London Falling

by Chanel Cleeton

  Maggie

  HE WAS KILLING ME.

  I clung to my sanity by a thread, my body’s needs having far outstripped any rational thought. This was what it felt like to lose control. This was the memory that had been plaguing me for months—invading my thoughts and dreams.

  He was better than I’d remembered, and I was determined to reap the rewards of his years of experience.

  His mouth at my breast, sucking on my nipple, had my hips thrashing. His teeth grazed the tight bud in an exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain. A moan escaped my lips, fueled by the desire gathering between my legs, flooding my body. His lips left my skin, the cool air hitting me instantly. He reached down between us, his knuckles grazing my stomach. I arched my back, giving myself over to the feel of his hands on me, to the sweet torment of his fingers. His hand continued its descent, caressing, teasing, before dipping lower and unbuttoning my jeans, dragging the denim down my hips with agonizing slowness.

  The contrast of sensations nearly overwhelmed me. The fabric against my skin was rough, the touch of his hands, finger-light, teasing my flesh.

  “Don’t stop,” I whispered, pleading. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

  “Can’t. Won’t.”

  He pulled my jeans off, throwing them onto the floor. Then he was back on the bed, joining me, his body hovering over mine, his mouth back at my breasts.

  I moved between us, my hands sliding down his stomach, reaching the snap of his jeans. I dipped lower, running my palm against the outline of his arousal. He hissed.

  I unbuttoned his jeans, starting with the top button, revealing another one, and then another, dragging my fingers downward, tracing that hard line. When I finally reached the last button, I pulled at his jeans, tugging at them with an impatience I didn’t bother to hide.

  Samir moved out of my reach, standing next to the bed, staring down at me. The sight of his long, tanned fingers mesmerized me as he slipped the jeans from his hips until they pooled near his feet. His boxers came next. With the same unhurried effort, he pulled the cotton down—the whole time, his gaze pinned to mine. His boxers fell to the floor in a heap next to his jeans.

  For a moment I could only stare. I knew guys weren’t supposed to be beautiful, but his body was beautiful. His skin was tan, his body lean but sculpted. His shoulders were broad without being overwhelming, his collarbone a sharp line I wanted to run my tongue along. His chest was sprinkled with dark hair, his stomach flat, the indent over his hips faint.

  His lips quirked in a little half-smile. “Like what you see?”

  I shook my head, a smile forming. “Trust you to be cocky even during sex.”

  “I thought you liked it when I was cocky.” He reached down, grazing the inside of my thigh, moving higher, higher—

  My hips arched off the bed as his hand reached the edge of my lacy thong. His fingers teased the fabric there before dipping lower, caressing my skin before sliding into my body in one smooth stroke.

  Suddenly I couldn’t think at all.

  Samir groaned. “You’re so fucking wet. You feel incredible.”

  He played with me, minutes passing, each touch taking me closer and closer to the edge. He moved his fingers, slowly, lazily, making little circles deep inside me—curling, stroking, seeking—

  The orgasm ripped through me, leaving my body sensitive, a tremor filling me.

  His fingers slid out of me, the pounding in my chest an urgent beat. He moved toward the nightstand, grabbing a condom, rolling it on before coming to join me on the bed.

  “I bought these earlier today,” he confessed, his expression sheepish. “I hoped—”

  I fused my mouth with his, smothering the rest of his words. I’d never wanted anything as badly as I wanted this.

  Samir reached between us, his hands shaping my legs, exploring, moving higher until he reached my hips. He bent his head, his lips following the path his hands had taken. I arched my back, pushing my body against his, wanting more, anything, everything. His hands grazed my hips as he reached down, pulling my lace thong off my legs. The fabric sliding down my bare skin sent another shiver through me.

  His gaze met mine, and for a moment we just stared at each other. I didn’t know what I felt. Lust. Longing. A kind of madness that seemed to ooze from my pores. Despite the insanity I knew sex between us could bring, I couldn’t resist. Being with him felt right. Not just because the feeling of his hands and mouth on me was the single hottest thing I’d ever experienced, but because of the look in his eyes when he stared at me. He made me feel like I was everything.

  No one had ever done that.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  For a moment, his body hovered over me, his skin against mine.

  “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered. And then he plunged into me, filling me, pushing me over the edge.

  I drowned in him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Samir

  “HI.”

  Maggie’s eyelids fluttered open, a smile slowly spreading across her face. My chest tightened.

  “Hi,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes. “What time is it?”

  I tore my gaze away, looking at the clock on my nightstand. “Seven.” I’d been up for three hours watching her sleep, wondering what the hell I’d done and how we could move forward from this. If things were normal, I would have woken her up with my lips on hers and my hand between her legs. I would have made her come with my hands and mouth, taking her over the edge. But things weren’t normal. As much as I loved waking up with her, I felt like the world’s biggest ass.

  “Are you okay?”

