Keeping London (The Flawed Heart Series Book 2) (16 page)

London

“There’s just something unnatural and depressing about celebrating a special occasion without the one you love.”

—London Wright

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Loïc’s gorgeous face says from the computer screen.

“Merry Christmas,” I respond as a blanket of happiness falls over me.

I said good-bye to Loïc twenty-one days ago, and that time has been, without a doubt, the longest twenty-one days of my life. Yet all of that longing dissipates, or at least lessens, when I get to see his living, breathing, smiling face—even if it is on a screen.

I couldn’t wait to see him today. I miss Loïc all the time, but the ache is fiercer when it’s a holiday. There’s just something unnatural and depressing about celebrating a special occasion without the one you love.

“How was your day?” I ask. “Do anything special?”

“Well, we had roast beef in the chow hall, which was a treat for the holiday.” Loïc shrugs.

“Was it good?” I ask with a laugh.

“It was edible. Cooper would tell you different though.”

“That’s because Cooper is a fantastic chef and knows how food should be.”

“True. He has less patience for the crap they call food over here.” Loïc pauses to think before continuing, “Some of the guys threw around some tinsel and green and red garland in the rec building.”

“That’s festive.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is. But, more than anything, it’s a pain in the ass. That silver tinsel shit sticks to everything. We’ve all been walking around base today with shreds of silver hanging on us.”

I grin at the vision of all the guys in their camouflage fatigues and the tinsel blowing in a cheerful dance from their bodies.

Loïc’s expression goes serious before he says, “I miss you, babe.”

I let out a sigh. “I miss you, too.”

“So, your day is going well?”

“Yeah, we opened presents this morning and had a big breakfast. Now, we’re all relaxing before dinner.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’d be better if you were here, but, yeah…it’s good.” I steer this conversation away from depressing to exciting as I cut to the chase, “So, are we ready to exchange presents?” I pucker my lips in a grin, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m ready.” Loïc smiles big.

“How do we do this exactly?” I ask, suddenly feeling a little shy and awkward.

“How about you start by removing your clothes?” Loïc’s voice changes. It’s deeper, huskier, and it sends a chill down my spine as I realize we’re officially doing this.

I comply with his command and watch as he removes his as well.

“Turn around—slowly,” he says. “I want to take you all in.”

I do as he asked until I’m facing my laptop screen again.

“Grab your nipples for me, babe,” Loïc says in a raspy voice. “Tug on them a little.”

I do as instructed while closing my eyes and pretending Loïc’s hands are on me.

“That’s it,” he coaxes.

I open my eyes to see his dilated blues intently watching me. His arm is moving slowly back and forth, but the camera cuts off right below his elbow.

“Move back, so I can see you,” I breathe out. Any apprehension that I had is gone, replaced by nothing but raw lust.

He sits further away from his laptop, and my entire body starts to vibrate with sexual energy as I watch Loïc touching himself. I’m surprised at how much it turns me on.

I exhale as one of my hands leaves my boob to travel south. My fingers enter my body as my other hand continues to tug at my nipple. I think of Loïc and the magic that his fingers are capable of yielding, and I mimic his past movements. The pleasure is incredible, and I let out a moan, my head falling back.

“Yes, baby…that’s it,” Loïc says. “That’s great, baby. Just like that.”

Hearing him fuels my desire, and I begin to ride my fingers, desperate to feel Loïc inside me.

Loïc and I are close to perfect for each other in all aspects, but our compatibility in the bedroom is out of this world. I pull out all the memories of us—moans, pleasure, kisses…his lips, hands, and mouth. I love it rough and soft, anyway I can get it, because it’s incredible with him, every time. In one movement, Loïc’s body can fill me up, pushing everything out, until I can’t focus on anything but the sensations he gives me.

“Loïc,” I cry, my entire body humming.

“I’m here,” he breathes harshly.

And he is. I can feel his mouth on me as his hands tug with the precise amount of pressure on my nipples. He’s inside me, and it’s perfection, as always.

God, I love him. I need him. I’m his forever, and he’s mine.

That last thought sends me over the edge, and I crumble. My entire core pulses with bliss, and my body quivers in release. I let go of everything plaguing me—the worry, the longing, and the sadness. Instead, my body fills with intense satisfaction and immense feelings of love, loyalty, and visions of forever. My heart overflows with adoration, and I call out Loïc’s name. It’s the only name I want to associate with these feelings for the rest of my life.

I’ve found my nirvana, and his name is Loïc Berkeley.

I open my eyes in time to see Loïc groan in release. His head falls back against the chair as his fist pumps hard, producing evidence of his pleasure.

It’s the single hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and I can’t help but stare in amazement. His muscles are tight with a shimmer of sweat as his stroke slows, and I can’t help but think that he looks like a Greek god, my freaking Adonis. He’s so perfect, and he doesn’t even know it.

He lifts his head, and his eyes open to find mine.

We stare in silence. It’s easy to know the thoughts going through his mind because they’re the same ones going through mine.

Finally, I break the silence by saying, “We are definitely doing that more often.”

He throws his head back again but this time in laughter.

His body moves from the camera as he grabs a towel. I do the same. After I clean up, I put my clothes back on to find Loïc dressed and waiting on my laptop screen.

“So…how was it for you?” He smirks.

“Surprisingly amazing,” I answer. “You know, I thought it was going to be a little awkward, but honestly, it wasn’t at all. I just imagined you and I together. It wasn’t as good as having you here with me, but it was a close second. How was it for you?”

