French Kissed

by Chanel Cleeton

  He blinked. “You don’t have any books with you.” He drew the words out like each one told him something about me, which I supposed they did.

  Anticipation filled me, buzzing through my senses, lighting me up more than the champagne, the music, and the glitzy club. There was bewilderment in his tone, but also a spark, one I hadn’t felt in years.

  I took another step closer, loving the flare of awareness reflected back in his eyes. I didn’t know where I was headed, or what I’d do when I got there, but I had to move.

  I stopped when I was so close that our legs touched, mine bare against the scratchy denim of his pants. Max sucked in a breath, and the air seemed to grow heavy between us. My throat tightened as I longed to reach out.

  “I figured you’d be here,” I confessed, my voice a whisper pushing for release.

  It was late, most of the International School was sleeping, and we were here in this nearly deserted corner of the library, two people who couldn’t have been further from a natural fit. It was a night for the impossible to become possible.

  “You came here looking for me?”

  There was that voice again, and that accent that was cute on Maggie and something else entirely on Max—gravelly, deep, rough, undeniably male.

  Max swallowed, and the disbelief in his voice, and in his eyes, pulled at me in a way nothing had before. There was a vulnerability to him I’d never seen. It spoke to the side of me that hadn’t been okay in a long time.

  I shrugged, struggling for nonchalance, trying to pretend my heart wasn’t beating a million beats a minute. And then he rose from the chair, slowly, surprisingly graceful for his size, and any hope I had of control completely disappeared.

  ###

  Max

  I had to be dreaming. That was what I told myself as I stood, moving toward her like she was where I belonged.

  My brain had abandoned me somewhere between seeing Fleur in that dress and hearing the interest in her voice. I didn’t really understand, didn’t know what she wanted, but I knew this: if I only had this moment with her, and tomorrow we would go back to the way we were before, when she was out of my reach, then I was going to take it. I’d rather regret kissing Fleur Marceaux and possibly embarrassing myself, than miss the chance I’d been dreaming about for years.

  I reached out and grabbed Fleur’s hand, lacing my fingers with hers until our palms connected. I waited for a beat, for the snarky remark, for embarrassment to flood me, for sanity to kick in. For something, anything, to tell me I was making a huge mistake, until all I felt was the heat of her palm against mine and the shudder that rippled through her fingers.

  I tugged her forward, moving with a confidence I’d never felt before and an urgency that had been building inside me since the first time I saw her freshman year. I felt reckless, like someone I’d never been, but I’d been fantasizing about her for three years, and now she was here, and suddenly, years of want and need came to the surface, refusing to be contained.

  I maneuvered her over to one of the bookcases in the quietest corner of the library, a few feet away from where I’d been studying. There was no one around, and it was late, and nothing mattered beyond the way her body moved in sync with mine. Some part of her wanted this, and the part of me that craved it was more than happy to give her what she wanted, even if it was just this moment.

  I settled my palms on her hips, her hip bones pressing against me as I stared down at our touching bodies, my hands spanning her slim frame. She sighed, the sound lost somewhere between us.

  I wondered if I had the balls to do this. You weren’t supposed to have a chance with the girl you fantasized about. There was something safe in the unattainable, something that didn’t involve having to put yourself out there, risking rejection. But right now, with the scent of her perfume swirling around and the feel of her body against me, I didn’t want the fantasy. I wanted the girl in front of me who looked as nervous as I felt. And even as the urge to chicken out flickered through me, I beat it back because this was Fleur, and I’d never have a chance with her if I didn’t have the balls to do something about it.

  I leaned in closer, moving my hands from her hips and placing them on either side of her head, palming the bookshelf, struggling to concentrate on the leather spines against my skin rather than losing myself to the feel of the girl against my body.

  Don’t fuck this up.

  The words ran through my mind on a never-ending loop, gaining momentum like a freight train.

  I rocked my hips forward just an inch, pushing her back against the bookshelf, too turned on to care that she could now feel every inch of how badly I wanted her.

  Fleur’s eyes widened, but she didn’t speak, as if she somehow knew words would ruin this moment, whatever it was. And it hit me that this was real, and it was happening, and I’d somehow stunned the girl who knocked me on my ass.

  I reached down, capturing a lock of her hair, wrapping the brown silk around my fingers, tugging her toward me. I’d always wondered if her hair felt as soft as it looked.

  It felt better.

  She arched her back, pressing her hips against my body, a sound escaping her lips that was somewhere between a moan and a purr.

  Fuck me. I was done.

  I leaned forward and captured her mouth with no intention of ever letting go.

  ###

  Fleur

  With one touch of his lips against mine, everything I’d thought I’d known about men was flipped on its head.

  Despite the rumors, I hadn’t kissed a lot of guys. Costa had been my first and he’d been unbelievable, probably because I’d been far from his first. Then there had been a few random guys in clubs, kisses that were tinged with too much champagne and the beat of loud music. Those hadn’t been great kisses; they’d been ruled by my need to obliterate all that had happened. Kisses weren’t so good when there was someone else in your head.

