London Bound

by Amy Daws

  London Bound

  By Amy Daws

  FOR MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  www.amydawsauthor.com

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  Check out more novels in the London Lovers Series

  #1 Becoming Us Finley’s Story Part 1…College Style

  #2 A Broken Us Finley’s Story Part 2…London Style

  #3 London Bound Leslie’s Story

  #4 Not The One coming soon

  Also, a Memoir by Amy Daws

  Chasing Hope

  A mother’s story of loss, heartbreak, and the miracle of hope.

  Copyright © 2015 Amy Daws

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Stars Hollow Publishing

  ISBN 13: 978-0-9903252-9-1

  IBBN 10: 0-9903252-9-1

  Editing by Heather Banta www.linkedin.com/in/heatherbanta

  Cover design by Amy Daws

  Cover photography by Megan Daws

  Author Photograph by Megan Daws

  Cover models Allie Sievert and Jacob Jay Nair

  This book is licensed for personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author. The only exception is by quoting short excerpts in a review. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, then please go www.amydawsauthor.com to find where you can purchase it.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Dedicated to my Mom and Dad.

  As far as parents go,

  you guys are the beez-neez.

  Table of Contents

  THE PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  THE EPILOGUE

  THE PROLOGUE

  He strides with slow, purposeful steps right toward me. I immediately halt my diva-power-squat dance move I’ve been perfecting for the past year. Hey, it’s not as bad as the twerking I was attempting poorly only two minutes ago. His face is slack, serious, and completely focused on mine. His vision doesn’t stray to any other girl on the dance floor—only me. What the hell does this guy want? If he’s a bouncer and coming to yell at me for dancing like a fool, he can just piss right off! I’ll Harlem Shake all over his ass if he isn’t careful! I know this is a posh London nightclub, but fuck him. In fact, upon further reflection, I hope that’s exactly what he’s coming over for. He’s going to get an earful from me because that shit’s un-American! Oh, shit. I’m in London. Duh, Leslie—moron. Still though. Even for London, getting kicked out of a nightclub for dancing like a fool is bloody rude.

  “Look, I’m just having fun. Piss off or I’ll sic my friend Frank on you. He’s a huge Irish demon and he’ll rip your ass off if you don’t watch it.” I fix a pointed glare at him, preparing myself for battle.

  His deep, soulful eyes hood briefly, and the intensity of his expression winds me. “Dance with me,” he says, simply. It’s a demand, not a question.

  Well that’s unexpected. I briefly shake off my initial feeling of indignation and shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, giving him an ‘if you must’ look. This could be fun. He’s not bad looking—in fact, he’s pretty hot now that I know he’s not a bouncer coming to thump me. He instantly snakes his hands around my waist and pulls me up tight against him. I’m slightly stunned by the intimacy of his hold but am taken off guard too much to object. His right leg pushes between my thighs and my little black dress rides up scandalously high.

  He eyes me closely and then begins swaying our hips to the erotic nightclub beats. Oh God. This feels a bit intimate with his leg positioned just so. But oof, it’s quite nice if I’m being honest. I get that little zaza feeling up my spine, and it’s not altogether unwelcome. I look around at the other people dancing, trying to get a better grip on myself and quit focusing on the squirming sensation happening in my under belly right now. Ye gats, I hope to God Frank doesn’t see this or he’ll never let me live it down. It’s quite obvious everyone around us is pretty hammered at this point because they are all completely oblivious to our sensual motions. It’s late enough now I suppose, even the Brits are behaving with a bit more bravado.

  My attention is snapped back to my dance partner as he hitches his leg slightly. Goodness me, I drop my chin to my chest and shake my hair forward to conceal my face. Oh shit that feels good being tight up against him like this. I feel hot and flushed. Who is this guy?

  His hand moves gently up my side and he crooks his finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes are boring down on me, intense and curious. Without even telling it to, my tongue slips out from my mouth and licks my upper lip leisurely. His eyes flare ever so slightly—his black-rimmed glasses making it difficult to see his expression properly. My eyes rove around the rest of him and take in his buzzed, dirty blonde hair and dark scruff peppered around his face. He’s got a sexy, lazy-Sunday-morning-just-fucked look about him, if I do say so myself.

  “What’s your name?” he asks loudly enough to be heard. His British accent sounds a bit Cockney. Perhaps East London? I can’t quite distinguish accents as well as Frank, but I’ve picked up a few regional signs. The feel of his vibrating chest against me when he speaks is nice.

  “Leslie,” I answer, taking quick note of his tight-corded muscles roping up his arms. Jesus, his triceps are huge! “Yours?” My curiosity is peaked. Any man that has the nerve to come right up and ask me to dance has some serious balls. Brits in general tend to keep to themselves at most nightclubs until the booze really starts flowing. But this guy doesn’t appear to be drunk. In fact, he’s got some serious dance moves that indicate to me he’s stone-cold sober.

