Chapter 9 Desiree Dixon

A Strip on the Strip

He drags me through the ballroom like he’s on a mission, and he leads me through the lobby, through the casino, and toward a bank of elevators.

It’s not a short walk, but he presses the button for the top floor, and if we were alone on this elevator, I have a feeling he’d start his exploration of what’s beneath the leaves.

The kiss outside was hot. The man’s mouth is talented, and the way he worked my mouth made me want to feel his tongue all over my body. All night and maybe again in the morning if my body can handle the pleasure.

It felt like more than just a kiss.

I wish I could pretend like it was more, but it can’t be. He’s Asher Nash. My dad is his newest coach, and he doesn’t even know that about me yet.

I like it that way.

This connection—it’s the vodka paired with heat simmering between us. It’s lust. That’s all it is, and I need to take a step back and remind myself of that.

We’re two adults consenting to a fun time together. That’s all Asher Nash does. It’s what he’s known for. He doesn’t call women back, nor would I expect him to…which is why I already know I’m not going to leave my number.

He’ll see me again, and that’s almost a certainty. Once the season begins, I’ll attend some home games. I’ll sit with my mom while we watch my dad do his thing on the sidelines. We’ll cheer for the team—unless it’s on the off chance they’re playing the Storm. Then I’ll be torn on who to cheer for.

We’ll see each other again, yes. He just doesn’t know it yet.

And I’m not going to spoil the lusty promise of tonight with that particular truth.

Since we’re traveling to the top floor, others exit the elevator on our ascent toward the top. We find ourselves alone with fourteen floors yet to travel, and the very millisecond the elevator doors slam shut, he makes his move.

His mouth is immediately dragging along my neck. “Jesus Christ, you taste like heaven.” He trails his lips down my neck and toward my collarbone, and I shiver. He backs me into the corner, his hands moving up my torso as he starts his ascent with his tongue back up my neck. His mouth is hot and needy when it meets mine, and his hands are traveling slowly, achingly slowly, up my torso. My nipples tighten and my body aches for him, so much so that I groan in what feels like agony, but all it does is encourage him.

He shifts, and I feel his hard cock as he positions it between us.

It’s at that moment that reality slams into me.

Holy shit, I’m going up to Asher Nash’s hotel room for sex.

I feel giddy as I revel in this moment. I suppose I have more access to football players than the average woman my age, but it’s still a pretty damn exciting thrill to know that he’s interested.

I arch into him involuntarily, and a little growl escapes him.

“Christ, Des,” he pants, his mouth just below my earlobe. “I can’t wait to get to my room and fuck you.” The way he drags out the z sound in the shortened version of my name nearly makes me come on the spot.

Nobody calls me that. It’s Desi or Desiree. Always. Never Des. There’s something illicit about it, like I only ever want to hear him call me that in the heat of a moment as the single syllable comes out in a rasped whisper.

I shiver as I feel his tongue beneath my ear, his breath warm against my skin, the sounds sexual and animal at the same time. His mouth moves back to mine, and I twine my fingers into the back of his hair. It’s a little long, like he didn’t care enough for a fresh cut and a shave, and his shadow of a beard is already burning my mouth.

I don’t care.

It’s hot as hell. He is hot as hell.

And for tonight, he’s mine.

I can live in my altered state of reality and pretend like it’s more than just for tonight, and I get to go home and brag about my conquest to my best friends, that I bagged one of football’s most eligible bachelors during my wild Vegas weekend.

He slams his hips to mine and breaks our kiss again. “I’m so fucking hard for you. Do you feel that?”

“Mm,” I moan, my head rolling back and hitting the mirrored wall behind me. His hand moves up to one of my tits, and I arch further toward him.

“Tell me how dripping wet that hot cunt is for me,” he demands.

Jesus. His mouth appears to be good for more than just kissing.

“I’ve never been so wet,” I admit honestly. This is the stuff fantasies are made of. Making out with Asher Nash on an elevator on the way to his hotel room while he talks dirty to me? Are you kidding me?

