“Oh, Jesus,” she says. She stays put against the wall, but her hips roll back from my probing mouth. Her instinct is to run; this is uncomfortable for her. She’s trying to fight it, I know she is, but it’s not easy. “What about your knee—”
“My knee is fine.” And it really is, thanks to the hours I’ve put in at PT.
I pull my finger out of her, gently, and grasp both her hips in my hands. I look up at her from my perch two centimeters from her pussy. I want to taste her so badly it’s making me dizzy.
Using my thumbs, I open her folds, baring her center to me. My dick swells to porn star proportions at the sight of the deep, slick reds, the dusky pinks, the swollen nub at the top of her cunt.
Oh Jesus is right. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
I wait for Laura to hesitate—she’s still a little self-conscious—but to my delight, she curls into my movements, opening to me without a second thought.
I dip my head and lick her, back to front, the heat of her arousal almost singing my tongue. She tastes like Laura. Like laughter and wine and earth. She cries out when I work my tongue in a lazy circle around her clit, nicking her with my teeth. She begins to roll her hips against my mouth, and I can’t help but smile when she digs her hands into my hair, urging me closer, wanting more of what I’m giving her.
I guide my tongue into the center of her slit, and she cries out again. Her legs begin to shake; she’s not far off. I almost curse.
Her pussy swells around my tongue, and she’s full-out riding my mouth now, her head thrown back, skin glowingly wet. I press my tongue to her clit, and then—
And then.
Laura comes. The weight of her body bears down on my hands and she clutches my shoulders for support and her cunt contracts. I keep my mouth on her as she comes, kissing her cunt as she cries out, and digs her fingernails into my skin. She collapses against me.
Rising to my feet, I curl her against me, holding her as the shockwaves continue to wrack her body. My dick is so hard it hurts; it’s pressed against her belly, which isn’t helping matters.
But I want to hold her. I want to be there for her as she comes down.
Maybe I need her to hold me, too. Because having her like this, being a part of that joy of hers I fucking love, is making me feel unsteady again. Like I can’t tell up from down, left from right, where I end and she begins.
After a beat, Laura turns her head, nosing my breastbone, and laughs.
It’s relieved laughter, and giggly laughter, and happy laughter. It’s all those things. Things she just felt with me.
“Really?” I say, mocking offense. “After the very real orgasm I just gave you, you’re going to laugh at me?”
“I’m not laughing at you,” she says, burrowing into my arms and wrinkling her nose. I kiss it. She’s adorable. “I don’t know why I’m laughing, actually. I just feel so…good, I guess. That—what you just did, holy moly—that felt good.”
Her eyes blink open, slowly, sated and warm, and that tear in my chest—the one I felt that night in London when I left her—it bursts open, blood and joy and holy fuck I am so in love with this girl flooding my chest.
I laugh, too, powerless against the joy that fills me up. And then I slip inside her, and the world goes quiet again, save for the soft sound of our bodies coming together again and again and again.
***
Laura
I sit on the edge of Rhys’s giant, fluffy bed and towel off my wet hair. My legs are still shaking from our little shower session, and I don’t trust myself to remain upright. We’ve been going at it like bunnies ever since we got back to Madrid at the beginning of January. It’s like we can’t get enough of each other.
It’s freaking wonderful.
Rhys emerges from the bathroom, wearing a pair of his football shorts and nothing else. They hang low on his hips, revealing his chiseled torso, his rock-hard chest, the tattoos that cover his skin. I blink. Even after all this time, I have to make sure Rhys isn’t a mirage, that this isn’t a dream. He is that beautiful. Heat flares between my legs.
Jesus, is he ever going to stop turning me on?
He offers me a shy smile; his cheeks are flushed. I can’t believe you are mine, I silently say to him. I can’t believe after everything we’ve been through, we ended up together.
We ended up happy.
“Do you have any homework you need to do?” he asks.
I grin at his concern. While we never got anywhere with the university I attended last semester in Madrid, I ended up enrolling in another program at an even better school in the city—one that is more accommodating to last minute applications. I’m taking some pretty great classes with even better professors. To be honest, I like it better than Meryton. The best part is, all the credits transfer, so I won’t fall behind on my graduation plans even if I decide to stay here next year, too.
Which, considering how great things are, is probably going to happen.
“I actually finished everything up last night,” I reply. “Thanks for asking, though.”
“Of course—can’t let the GPA part of your new bucket list slip.”
“You’re cute, you know that?”
“I do.” He smirks. “So. Since you haven’t got any homework, would you like to watch that documentary you were talking about?” he asks. “I was going to cut up a bit of cheese, maybe put out some crisps to snack on.”
I bite my lip. “Fuck yeah I would.”
“Excellent.”
I grab my phone from the nightstand. “Just let me call my mom real quick—she’s dying to know how you felt being back on the pitch.”
Rhys made his post-injury debut at training yesterday. So far, so good; he says his knee feels better than ever.
I hit the button on the side of my phone. The screen blinks to life.