  I forced a smile. “Better than okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded, even though I was lying. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Part of me wanted to keep her in my bed forever. Part of me needed her to leave now. I needed space, time to think.

  What the hell happened last night?

  The first time we slept together, I’d known things were different with her. There had been something about it. Maybe it was the fact that we were friends, that I actually liked her. I’d never slept with a girl I was friends with before.

  But this time—

  I hadn’t thought anything could be as good as it had been between us back in May. I’d been wrong. It was better.

  The fact that I’d wanted to hold her in my arms afterward just complicated everything between us. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. We couldn’t continue the way we’d been. I couldn’t pretend there wasn’t something between us. I wanted her in my bed, in my arms. I wanted to know no one else would put his hands on her.

  I needed time to figure things out.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, pulling back slightly.

  I didn’t know what to say. I needed to deal with the Layla situation. And given the expectations she had, I needed to do it in person.

  Maggie

  THE SPELL HAD BEEN broken. Whatever had made Samir throw caution to the wind last night seemed to have been replaced by something I was afraid to name as regret.

  Last night had been special. I knew it, I’d felt it. I may not have been experienced with guys, but I’d seen the way Samir had looked at me, the way he’d touched me, demanding and reverent. Last night had meant something to him.

  This morning it was like there was a different Samir in bed with me. The walls were back up. And it hurt.

  I could read the writing on the wall. He regretted it. The truth of it hit me like a glass of cold water to the face.

  I pulled the sheets back, climbing out of bed.

  “I have to go.”

  Samir sat up, the white sheet slipping low on his stomach. The flash of skin was enough to send a wave of desire crashing through me.

  The look in his eyes, though, changed desire to confusion. How could he look at me like that one moment and be cold the next?

  “Don’t be upset. Please.” The f
rustration broke through his voice. “I just need some time.”

  I shook my head, the truth of it hitting me. I could give him time, but what would be the point? We’d been doing this dance for over a year now. It wasn’t getting better. The obstacles weren’t going away. He wasn’t choosing me. He’d never chosen me. What kind of person did it make me that I kept coming back for more?

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Do what?”

  “This.” I gestured between us. “Sex. Kissing. Touching. Any of it. All of it.”

  He didn’t answer me.

  “This isn’t working,” I continued. “It has never worked. I can’t be your friend. I can’t pretend like that’s all there is between us. I can’t pretend you and I haven’t been more to each other.”

  “Maggie...”

  The first tear slipped down my cheek. Horror filled his eyes.

  “We’re not good for each other. Can’t you see that?”

  “That’s not true.”

  I shook my head, rubbing at my eyes to clear my vision. “It is true. Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel guilty? That you don’t regret what we did?”

  “I don’t regret it.”

  Pain knifed through me. “Well, I do. I can’t be that girl. I can’t be the girl you screw around with. I can’t be the girl you keep on the side who gets whatever pieces of you are left when your girlfriend is done with you.”

  With each word that left my lips, I realized the truth of everything I said. My entire life I’d always been someone’s second choice. My mom hadn’t loved me enough to stay; my dad hadn’t loved me enough to come home. There was always something that mattered more than me, always something chosen over me. I wanted to be someone’s first choice. For once, I wanted to know what it felt like to have someone fight for me, to have someone stay.

  He’d made his choice. He could have ended things with his girlfriend over the summer. He could have chosen me. But he didn’t. He stayed with her. He chose her and now he wanted me on the side. It wasn’t good enough. It was time I started valuing myself more.

  Every time I came back to him, every moment I gave more of myself to him, I lost something. Something I was never going to be able to get back. He was taking pieces of me with him, stripping me to the bone, leaving me raw and exposed.

  He was breaking my heart.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Maggie

  “YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE the day I’ve had.”

  My head jerked up as Mya walked into the room. I rubbed at my eyes, hoping she wouldn’t notice I’d been crying for the last few hours.

  She froze, her gaze raking over my appearance.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay, that’s enough. We’re talking about this.”

  “Talking about what?” I forced a smile. “I’m fine. I’m just not feeling great. Allergies or something. It’s no big deal.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I gaped at her.

  “I’m not an idiot. It’s really obvious. The only reason Fleur hasn’t figured it out is that, well, she’s Fleur. And she’s got so much shit going on in her own life she can’t be bothered to notice what’s going on in everyone else’s.”

  It was true, if not a bit unfair.

  “What’s going on between you and Samir? And don’t lie to me. It’s obvious something’s up, and it looks like you need someone to talk to more than anything.”

  I thought about denying it. I wanted to deny it. But I also desperately needed someone to talk to right now. Mya, more than anyone, wasn’t likely to judge.

  “We had sex.”

  It was a moment before she spoke. “When?”

  “The first time?”

  “There’s been more than one time?”

  “Yeah. Twice. The first time was in May.”

  “Ohmigod. You’ve been keeping this a secret since May?”

  I nodded.