“I can’t wait to taste you,” he growls, and then the elevator skids to a stop and the doors open. He leads me down the hall toward his room, and when we walk in, I find us in a room overlooking a gorgeous view of Las Vegas Boulevard.

I glance around the room. It’s spacious with a bed, a desk, a couch, and a lounge chair overlooking the view, and it looks as if he hasn’t even been in here yet.

In fact, I don’t see any luggage.

I turn toward him, and he’s got heat in his eyes. “Strip.”

I glance toward the window. “Yes, that’s the Strip.”

He doesn’t crack a smile as he shakes his head. “Strip with the Strip behind you.”

“A strip on the Strip?” I repeat, my smart mouth getting the better of me. “Wait a second, cowboy.” I hold up a hand.

“Cowboy?”

I tilt my head and set a hand on my hip. “Did you rent this room for the night…for me?”

He snags his bottom lip between his teeth, and he’s caught red-handed. He doesn’t seem embarrassed by that fact, though. “What if I did?”

I narrow my eyes at him as I contemplate that. On the one hand…it makes me feel a little cheap. On the other hand…it makes me feel like a million bucks. What a paradox. “I guess I’d feel pretty damn special to be the girl who snagged your interest tonight.”

He takes a step toward me, and it’s nearly predatory as his navy blue eyes turn black with lust. “You’ve done more than snag my interest, Desiree.”

My full name this time. I swallow hard, suddenly nervous that I won’t be enough for him. I’m never insecure, but apparently that’s what a star like Asher Nash does to me.

Still, I hold my head high. “Oh?”

“You’ve commanded my attention this entire night, and my sole focus has been lasered in on you. From the moment I first spotted you at the bar when you walked in, took that shot of vodka, and walked away with your dirty martini, I was fascinated.” He takes another step. “And when you sat beside me at the table, as cheesy as that line was, it really did feel like fate stepped in. I kept looking for you, and you showed up as if out of nowhere in the seat reserved for my date . If that’s not fate at work, I’m not sure what is.”

He turns his attention behind me and out the window, and he seems to grapple with his words—as if he wants to say something, maybe make a confession, but he isn’t sure he’s ready to.

I’m not ready for that, either. I can’t get too invested in this guy, but it may be far too late to prevent it.

I can’t come up with a snappy remark. I find myself without words, something that rarely happens.

He shakes off wherever his mind went, and he turns back toward me. “And I like to treat my dates to a good time at the end of the night.”

“I figured someone like you would be able to offer more than a simple good time ,” I say. It’s a challenge, one I’m certain he’ll meet head-on.

Before he can, though, I move in closer to him, taking the initiative. I unbutton his jacket and reach in beyond the lapels toward his shoulders to help him shrug it off. He catches it when it falls to his wrists, and he pulls it off and tosses it on the desk beside me.

I reach for his wrists, unbuttoning the cuffs.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“You said strip. You didn’t say which one of us you wanted naked.”

He stretches his neck back and groans, and I chuckle as I start to unbutton his starched white shirt, slowly moving down one button at a time. He watches me silently, carefully, the only sound the quiet hitch of his breath as I make my way down toward where the shirt is tucked into his pants.

He grunts when I move toward the bottom, freeing his shirt from its tucked position and finishing the buttons. I reach my hands in, much like I did to his suit jacket a moment ago, but I let my cool hands wander along the planes of his warm skin.

He’s toned, firm, and hard everywhere, and I push his shirt off. I allow myself a moment to run my fingertips along the marble ridges that make up his abdomen.

He’s a professional athlete, and the hard cuts of muscle on his body showcase the amount of work he puts in.

“God, is this cut from granite?” I ask.

“Steel,” he jokes.

I move in closer to him until I feel his erection against my body. Speaking of steel…

He shifts his hips. “You’ve seen what’s beneath the paisley. Time for me to see what’s beneath the leaves.”

Instead of waiting for my reply, his hand circles my throat, and it’s the first time I realize I’m up in a man’s hotel room, and nobody knows where I am.

He might play for my dad’s team, but he’s still a virtual stranger.

I only know about him what the media has portrayed, and that’s not much to go on.

I should be scared.

But even though his hand is on my throat and he holds all the control in his hands, I’m not.