  And then there’d been George. Nice George. George whose kisses were okay, nothing spectacular. Not bad, not good, just nice. He’d kissed like I figured a nice boy should—no roving hands, no demanding mouth—easy, gentle, sweet.

  Surprisingly, Max kissed like a bad boy, and considering I was a far cry from a good girl, that was just fine with me.

  His hands came down from their resting place above my head to curve around my back and waist, yanking me against him. I would have guessed he’d be a hesitant kisser, and I would have been so wrong.

  He kissed like I was everything, like all he wanted was to kiss me. Costa had kissed like he could; George had kissed like he wanted to, but never could quite get the balls up to take charge. Max kissed like he had to kiss me, and that made all the difference.

  His lips were firm, his tongue and mouth bold, his hands bolder still, his body hungry. He arched me forward, bringing my body in line with his. If we’d been anywhere else, if we’d been in private, I would have used his strength holding me in place to wrap my leg around his waist, rocking against every inch of him, reveling in how badly he wanted me.

  But we weren’t in private, we were in the library, and I’d totally lost control.

  He released my mouth with a harsh breath, moving down, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive curve of my neck. My moan filled the silence around us.

  Merde.

  He ignored the sound, his mouth continuing down the same trail, teasing a shiver out of me. All he had to do was touch me and I was ready to combust. It had been an embarrassingly long time.

  His hands moved up from my waist, fisting in my hair again, tugging lightly in a move that had me tilting my head back, giving him more of my neck, more of me.

  “Soft,” Max mumbled against my skin, the rumble from his mouth vibrating against my throat. “Silk.”

  Words tumbled out in French in a strangled gasp.

  Max froze, my body trapped under his. He pulled back slightly, inches separating my body and his, his hands still tangled in my hair, holding me in place.

  I blinked
, focusing on the boy in front of me, as if that would change the image staring back at me. He was hot, but he wasn’t my usual hot, not by a long shot. And by the look in his eyes, I wasn’t what he expected to find looking back at him. But here we were, so hell, I looked at his raw beauty, and I wasn’t shy about it.

  His brown eyes widened, his cheeks flushed. A lock of his hair fell forward across his forehead, and at that moment I realized that while he’d had his hands on me, I hadn’t been able to return the favor. I’d been too surprised, too caught off guard by the kiss. I’d let him kiss me without exploring the parts of him that had been pulling at my stomach for the past few months, sneaking up on me so that I couldn’t even pinpoint the moment when I’d stopped looking at Max as someone I loathed and started looking at him as someone I wanted.

  And just like that, parts of me that had been sleeping, walking through a haze, woke the fuck up.

  The rest of my body might have been shy, but my hand turned greedy. I reached out without thinking, only wanting, and placed my palm on his chest, feeling his sharp intake of breath at my touch. His shirt was between us, but it wasn’t enough of a barrier to dull the beat in his chest that had me closing my eyes.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  His heart beat against my palm, strong and fierce. My eyes flickered open, and I stared at the point where I touched him, where I felt him, and wondered if anything would make me let go.

  “You spoke French.”

  I looked up, even in heels, up higher still, until our gazes collided. My mouth parted, but no words came out. I was afraid to speak, afraid that whatever spell had descended on this little corner of the library would simply disappear. I didn’t know what I wanted when the veil lifted, definitely didn’t know what he wanted, but I knew I wasn’t ready yet.

  “I’m French,” I mumbled, the words fumbling out of my mouth with uncharacteristic clumsiness.

  The corner of his mouth curved, his smile lopsided. “I noticed.”

  Neither of us spoke, that crooked smile still on his face.

  I tilted my head to the side, trying to figure out what it was about Max that made me this crazy. I couldn’t tell if it was how long it had been since anyone made me feel things, or his eyes, or the way he held me like I mattered, or the way he kissed me like he couldn’t stop.

  He returned the favor, staring at me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I worried that if he looked too closely, he’d see too much. I needed the veneer; without it, I wasn’t sure I could face the world.

  “What?” I asked, my voice shaky.

  His head shook, and the other corner of his mouth turned up. “I don’t know.”

  I pulled my hand away from him slowly, his eyes on me, until it dropped to my side, my fingers curling into a ball. My heart pounded a bit faster.

  I bit my lip, watching as his throat bobbed, his eyes riveted to my mouth. I couldn’t resist; I let my tongue dart out, doing a quick swipe across my bottom lip, tasting my peppermint gloss and the remnants of his mouth on mine. And then he moved forward again and I lost my mind.

  ###

  Max

  She tasted even better than I’d imagined, felt better than any fantasy. Now at night when I closed my eyes and my head hit the pillow, it would be her scent, the feel of her curves against my body that got me hard, the silk of her hair between my fingers and her kiss that made me pant for more.

  And then she did that thing with her lip and I had to take her mouth. So I did.

  She opened for me instantly, her lips accommodating mine. The first kiss had been an introduction; this was an exploration.

  Her body molded itself against me. There were no soft curves with her, no handfuls to grab. Her body was all harsh angles, unforgiving planes that made you work for it.

  So Fleur.