  “Does anyone else know?”

  “A friend from home.”

  “Okay, back up.” Mya sank down on her bed. “How long have you liked him? How did it happen?”

  I knew she meant well, knew she was trying to figure out where things stood, but her questions felt like pouring salt on a raw wound. I needed to talk about him and yet the last thing I wanted to do was relive everything between us. It felt weird opening up after keeping it a secret for so long. I struggled to explain feelings even I didn’t understand.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t really even like him at first. I mean, I thought he was hot and everything, but he was such an ass. But we kissed, that first night when we all went to Babel—the night of the boat party. It was nothing—just a kiss.” An amazing, earth-shattering first kiss that had haunted me for the better part of last year. “I was drunk and he was Samir and I’d just moved to London and it was my first kiss and it was amazing. Then, little by little, things changed and we started making out.”

  “Ohmigod. When, where?”

  I winced. I felt like I had a whole secret life. “Lots of places. Italy. Nights out.”

  “But what about Hugh?”

  I sighed. “I liked Hugh. But with Samir...” I shrugged. “It was just different with Samir.”

  “You like him. A lot.”

  There was curiosity there, but not the condemnation I’d feared. Yet.

  “Yeah. I like him. A lot.” My voice cracked.

  “What about the girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you guys have sex again last night?”

  I nodded.

  Her lips twitched. “Well, fine, I have to ask. Is he as amazing as he seems to think he is?”

  I snorted, before my eyes filled with tears. “Is it possible he’s actually better?”

  Mya moved forward, wrapping her arms around me. “You have it bad, don’t you?”

  I nodded, too miserable to answer.

  “Well, give me a minute to think about this one. In all fairness, I totally expected you to say you’d kissed or something. I wasn’t expecting full-on sex.” She was quiet for a moment. “He was your first, wasn’t he?”

  I flushed. “Yeah.”

  “Regrets?”

  The answer surprised me, but it was the truth. “Not one.”

  “So what are you going to do now?”

  “No idea. Stay away from him? Try to pretend none of this ever happened.”

  “Do you really think you can do that?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  “Why don’t you give it a chance to see if the two of you could work together?”

  “Because we can’t.”

  “Have you tried?”

  “It’s kind of hard to try, when it’s all one-sided.” I struggled to push past the hurt building up inside me. “I don’t know what he wants. When we’re together, I think I know. But then everything just seems to fall apart.”

  “Have you tried talking to him about it?”

  “Yes. Not really. We talk, but things just always seem to get jumbled between us.”

  I didn’t know how to describe it to her. I’d always known Mya to be so calm with guys. I didn’t know how to explain to her that my brain temporarily stopped working when I was around Samir. Sometimes I couldn’t think past the rush of being with him.

  “It’s complicated,” I answered, figuring that was the safest and easiest answer.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  Mya grabbed her purse off the bed. “Come on. I know exactly what we need.”

  “What?”

  “Pedicures.”

  “We’re going to pay fifty dollars to get our toes done?” Pedicures were ridiculously expensive here, compared to the prices I was used to in the U.S.

  “Trust me. Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

  “Okay.”

  “And Maggie?”

  “Yeah?”

/>   “Just so you know, I think he really likes you, too.”

  I hated the hope her words brought. I hated that I cared. More than anything, I hated that I didn’t know if she was right.

  * * *

  “WHERE HAVE YOU guys been?”

  I closed the door behind me and Mya. Fleur lounged on her bed, flipping through Vogue.

  “Pedicures,” Mya answered.

  I felt uncomfortable looking Fleur in the eye. I hated lying to her. Felt terrible that now Mya knew about Samir and Fleur didn’t. And yet I couldn’t tell her... because she would freak out. Absolutely freak out. But the more time that passed, the worse the consequences of her not knowing were going to be. If it were anyone else, I would have told her by now. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Samir, and with Fleur, that was going to change everything. I didn’t want her caught in the middle of us. I feared, if it came down to a choice, she would choose him.

  “I should have gone with you. I have a date with George tonight.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. An actual solo date.” She frowned. “I had to ask him. Does that still count?”

  I laughed. “I think so. What are you guys doing?”

  “Dinner and a movie. It seemed safe. We’re okay as long as we don’t have to talk very much.”

  “He’s still being shy?”

  “He seems perpetually shy.”

  “Do you guys even have anything in common?” Mya interjected.

  I shot her a look.

  “What? I’m just saying. What do you even talk about?”

  “Not a lot.” Fleur sighed. “I thought this was what it was like with nice guys. I thought it was supposed to be quiet. I thought this was normal.” She stared at me like I had all the answers to the nice-boy riddle.

  “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what it’s supposed to be like. I’m not sure I know much of anything about guys—nice or otherwise.”

  “This is why I’m single,” Mya announced. “You both spend all of your time obsessing about guys. You could probably take over the world if you spent the same amount of time worrying about things that really mattered.”

  She had a point.