There’s something in his eyes when they fall on mine that tells me even though he has the reputation he does, he’s still a good guy.

He keeps his hand on my throat as he backs me up toward the window, and he holds me there once my back is up against it, his hand never leaving my throat as his other hand moves up to grab one of my tits. He’s rough with me, and it’s hot.

I’m trapped, and I want him to use me however he wants to.

His mouth collides down to mine, and he finally moves his hand off my throat as he uses it to slide down my torso and around to my ass, which he squeezes firmly. I bring my hands up to lace them around his waist, and he moves so quickly I barely even realize what’s happening.

He spins me so I’m facing the view out the window, and he grabs both my wrists in one of his, holding them there behind my back. He reaches around the front of me and pulls the top of my dress down so my tits spill out over the top of it, and he pushes me against the window so the cool glass meets my nipples.

“Show those pretty tits to everyone on the Strip,” he mutters close to my ear. “Show them what’s fucking mine tonight.” His mouth presses to my neck, and the hand that’s not still binding my wrists moves down, skating over my hip toward the bottom of my dress.

He bends down and pulls the material at the bottom of the dress up until it’s at the height he’s satisfied with, and then he yanks my hands to the side as he bumps his cock against my ass with a grunt. At the same time, he slips his fingers down the top of the barely there, nude-colored thong I chose to go with my dress tonight, and he feels the soft, bare mound of my pussy. He moans, then slides his finger between my folds, his breath close to my ear as he feels how wet I am.

“Fuck, that’s a dripping wet pussy,” he moans.

I grind down on his hand, desperate for relief, desperate for him to slip past the folds and push his finger inside, desperate for friction against my clit, but he keeps teasing me as my tits remain pressed against the window for anyone walking down below to see us.

The chances are slim that we’d actually be spotted. We’re way up on the top floor, and the windows are tinted. But still, the exhibitionism of it all is something I didn’t know I needed.

It makes me want to find places where he can fuck me, and nobody would ever know.

It makes me want to continue seeing him after this, after I confess to him that I’m his new coach’s daughter, but in secret since nobody can ever know.

It makes tonight an illicit secret that I want to keep repeating.

He continues teasing me, my hands still bound behind me as his fingers move everywhere except where I need them to be, his cock slamming against my ass as he tries to find some relief, too, and when I feel like I might combust if he doesn’t finger me, I start to beg. “Please, Asher,” I whine as I don’t even recognize my own voice.

“Please what?” he asks, his voice low and gritty.

“Finger me,” I beg.

“Now ask nicely. Say it all together,” he demands.

I tug on my wrists, trying to surprise him enough to let go, but he doesn’t budge. I move my hands as I try to feel around for him, and he sees what I’m doing. He shifts my hands so they’re straight behind me and right where he was thrusting toward me, and he stops to rub his cock on my open palms.

I feel his length against my palm, and holy shit , he’s huge . My mouth waters and my pussy aches as I have the dizzying need to touch him, to taste him, to feel him.

“Please fuck me,” I blurt. “Please, I’m begging you, give me some relief.”

I meant to say please finger me, I think, but I’m so lost in lust that I can’t even think straight, let alone make coherent words come out of my mouth.

He dips a finger into my pussy at my words, and I grind down on his hand as I try to grip around his cock on the outside of his pants.

He hisses at the feel of my soaked pussy, but he doesn’t back his finger out the way I need him to. I shift upward, trying to get some friction—any friction—but he doesn’t move it, instead staying close with me every time I try to move.

I feel the ache pulling even stronger as the need to come becomes my sole focus. I’m trying to figure this guy out. He takes me up here, shoves me against the window, and doesn’t finger me even though his finger is in me, and I’m not sure what’s happening, but I’m crazed with need.

Ohhhh . Some coherency seems to fire in my brain. That’s what he’s doing.

He’s making me as hot as he can for him so he can swoop in with the kind of release I’ve never experienced before.

I. Am. Here. For. It.

He finally, finally pulls his finger back and shoves it back in, and I ride his hand as he starts to get moving, the feeling of release edging its way in.

