by T. K. Leigh
He smooths a tendril of hair behind my ear, the seconds agonizingly slow as his lips descend. My breaths come in pants and I brace for my first taste. So help me, nothing better interrupt this from happening, not after hours of unbearable foreplay.
When his mouth lands on mine, all the tension leaves me in a moan, my body fusing into the couch. The joining of our lips is light at first, neither one of us pushing forward. As much as I want to succumb to the swiping of his tongue against mine, his breath giving me life, his taste on my lips, I want to savor in this. It may be the only time I get to know if he’s gentle or dominating, sweet or savory, desperate or hopeful. I don’t want it to end. Not yet.
“God, Izzy,” he groans, pressing his mouth more firmly against mine. I don’t wait for him to demand entry, parting my lips for him to explore me fully, to have all of me.
His tongue swipes against mine, penetrating, devouring, needy. I tighten my hold on him, losing myself in this moment. I wasn’t sure what to expect. A part of me worried he’d kiss like his brother. Jessie’s kisses weren’t bad, so to speak, but it felt…wrong. Like there was no emotion behind them. Like he was kissing me as a precursor to getting laid. Like he was going through the motions, reading an instruction manual, inserting part A into slot B, then moving on to the next set of directions.
But it’s different with Asher. I can physically feel the passion brimming inside him as he takes his time exploring, discovering everything I have to offer. He consumes every inch of me with his kiss, leaving no part unaffected. I pull him closer, wrapping my legs tighter around him and pulsing. Another groan falls from his throat as he concedes to my unspoken demand, kissing me with more urgency, more ardor, more everything.
He threads his fingers into my hair, tugging, pulling, making me burn for him even more. I try not to think about the fact that I’m kissing Asher York. That we’ve obliterated any line between friendship and…whatever this is. That I’ve put him in the difficult position of betraying his brother. For brothers as close as Asher and Jessie, this is the ultimate betrayal.
His desperate rhythm wanes, turning into something sweeter, yet still as deep. “If I don’t stop now, I’ll never be able to,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice raspy and heady, evidencing how much he hungers for just a taste of me. He nibbles on my lower lip one last time, which causes a nervous giggle to escape.
He gradually pulls back, helping me into a sitting position. A movement out of the corner of my eye reminds me we’re not alone.
“Well, that was unexpected,” I say breathlessly, trying to downplay the electric currents still pulsing through me, my skin unusually sensitive to even the light breeze caressing it.
“Hopefully in a good way.” Asher wraps an arm around me, folding me into him. It’s not like before when he brushed his fingers along my skin. Now his hold on me is firm and purposeful, leaving no question in my mind, in anyone’s mind, that I belong to him, and vice versa. But for how much longer?
“In an amazing way.” I flash him a wide smile, then quickly turn my attention back to Chloe. “Now, I believe it’s Lincoln’s turn. Or is it Chloe’s?”
They share a look before Chloe stands. “Actually, I hate to be the one to put an end to game night, but I’m beat. It’s been a long day. And tomorrow will be another long one with heading home, provided the power comes back on.”
“Always the responsible one, aren’t you?” I retort.
“Always.”
I steal a glance at my watch to see it’s only a little after midnight. Chloe’s sleep schedule is almost as out of whack as mine. She often pulls all-nighters on the weekends, since that seems to be when a great deal of celebrity gossip occurs. I highly doubt she’s going to her room to sleep, a suspicion that’s confirmed when Lincoln offers to walk her to her room.
The second they disappear into the darkened house, an awkward silence stretches between Asher and me. He drops his arm, increasing the distance between us.
“Sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair, at complete odds with the confident man whose kiss consumed me mere seconds ago. “I know this…” He trails off, licking his lips, collecting his thoughts. “Well, I guess I could have used my pass. Should have used my pass.” A subtle laugh escapes his throat before his eyes darken, his voice coming out a potent growl. “But I’ve been wondering how your lips tasted for years, and I couldn’t resist the temptation anymore, to hell with the consequences.”