My stomach drops. I have three missed calls from Emily, along with half a dozen texts.
Pls call me
Need to talk to you
Laura, I think Luke is cheating on me. Just had big fight and we broke up. Pls call me
Oh my God.
“Holy shit,” I say. “Holy. Shit.”
“What is it?” Rhys calls from the kitchen.
“Emily and Luke broke up!” I say.
“What?” Rhys reappears at the bedroom door. “That’s awful news. But I did think there was something slimy about that bloke.”
Rhys met Luke when he came home with me for Christmas break. While Rhys loved pretty much all my other friends, he could never really warm up to Em’s boyfriend.
“Yeah, but…he’s Luke. He and Em, are, like, basically one person at this point. They’ve been together forever.”
Em picks up on the first ring. She’s crying so hard that for several beats she can hardly speak.
She’s a total freaking mess.
“Emily,” I say. “Em, take a deep breath. Tell me what happened.”
“Luke. Luke, he…I guess he’s been cheating on me for years, basically since we started dating. I got an email from this girl…she said they’d been hooking up. She said he’d hooked up with other girls, too. I confronted him, he said he didn’t do it, but then I shoved the evidence in his face. He said…oh my God, Laur. What am I going to do?”
I blink. I don’t know what she should do. This is awful. So awful and so unlike the Luke I know I’m not sure what to say.
I meet Rhys’s eyes. He nods at me, encouraging me to encourage Em.
“It’s going to be all right,” I say.
“No it’s not,” she says. “Oh, God, how did I not—hey, Laur, do you mind holding on a minute? Kit is calling.”
“Kit?” I ask. “I thought you still hated Kit.”
“I do, it’s just—ugh, it’s hard to explain. Give me a sec.”
I pull my legs up onto the bed and stretch them out in front of me. My head spins as I wait for Emily to come back. What in the world is going on? Why would Luke cheat on her?
And why
is Kit calling her in the middle of all this drama?
“Hey,” Em finally says. “Sorry about that. Listen, can I call you later? I gotta go.”
“Gotta go? Go where? Are you meeting up with Kit?”
She pauses. Lets out a breath. “You promise not to judge?”
“Judge what? Emily, what’s going on?”
“It’s complicated. I’m going to meet Kit—he’s taking me out for a pint. Can I call you later?”
“Um. As long as you promise to explain why Kit is taking you out for a drink after you just found out your boyfriend who is basically your husband is cheating on you. No offense, Em, but this makes, like, absolutely no sense to me.”
“I know,” she says. “It makes no sense to me, either. And I still hate Kit, I just…look, I’ll call you, okay? I’ll explain everything.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She hangs up. I drop my phone on the bed.
What the hell just happened?
“Everything all right?” Rhys says, softly.
I shake my head. “I’m not sure, to be completely honest. She’s going to get a pint with Kit the Prince.”
“Kit the Prince? But that makes no sense.”
“I know, right? Something weird is going on with them. Really weird.”
“You think they’re…you know. Hooking up?”
“No,” I say. “At least I don’t think so. Em is—was—way too in love with Luke. Although I do think she has a crush on Kit.”
Rhys shrugs. “She’ll fill you in eventually. In the meantime, shall we get going on that movie? I admit I’m curious about the history of wine.”
“No you’re not,” I say, grinning.
He shrugs again. “Whether I am or not, you’ve got five seconds to get out of that bed before I join you. And we both know we’ll never get around to the documentary if that happens.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon curled up on the couch, polishing off a whole block of Manchego and a handful of documentaries I’ve wanted to watch. It’s pretty tame, yeah.
But it’s also pure bliss.
THE END
Thank you for reading LESSONS IN LETTING GO—I hope you laughed, you cried, you got turned on by the sassy bits. If you got especially turned on, please consider leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. I very much appreciate reviews, as they help readers find new authors like me!
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You’re currently reading book #3 in my sassy New Adult Study Abroad Series. Check out Spanish Lessons (Study Abroad #1) and Lessons in Gravity (Study Abroad #2) if you haven’t already! I’m also working on Fred and Rachel’s novella, Lessons in Losing It (Study Abroad #3.5)—I’ll have more news about that soon! Each book can be read as a standalone, but it’s probably more fun to read them as a series. Happy reading!
Check out the following pages for a note from me, along with a “Rhys and Laura” playlist and an excerpt from Spanish Lessons (Study Abroad #1).
Dear Reader,
Thank you very much for picking up LESSONS IN LETTING GO. I’ve wanted to write a football/soccer hero for a long time; when I studied abroad in Spain, my girlfriends and I were a little obsessed with the Eurotastic superstars who played for Madrid’s famous club de fútbol. David Beckham was playing in Madrid back then, and I fantasized about running into him at the grocery store or in the park (of course he’d immediately fall head over heels in love with me).