He won’t let it happen yet, though.

He yanks his finger out, and he spins me back around after he lets go of my hands. His mouth is immediately on my nipple as he grips my tit in his hand. He’s squeezing it as he licks and sucks my nipple, and the feeling is extraordinary. It’s pain and pleasure at the same time, and he moves back and forth between each nipple, laving them each with attention as that building need between my legs throbs heavily.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. His eyes are black with lust as they meet mine.

“I want you to fuck my mouth first, and then I want you to fuck my cunt. Please.”

His lips curl up into a sly smile, and he turns me so he can unzip my dress. He lets it fall to the floor in a pool, and I’m standing in only my thong.

“Fuck,” he says, and he reaches down to unbuckle his belt, pop his button, and lower his zipper. He’s out of his pants in no time flat, and he’s wearing just his boxer briefs, and my eyes zero in on the rather large bulge there.

He reaches in and pulls his cock out, and oh. My. God.

He’s huge, hard, and definitely ready. He fists himself, the large purple head disappearing into his fist before he jerks his hand down, and I can see even from here that he’s already leaking for me. He’s as needy as I am, and he’s stroking himself while I watch, trying to give himself some semblance of relief, just like he made me beg for.

I bat his hand out of the way and get down on my knees. I fist him, pumping my hand up and down his long shaft a few times before I take him between my lips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, drawing out both the beginning and the end of the word as he starts to pump his hips toward my mouth.

I take him as far back as I can, and I’m not even close to getting the whole length in. I fist him at the base of his cock with one hand and fondle his balls with my other hand, and then I pull back and suck the head of his cock while I move my fist up and down his shaft.

He grunts as I work, and I taste the salt of him on my tongue.

He grabs onto the back of my head, tangling his fingers into my hair. He holds my head steady and shoves his cock in harder, and I feel it at the back of my throat.

“Oh, fuck yes, Des,” he grunts. He does the same thing again, and I try to open my throat to allow him to shove in as deeply as he can. “Your mouth is so hot, so perfect.” He pulls back, and I suck in a breath as he shoves in again.

He fucks my mouth like I asked him to, but when my dumb mouth requested that, I failed to think about how that meant my own achy need would continue to grow.

I let go of his balls to reach down to try to give myself some relief, but he catches me before I’m able to get anywhere.

He pulls out of my mouth and reaches down under my arms, hauling me up to my feet before he grabs me up and carries me over to the lounge chair by the window. It has flared arms and a tufted back, and he tosses me onto the long part of the chair.

“Put your legs over the arm,” he says, and I do as I’m told. He yanks me so my head falls onto the seat and my ass is up over the arm, and he peels my thong off, tossing it aside. He kneels to the floor, pushes my legs apart before setting them on his shoulders, and moves his face down toward my pussy.

He stares at the wet, needy flesh. “Beautiful,” he murmurs before lowering his mouth and licking a line through my slit from my pussy up to my clit. I cry out, my hands moving to his head as I thread my fingers into his hair. He slides a long finger into me and moves his mouth to focus on my clit.

One little suckle on my clit is nearly enough to push me straight over the edge, and when he curls his finger up inside me while he sucks a little harder on me, I’m done.

I cry out as the orgasm plows into me. “Oh, God, I’m coming!”

“Say my name while you come,” he demands, his heated breath cool on my hot pussy.

“Oh, Asher, Asher, yes, yes, yes,” I cry, and he continues the onslaught of pleasure with his finger and his mouth as he helps me ride through the rhythmic pulsing of my body. He keeps going even when the pulsing stops, and my skin prickles with goose bumps as my every sense is heightened. It’s as if I have superpowers, clinging on to the silky strands of his hair while I smell his scent and mine comingling in the air around us, the sound of him continuing to suck on me while holding his fingers, two now, steady inside me.

He pulls back a moment or two after my body starts to come down, and he moans. “Fuck, your pussy is pure heaven.” He licks through me again, and my hips jerk at the feel of him there when my body has become overly sensitive. “I’ll never get enough,” he murmurs so quietly that I almost miss it, but that odd superhuman strength allows me to catch it.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough, either.