Leaning toward him, I hover my mouth over his. “And how do they taste?”
“Like the sweetest drug.”
I pause before asking my next question, unsure how he’ll respond. Unsure if I’m prepared for him to reject me now that it’s not part of the game. “Do you want another hit?”
Groaning, his fingers circle my nape, locking me in place. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I crash my lips against his, thrusting my tongue into his mouth in one quick motion. If our last kiss was an explosive culmination of years of unrequited need, this one is like a bomb going off, leveling everything in sight, just leaving him, me, and this insane craving filling my blood.
Determined hands grip my waist, yanking me on top of him. My legs fall on either side of his, a gasp sucked from my lungs when I feel how much he aches for me. I circle my hips, and he tugs me harder against him. Chest to heaving chest. Heart to racing heart. His tongue penetrates me with more frenzy, more violence, more conviction to kiss me in a way that would ruin me for all kisses to come after this one.
A fire to submit to all of him burns deep, the myriad of reasons this is a bad idea going up in smoke. My hands go to his chest, finding the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with them as I desperately try to rid him of his clothes. He moans when my fingers dig into his chest, nails scraping before I reach for the hem of my shirt.
“Shit. Wait.” He tears away and grabs my wrists, preventing me from going any further. Conflicted eyes search mine, as if I hold the answer he so desperately needs. I suppose I do. A second passes. Then another. And another. Then he exhales, shaking his head, his shoulders falling. “We can’t do this.”
Those four words are the equivalent of a bucket of cold water being tossed over me. Actually, it’s worse. I did the Ice Bucket Challenge all those years ago. The chill that covered me then was nothing compared to this.
I scramble off him, shooting to my feet. “We can’t do this?” I shriek, hugging my arms around my stomach. “You have no problem feeling me up and practically tongue fucking my mouth, but the second I try to take things to the next level, you decide you want nothing to do with me?”
“It’s not like that, Izzy.” He stands, advancing toward me, but I back up, my heart squeezing, my cheeks burning with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
“It’s not like what?” I’ve officially reached my breaking point of the internal tug-of-war he’s been playing. “You’ve been hot and cold all afternoon. Hell, even last night. One second, you admire me like no man in my life ever has. The next, you push me away. It’s fucked with my mind.”
He parts his lips to argue, but I hold up my hand, preventing him from uttering a single syllable.
“Believe me, I understand your trepidation. Don’t you think I have that little ball of guilt in my stomach, too? Because I do. But this feeling in my heart is so much stronger.” I draw in a deep breath, struggling to speak through the lump in my throat. “I thought it wasn’t one-sided. Apparently I was wrong.”
“You know that’s not true.” He advances, brows creased, eyes still clouded with turmoil. “I just—”
“Don’t.” I step back. “I don’t need you to placate me with excuses. I misread the signs. I always—”
“You’ve been drinking,” he interrupts.
“So have you,” I accuse.
He narrows his gaze, his expression borderline condescending. At least it seems that way after his rejection. “Not as much as you. My judgment isn’t compromised.”
“And you think mine
is?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. But I can’t have that on my conscience. I refuse to take advantage of you.”
I blow out a sarcastic laugh. “Sure. You had no problem ‘taking advantage’ of me when you were kissing me.”
“Izzy, that’s not the same thing and you know it. It was just a kiss, nothing more.”
That bucket of cold water he threw on me earlier has now turned to ice, his words shattering my heart. “I see,” I struggle to say.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I—”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to explain. It was just a kiss.” I swallow hard. “Nothing more.” Doing my best to make it appear as if his rejection has little effect on me, I turn from him, heading toward the house.
“Izzy, wait.”
I glance over my shoulder, his eyes pleading with me to understand. And I do. From the beginning, I knew we were playing with fire. I didn’t realize how much it would burn.