The David Beckham-becoming-obsessed-with-me bit never happened, but I knew one day I’d love to write a story where it did. I don’t play “footy”—like Laura, I went to soccer camp once and cried the whole time, no joke—but I am totally intrigued by the culture surrounding European football. I remember the athletes were practically revered as gods in Spain. I went to a match when I studied there, and being in that stadium was like nothing I have ever experienced. It was loud and raucous and fun as hell. Revisiting that night while writing this book was such a blast.
Laura’s battle with perfectionism is also something I experienced in college. Looking back, I see now I lost so much time and energy to the treadmill during those four precious years—energy I should’ve spent having more fun, getting to know my professors, and doing more interesting things. I really, really wish I hadn’t been so focused on appearances; on “playing perfect”. Laura gets this while she’s still in college (I’m jealous!). It took me well into my twenties to recognize what an idiot I was, and how much I missed out on. I’m trying to make up for it now!
LESSONS IN LETTING GO is book #3 in my Study Abroad series. While I plan to continue the series, this will be the last full-length novel set in Madrid (LESSONS IN LOSING IT, Fred and Rachel’s story, is also set in Madrid, but it’s a novella—coming soon!). The next full-length book or two will be set in London—another city I freaking LOVE. Look out for Kit the Prince and Emily’s story sometime in 2017. In the mean time, grab your FREE copy of Vivian and Rafa’s story, SPANISH LESSONS, by signing up for my newsletter.
A big thanks to my editor, Kristin Anders, for her genius (and tough!) edits; to my cover artist, Noelle Pierce of Selestiele Designs, who also provided invaluable feedback on the first draft of this book; to my formatters, the Formatting Fairies; and to Marie Force, for sharing as much as she does with newbie indie authors like me.
And thanks especially to you, for taking a chance on a new author. I sincerely hope you enjoyed Laura and Rhys’s twisty—and smokin’ hot—path to happily ever after!
Besitos,
Jessica
PS—I love it when authors include a playlist of songs that inspired them while writing a book, so thought I’d do the same. Here are the jams I listened to on repeat while I wrote Rhys and Laura’s story. Check ‘em out—they’re all available on iTunes:
“Underdressed”, Vérité
“What Do You Mean”, Justin Bieber (sorry not sorry)
“Distraction”, RAYE
“Superficial Love”, Ruth B.
“sHe”, Zayn
“Too Good”, Drake feat. Rhianna (LOVE ME SOME DRAKE AND RIRI!)
“Fill the Void”, Stwo feat. Amir Obe & Daniel Caesar
“Temptations”, PARTYNEXTDOOR
“Waves”, Miguel feat. Travis Scott
“All Night”, Beyoncé
“Heavenly Father”, Bon Iver
Turn the page for a preview of SPANISH LESSONS (Study Abroad #1)—Viv and Rafa’s story! Get your FREE copy by signing up for my newsletter.
Vivian
August
Madrid, Spain
I clutch the scrap of paper with trembling fingers. The address I’ve scrawled on it in purple felt-tip pen is smeared with sweat; the paper feels fuzzy, worried by my hands as I’ve stumbled through Barajas International Airport.
The taxi driver, a nice looking dude with stringy blond locks that stream from a receding hairline, glances at me in the rearview mirror.
“Um,” I say, tears stinging the backs of my eyes. Years of Spanish go out the open window as I struggle to remember how to say fourteen and street and I’m so sorry I’m an idiot. I’ve practiced saying my señora’s address a hundred times on the plane. I’ve even coached myself on the proper Spanish accent, perfecting the soft hiss of c and s.
Sweat trickles down the gutter of my spine. Spanish words and phrases dart through my head like blinking fireflies, going dark just when I think I’ve caught one.
For the first time, I wonder what the hell I was thinking when I decided to study abroad for a semester in
Spain. I am not ready for this. While I’ve managed to slip through high school and college classes on the strength of my written Spanish, it’s obvious my speaking skills are gringo-level—and that is being generous.
I’ve always wanted to study in Madrid, mostly because I’m a huge art history nerd and the museums here are some of the best in the world. Seeing, in the flesh, the masterpieces of my favorite artists—Goya, Dalí, Picasso—along with the country that inspired them is going to be the coolest thing ever.
But even though art history is my jam, I have yet to discover any real jobs you can land with a major like that. Considering mom and dad kindly but firmly told me I’m off the payroll the day I get my diploma, I needed a more practical major with good job prospects.
So like most Meryton University students, I am an Economics major. Along with a solid GPA, it will help me nab internships that will lead to a well-paying job after I graduate—consulting, maybe, or investment banking. I also chose it because, let’s be honest, peer pressure is a bitch, and I don’t want to be left behind by my super smart, and super competitive, classmates.
Unlike most Meryton students, however, I’m not very good at Econ. In fact, my GPA has tanked ever since I declared it as my major last year. Which is why I plan on getting a tutor through the Meryton in Madrid program this semester. I’m hoping they can help me slay the business classes I’m taking, and maybe the one or two art history classes I’ll sneak in before I settle into my I-banking track for good.
Lessons in Letting Go (Study Abroad Book 3) Page 31
