swipes under the material of my panties, I circle my legs around his waist, pulsing, needing, wanting.

  “Please.” My word comes out a desperate plea, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as his hand grows closer and closer to my center.

  Breaking our kiss, he hooks his fingers into the band of my panties. Pausing, his eyes lock with mine, giving me one last chance to back out. When I nod, he crushes his lips to mine, his kiss too short for my liking. Then again, I get the feeling his kisses will always seem too short. The way they seem to devour my soul has increased my appetite for him to a nearly incomprehensible level. I can take and take and take, yet fear I’ll always need more of him.

  His motions are slow as he lowers my panties down my legs, his eyes not breaking from mine, as if waiting for me to change course. But I can’t. Tonight was the perfect storm. The canceled flight. The invitation to stay here. The blackout. All the pieces snapped into place for this to happen. There’s no reason to deprive ourselves of this.

  After tossing my panties onto the floor, he runs a hand up my leg, his tongue following. I throw my head back, the ecstasy from his soft touch more than I can handle. With every inch, my core tightens in promise of what’s to come. When a finger ghosts against my center, I moan, my pulse skyrocketing.