Torn(24)

I don't have rules. I've never had rules. If she was anyone else, I would have f*cked her in her studio the other day, then walked out and even with the taste of her still on my lips, I would have been searching for the next woman to temporarily fill the growing pit inside of me.

With a determined stride, I walk faster, my pace quickening. I cross against the light, even though a car is coming towards me. I've lived in New York City long enough to know that he'll swerve around me with a honk and a cursed warning I'll never hear.

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 * 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."