  Suddenly, he shifts his leg snugger between my thighs and my eyes fly wide open as I panic, feeling my dress ride up nearly past my kitty-cat! Oblivious, he leans in close and murmurs, “My name is Theo.” He stills, breathing deeply near the area just below my ear. His heady scent in
vades all of my senses and his warm breath sends shivers down my neck and spine. Wait a sec. Did he just nuzzle me?

  My hands instinctively grasp his firm biceps for balance as a zinging sensation courses through me. Shit, this feels positively exciting! Wrong, but thrilling as hell! My hands stroke gently around his thick arms bulging through his tight t-shirt. He has a bulky, muscular build, and appears to be at least six-foot tall—easily dwarfing me. Though at only five-foot-five myself, that doesn’t take much. Either way, I definitely wouldn’t toss this guy out of bed for eating crackers.

  “You looked like you were having a lot of fun just a bit ago, Leslie.” He says my name like he’s testing it out to see how it feels on his lips. His voice is smooth but deep. A timbre that reaches me everywhere it shouldn’t. His comment is sweet and light, but his face is serious and contemplative.

  “I’m here with my best friend, Finley. We were just having a laugh.” I shrug my shoulders and smile, trying to earn a smile in return. He continues to look at me with a pensive expression.

  “You’re American?”

  I nod. Just then, Finley grasps my shoulders and mumbles into my ear that she’s running to the loo. I turn to reply, but she’s already scurried off. I hope she doesn’t have a bathroom emergency. There’s nothing worse than pooing at a high-class nightclub.

  “Americans are pretty good at laughing.” Theo’s voice interrupts my thoughts like he can hear them somehow poking fun at my poor friend. I gaze at him as his mouth drops open slightly. He moves his tongue to the side of his mouth biting the tip with his back teeth. He appears to be contemplating what he’s going to say next. Seemingly deciding against saying anything at all, he pins me with a sexy smoldering look and I catch myself gawking at his thick bottom lip.

  My coworkers give me crap all the time about being obnoxious and how utterly American that is. They say American like it’s a bad thing! I just like to laugh and goof off! But this Theo guy doesn’t seem to be saying it negatively. I decide to let the comment slide.

  “Why so serious?” I ask in a low, creepy voice, imitating the voice of the Joker from Batman Returns. I pucker my lips out into a playful pout. His eyes lock on my lips and I giggle at his obvious lack of humor.

  He shrugs his shoulders and answers, “Not everyone can light up a room like you, I guess.” He looks off to the side and I bark out a laugh.

  “That’s a line if I ever heard one! I’m sure you say that to all the girls.” I wag my eyebrows sarcastically.

  He frowns and looks back at me confused. A dissatisfied expression ripples over his features. “I don’t. I’m not…really a line kind of guy. I’ve actually never said that to anyone. Well, maybe my mum…before…” he pauses, smiling softly for the first time since he approached me. There’s a sadness to it though. My heart flutters at the adorable expression on his face. He should do happy more often—it looks good on him.

  I finally tear my eyes away from his face and look around at the people surrounding us. I forgot we weren’t alone for a second and suddenly I feel self-conscious of our provocative dancing.

  “I mean it,” he says, pressing his chest into mine and speaking close enough that I can feel his lips tickle my ear. “It’s not a line. You…” He pauses and exhales deeply. “You sparkle.” He pulls back quickly, appearing to be taken aback by the words that just tumbled out of his own mouth.

  I want to swat him sardonically and make some wisecrack about what a lying cow he must be. But his expression and demeanor feel too honest—raw. I can’t explain it. I believe him now but feel uncomfortable with the compliment at the same time. I’ve never been good at compliments. The only compliments I ever seem to get are on my clothes.

  “You must be referring to my keen fashion sense.” I wink playfully.

  His eyes dip down to my chest and he scowls briefly then returns his gaze to my green eyes. “Not the clothes,” he replies simply.

  I get the first proper look at his eyes when a blast of white light illuminates the dancers. Wow. His eyes are amazing—pale brown around the iris, and darkening slightly toward the edges. And of course they’d have to be framed with thick black lashes. As his gaze pierces me I’m struck with a feeling of mourning. His eyes have this beautifully sad look about them that I can’t quite make sense of. I want to rip off his black-rimmed glasses and see if that reveals the cause of his obvious remorse.

  He shifts his leg slightly and the friction of his expensive-looking tweed pants between my legs shocks my thought process. Oh my word, this is bad. This is much too intimate. Get a hold of yourself, Leslie!

  I pucker my lips, attempting to contain the growing arousal in my body. Between his sweet words and his sensual movements, I feel myself losing control like a wanton floozy. I have to get off this man’s leg. I have to. Why did I wear such lacey underwear? This sensation is just…too…much.