  She didn’t just let me kiss her. Our mouths battled, our tongues tangled, existing in a constant sway of give-and-take.

  Her teeth sunk down on my bottom lip, sucked it into her mouth, and I groaned, my hips pushing against hers.

  “Touch me,” I whispered, not sure if I was asking, or begging, or telling. I didn’t even care. In this case, the ends definitely justified the means.

  Her hands came around my neck, her fingers linking, pulling my head down even closer to hers. In her heels, she was tall enough that I didn’t have to bend down to kiss her; even out of her heels, she was tall in a way I liked. When you were a few inches over six feet, tall was nice. The legs for days were an added bonus on a girl who didn’t need any extra points, not when she hit every single ball out of the fucking park.

  Her fingers unlinked, her hands moving up, threading through my hair, gripping a handful, tugging on the ends.

  Jesus.

  A thud sounded somewhere, breaking into the pounding noise in my head. I didn’t want to let her go, having her in my arms was the best feeling in the world, but we were in the library, and it was past midnight, and most importantly, it was Fleur, and everything she did was front-page news. And the last thing I needed was George finding out I’d kissed his ex-girlfriend from the International School gossip chain. So I released her when all I wanted was more of her. More of this side of her, at least. It was easier when we were using our mouths for something other than fighting.

  I let her go slowly, feeling like she was slipping through my fingers like sand.

  Her head arched back, hitting the book spines behind her, looking up at me, a slightly dazed look on her face. I loved that look, wanted to memorize this moment, wanted to revel in the fact that I’d put it there.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, struggling to think of what to say after the most mind-blowing kiss of my life.

  Nothing came to mind. Luckily, Fleur was anything but shy.

  “That was . . .” Her lips curved into a smile. “Interesting.”

  I bit back a laugh, loving the way her brown eyes lit up. “That’s one word for it.”

  “Would you choose a different word?” she teased.

  “Confusing. Complicated. Fucking amazing.”

  Her smile deepened. “That’s two words.”

  This time I did laugh. “So it is.”

  “I should go before I cause an even bigger scene than normal,” Fleur announced.

  I nodded.

  She didn’t speak. Instead she leaned forward, her lips brushing softly against my cheek, her perfume filling my head, her body grazing mine. My eyes closed.

  “Good night, Max,” she whispered.

  When I opened them again, she was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Fleur

  “So are we going to talk about why you left last night?”

  I shrugged. “I was bored.”

  Maggie’s eyes narrowed with concern. “You’ve never been bored at Babel before.”

  My lips curved. “Actually, I have been. You’re just normally too into Samir to notice.”

  “Burn.”

  I laughed. “You and your little American sayings.”

  I shifted in bed, pulling my knees up to my chest, burrowing farther under the covers. It was early, way too early considering how late I’d gone to bed. Maggie didn’t look much better than me. When I’d gotten back from the library she’d still been at Babel. I had no clue where Mya was.

  Maggie’s expression changed. “I’m worried about you.”

  I groaned. “It’s too early for this.”

  “You won’t talk about it.”

  “Because I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You need to deal with it.”

  “I am dealing with it,” I protested.

  Maggie shook her head. “Then why don’t you look happy? You used to love going out, and last night you looked like you’d rather be at the dentist. You’re not yourself.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It is when you’re surrounded by people who love you and just want to see you happy.”

  My eyebrow rose. “Like Samir?”

  She flushe
d. “I didn’t tell him everything. Really, I didn’t even tell him anything. Just that I was worried about you. He is, too.”

  I sighed. I knew they were, but in a way that only made things harder. It was impossible not to feel like I was letting them down.

  “I love you guys, but you have to give me a bit of space. I’m dealing with things in my own way. Costa fucked me up.” I pushed out the words despite the razor scraping at my throat. “Losing the baby about killed me.” Maggie whitened. “And let’s be honest here, last year I did some stupid shit. George was a nice guy, but deep down, I knew he wasn’t the guy for me. And I hurt him in the process because I needed something he couldn’t give me. I don’t want to do that again. Maybe I just want to be more cautious this year.” I thought of last night. “Well, more cautious than normal,” I amended.

  My tone softened because, honestly, if I owed anyone an apology, it was Maggie. She was the one who’d called an ambulance the night I’d overdosed sophomore year; she’d saved my life. As overprotective as she could be, I knew it was because she loved me, even if it could be stifling sometimes. I wasn’t used to this kind of love or concern, though. I’d pretty much been on my own for as long as I could remember, so it was welcome. Just a little hard to handle at times.

  “I promise I’m not going to go off the rails again. I’m not that girl anymore. I need you to trust me.”

  “I do.” Maggie got out of her bed and crossed the room to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I wasn’t much of a hugger, but she’d changed that. I hadn’t been kidding when I said my friends were my family.

  “This year’s going to be different. I can feel it,” Maggie said.

  I couldn’t disagree with her. After last night’s kiss, everything felt different.

  Whereas kissing Costa had always meant sex was soon to follow, this hadn’t been like that at all. It had been a kiss that was content just to be a kiss. As if my lips on his were more than Max had ever expected. Costa would have pushed for more, and I would have given it.