“Thanks for letting us crash here. Hopefully the power comes back on soon and we’ll be out of your hair.” I offer him a tight-lipped smile. “Good luck. I have no doubt all your dreams will come true.”
Ignoring his further pleas, I continue into the house, shining the flashlight of my phone in front of me, illuminating the path. I don’t even raise my eyes to acknowledge Lincoln as he passes me on his way back outside, much to my surprise.
Safe in my room, I release a breath, falling onto the bed. I lay awake for hours, listening to the gentle sound of Asher playing guitar on the patio, holding out hope he’ll come rap on my door and tell me he’s willing to take a risk.
He never does.
Chapter Fourteen
I should have no problem sleeping. I’m now going on almost forty-eight hours with minimal rest. While my body may be exhausted, my mind is not, too preoccupied with the wild swings of Asher’s attitude toward me, culminating in his final rejection. I had plenty of warning it would end like this, given the constant push and pull. I just thought we were past that. Or I hoped we were.
In an attempt to shake off this spell Asher seems to have cast over me, I toss the covers off and step out of bed. I grab a pair of yoga pants out of my bag, slide them up my legs, adjust my tank, then walk out of my room.
The flashlight of my phone illuminating the path in front of me, I pad down the corridor, descending the stairs to the main level. The house is still, peaceful, as it should be at three in the morning.
I just wish my mind could rest, too.
As I walk toward the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, I make out the faint sound of a piano playing a beautiful melody. Drawn to it, I’m on autopilot as my legs carry me away from the kitchen and down the hallway, the music growing louder the closer I get to the recording studio. It’s haunting, the top note remaining the same despite the underlying chord changing in an even rhythm of quarter notes.
I turn off the light on my phone so as to not alert Asher, allowing his music to lead me to him, each measure sounding more heartachingly beautiful than the one preceding it. As I reach the threshold of the open door to the studio, Asher’s voice carries into the hallway, stopping me in my tracks. I peer inside, the room dark, apart from a handful of candles distributed throughout. The reflection of the flames dancing on the walls makes the song even more hypnotic and heartbreaking. With no distractions typically afforded us through technology, all my attention is fully drawn to the man sitting at the piano. I listen, unable to leave if I wanted to. But I don’t, not when I hear him sing of unrequited love, of never being enough, of finally giving up and moving forward. Not moving on. Not getting over it. But understanding when enough is enough.
A fitting story for the situation we find ourselves in. Or at least the situation I find myself in.
The intensity and passion grow as he belts out the bridge, the raspiness of his voice addicting and soul-wrenching. I know why so many females flocked to whatever bar his band played in. There’s something incredibly sexy about his voice, the way his fingers caress the ivory keys of the piano with such expertise. I started playing piano when I was young myself, so I know how difficult it is. But Asher plays it as if he were born to do just that. To write music. Share his talent with the world.
The song comes to an end, his voice ringing out against the perfect acoustics of the room. I debate trying to slip away without him knowing I eavesdropped on this private moment, but there’s a vulnerability in him, evidenced by the way he sits at the piano — head hung low, shoulders hunched, fingers still clinging onto the keys as if it’s the only thing keeping him afloat.
“That was beautiful,” I say quietly.
He shoots to his feet and whirls around, his eyes wide as they search for me in the darkness. I step out of the shadows, a candle shining a flickering light against my face.
“Izzy, what are you—”
“Is that for Fallen Grace’s new album?”
He doesn’t move for several long moments, simply stares at me, torn. I keep my eyes glued to his, unwavering, silently pleading with him not to push me away.
“No,” he finally says, his voice low. “It’s one of mine.”
With a nod, I continue into the dark room. It’s warmer than the rest of the house, due to the lack of ventilation and windows.
“It sounds personal,” I remark, studying his expression for a reaction. But there isn’t one. His face stays placid, giving nothing away, peering at me with disinterest. “Is there a story behind the lyrics?”