  He brings his mouth to my neck and gently exhales along the skin below my ear. My organs wooze for England. I can almost feel the moisture of his lips on my skin. I press myself deeper into him, enjoying the feel of his muscular leg under my clenched thighs. I had no idea dancing could be this arousing!

  Pulling back, he looks intensely into my eyes like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind. His eyes squint for a second and then look down to my lips. Holy fuck, is he going to kiss me? Oh God, he is! He’s going to kiss me—I know it. I should stop this. He’s a stranger and my nearly-naked vagina is riding his thigh like a bucking pony. Damn, his lips look soft.

  Before I have time to make some smartass wisecrack to break this sex-bubble we’re forming, he leans down and confirms my suspicions. Yes—oh yes, those lips are as soft as I suspected. As soon as we make contact, my cheeks tingle with excitement, the sensation ripples down to my core. His lips are smooth, plump, and rocking my fucking world right now. He doesn’t insert his tongue, which only makes me desperate for more. Like the sexually-deprived woman I am, I move my hands up from his chest to his cheeks and attempt to insert my tongue. Suddenly, he breaks our kiss and eyes me tensely. I can feel my eyes dilating with an aching need.

  He bites his tongue again and moves his hands down to cup my behind. He pulls me onto his thigh even further. The friction and his hands touching me so intimately are nearly unbearable. Despite myself I thrust my hips into him and look up at his eyes with pure, unadulterated arousal. Jesus, I am such a scandalous hussie! My breath comes out in soft, shallow puffs. This Theo guy knows what he’s doing—that’s for damn sure!

  He peers down at my crotch riding his leg. His eyes flash in a state of passion as his body catches up to mine. I moan softly. I feel like I’ve crawled out of my body and am watching it from above in perverted fascination. His previously controlled expression vanishes. His hands move from my butt to my hips and he rocks me back and forth on his hard leg.

  I gasp, feeling stunned, and throw my head back. His actions grow frenzied and he pulls me flush against him. My head tosses over his shoulder. I hardly recognize what’s happening before it’s too late. A silent scream rips through me as sparks fire brightly behind my tightly closed eyes dancing with the bright club lights. I cry out loudly in shock, but my voice goes unheard over the roar of the music. But Theo’s heard it. He’s frozen in place, just like me. He knows. He recognized my body transitioning from a coiled, tight rocket, to a limp, weak noodle.

  Holy tits on a bull, I just climaxed…on a stranger’s leg!

  I look up with wide, horrified eyes as my body settles back into reality. I chance a look at his reaction. He looks desperate—awestruck maybe? His eyes flash to my lips and he kisses me powerfully, swirling my still-fully-satisfied state. Just as he inserts his tongue, I break the kiss, overwhelmed by everything.

  “Leslie?” He says my name in a questioning tone through a raspy, thick British accent.

  “I, uhh…I need to…” I breathe heavily. “I’ll be right back.” I try to pull away and he grabs my waist tightly, refusing to let me go.

  �
��I want to talk to you.” Did his accent get thicker or is it just me? His demeanor shifts to nervous and unsure—which for some bizarre reason only makes me want him more.

  “I’ll be right back. I promise.” His eyes rove over my face, seemingly trying to determine if I’m trustworthy. He brushes my auburn bangs away from my eyes, assessing me further. He must see something because he releases me, albeit nervously.

  “I’d like to walk you.”

  “No,” I reply without thinking. I pause and smile reassuringly. “It’s just right over there.” He follows my gesture over to the women’s restroom and contemplates for a brief second, then nods his head slightly.

  “I’ll wait right over there.” He glances to an empty bench area on the side of the dance floor. I nod my head confidently and hold one finger up, indicating I’ll be right back.

  In a flash, I rush to the women’s loo on shaky legs. As soon as I’m secured behind a stall door, I let out a huge breath and attempt to stop my trembling hands. Holy fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck, fuck. What was that? Did I seriously just cum on a stranger’s leg at a nightclub. What was his name again? Theo? Oh my God. What is wrong with me? I repeatedly bang my forehead on the side of the bathroom stall until it smarts and I flinch. I fucking deserve it! I rub the tender spot glumly. How could I be so utterly pathetic? He probably thinks I’m a lonely, desperate cow who hasn’t been laid in years…which, unfortunately, is true.

  I sigh loudly and attempt to wipe my soaked panties. Deciding the panties are too far gone, I peel them off and toss them in the bin. I hate wearing the damn things anyway. I only did because Finley said we were going to dance wildly tonight and I thought it better to be safe than sorry. I pull down my little black dress, feeling completely exposed and raw below. Normally, going commando is no big thing for me, but doing it after an orgasm feels a bit more vulnerable.

  I reluctantly exit the stall and get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Jesus. I look like I’ve been properly fucked. My short bob is tousled and mussed and my green eyes are wide and dilated. Cheeks flushed. Jesus Lez—this is just great. I wash my hands as mortification blankets me the longer I stare at myself in the mirror.