That gets his attention, his stance becoming rigid, the vein in his neck making an appearance, as it often does when he’s at an extreme of one of his emotions. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. It’s still a work in progress.” His mouth forming into a tight line, he scoots past me. “I should go.”
I whirl around, my mouth agape. Why does he keep pushing me away? I try to understand it, try to rationalize it’s because of the sticky situation between his brother and me, but my relationship with Jessie didn’t stop us from being friends. In fact, it was because of my relationship with his brother we became such good friends. Why can’t we go back to that? I have a feeling I know the reason. I need to hear him finally admit it. To me. And to himself.
“Why don’t you want me?” I call out as he’s about to turn the corner and disappear into the hallway. My voice echoes, the desperation in my tone surrounding me. Mocking me. Exposing me.
He stills, stopping in his tracks. His fists clenched, he shakes his head as the battle wages within, pushing him to the breaking point. He wants to face me, but he doesn’t. He wants to respond, but is afraid of what his words will reveal. He wants to wrap me in his arms, but knows with every embrace, it will become more and more difficult to walk away.
“What is so wrong with me that you can’t even stomach the sight of me now?” I choke out, not holding anything back. Not anymore. “So what? We kissed. Like you said, it was just a kiss. It doesn’t—”
“Is that seriously what you think?” he growls, turning to face me in one swift move. My heart rate spikes, the hairs on my nape standing on end. “That it was just a kiss?”
My mouth grows dry as a jolt of adrenaline shoots through me. When he stalks toward me, I back up on instinct, the power in his gaze, in his stride, in his aura startling me.
“I—”
He clutches my cheeks, stealing my protest. “Impossible, Izzy. Fucking impossible.”
“What is?” I try to look away from his stormy eyes, but I can’t, a force bigger than me keeping my stare locked on his.
“That it was just a kiss. It could never be just a kiss. Not with you. Hell, I told you I’d wanted to kiss you for years. That’s true. I have. I’d lost track of the number of times I went to sleep after staying up all night with you and fantasized about how your lips would taste. Grew jealous whenever I had to watch my brother kiss you. God, Izzy.”
His grip on me tightens as he brings his head closer to mine, a whisper between us. My breath quickens as I bask
in his spicy, sweet scent, the aroma of citrus and wood wrapping me in comfort. The only comfort I’ve ever known.
“Every time I saw him kiss you, all I could think was how I should have been the one doing that.”
I open my mouth, not wanting to bring Jessie into our bubble. That would cause it to burst, to implode into a fiery mess. He cuts me off before I can say anything.
“Every time I saw him place his hand on your leg and run his finger along your exposed flesh, all I could think about was how cavalier he was about it. How he should have appreciated you for the fucking gift you were.”
He loosens his hold on my face, one hand going to my nape, the other sliding down my frame. When he lifts the hem of my tank top and caresses the exposed flesh, a shiver runs through my body.
“And every time I said good night to you, only for you to go to bed, to his bed…” His nostrils flare, a tick in his jaw. “All I could think about was that it should have been my bed. My arms that held you. My body that worshipped yours.”
No words come. How can I respond? Tell him I always craved his company but assumed he’d never be interested in me, not when so many girls who were more mature and experienced than me sought him out? That every time I heard him perform a new song, a part of me wished he were singing about me?
That the real reason I ended things with Jessie was because I realized I’d also fallen in love with Asher?
“I don’t have the same competitive nature as my brother,” he continues when I don’t say anything. “I don’t need to prove I can be the best at everything I do. I never wanted to graduate at the top of my class. Be class president. Run the world. The only person I care about being better than is the person I am today.” He chuckles, a momentary break in the tension. “Although, after tonight, you could probably argue I haven’t exactly been a good person.”
My chest squeezes at the reminder of the position I put him in. I told myself I wouldn’t allow him to put his relationship with his brother at risk. But that was before I was cast under his spell again. Before I was reminded of why I’d allowed him to possess a piece of my heart. Before I had a taste of him after years of fantasizing. It’s left me desperate for more.