“Bloody brilliant!” he exclaims with a goofy grin.

I laugh.

“English-accent worthy, huh?”

“Fuck yeah, baby. That’s as good as it gets over here. You’re right, we’re absolutely going to be finding time to do that more often.” His face goes serious before he asks, “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You were yourself, and you, Loïc, my love, are pretty incredible.”

On instinct, I reach my fingers out to touch the screen. His hand rises until his fingers are touching his screen almost seven thousand miles away. It’s not the same, not even close. But, if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost feel him, the real him, and it’s the most fantastic sensation in the world.

London

“If Loïc were anyone other than who he is, I would be hooking up with the Calvin Klein model in front of me at this very moment and writing my Dear Loïc letter in the morning.”

—London Wright

I understand why Dear John letters are so common. I truly do. The fact of the matter is that long-distance relationships suck.

Like, really blow.

If Loïc were anyone other than who he is, I would be hooking up with the Calvin Klein model in front of me at this very moment and writing my Dear Loïc letter in the morning. Loïc would be nothing more than some fond memories, tinged with a splash of regret.

But, lucky for the both of us, he’s not someone I can replace. He’s a once-in-a-lifetime love that I know I will never find again if I let him go.

So, instead, I swing back my hand and let my open palm strike the gorgeous man across his cheek. His hand flies to his face where he rubs the spot I just hit.

“What the fuck?” he yells at me with anger as his eyes bulge.

“I told you that I didn’t want to dance,” I state the obvious, shrugging my shoulders, as if smacking hot men in clubs is something I do on a regular basis.

“And that gives you the right to fucking hit me?” he screeches in rage, his voice rising more than one octave.

“Your hand on my ass sure does. Chances are, if I don’t want to dance with you, I surely don’t want you groping my ass.”

He inhales, his chest expands, as if he’s about to let a slur of obscenities fly my way, before he blows the air out in a huff and stomps away from me.

I’m about ninety-nine percent sure though that I hear him say, “Bitch,” as he goes.

“Londy, he was so cute,” Georgia whines beside me, pouting out her lips.

“Yeah, but I have Loïc.”

“So? I don’t. You could have at least directed him toward Paige or me before you assaulted his beautiful face. Did you see those dimples?”

“Oh, I saw them,” Paige says with a sigh. “And the eyes.”

“And the jaw,” Georgia says dreamily.

“And the tan skin. His chest looked rock hard.” Paige stares off into the sea of dancing bodies, as if she’s dying to get another look at him.

“And his ass. Did you see his ass, Paige?” Georgia says with a slight shriek.

I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” I say with a laugh.

“You clearly weren’t,” Georgia agrees.

“I was just trying to be a good girlfriend.”

“You accomplished that. But you weren’t a good wingwoman. Not. At. All,” Georgia complains with a roll of her eyes.

“You know what they say, London.
Curiosity killed the cat
.” Paige shrugs.

“No, it didn’t,” I deadpan.

“You put us between a rock and a hard place?” Paige questions, her eyebrow quirking up.

“No.” I shake my head, straight-faced.

“How about, you could’ve killed two birds with one stone?” Georgia chimes in.

“Yes,” I point toward Georgia while addressing Paige, “that’s the one. That saying makes actual sense.”

“I suppose,” Paige says with a shrug of her shoulders.

“So, we’re agreed. If that happens again, then you will very politely shut him down while effectively directing him our way?” Georgia asks.

“Yes, okay. I get it,” I say with an air of annoyance. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“Well, McHottie could have been buying us drinks as we speak,” Paige says under her breath in a resigned tone.

“Oh my God, let it go already! Plus, we can buy our own damn drinks.” I say before turning to beeline it to the bar.

I wish Loïc were here.

Loïc’s presence would solve all my problems. I wouldn’t have to smack guys, get in arguments with Paige and Georgia, or feel sad because I have no one to kiss at midnight.

After getting our cosmos, we stand in front of the bar and sip them.

“See that guy over there in the tight black T-shirt?” Georgia motions toward a group of guys standing to the right of the main dance floor.

“Which one?” I see that four out of the group of six are wearing black shirts.

“The one closest to us with the black hair,” she answers.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he’s the one I’m going to be kissing in”—she pulls her cell phone out of her wristlet and looks to the screen—“one hour and forty-four minutes.”

“Good choice,” Paige agrees.

“Who are you going after?” I ask Paige.

“Um, I don’t know.” She mindlessly scans the club.

“You can hug me at midnight! Who needs boys?” I wrap my free hand around Paige’s waist.

“We do!” Georgia answers. “Just because you’re all committed for life at twenty-two doesn’t mean we have to be lame along with you. Right, Paige?”

“Right! I want to make out with a cute boy! It’s New Year’s!” Paige answers.

“Hey, I’m almost twenty-three.” My statement is met with silence, as if this little fact doesn’t mean anything to them, which I suppose it doesn’t. “Yeah, and nothing says,
Happy New Year
, like sticking your tongue in a stranger’s mouth,” I argue. Dropping my hand from Paige’s side, I pick up the lemon slice from the rim of my glass and suck on it. My face automatically scrunches up from the tartness.

Georgia waves me off. “Ignore her. She’s just jealous. Come on, Paige. My guy has five hot friends for you to pick from.”

The two of them are off before I have a chance to argue my case any further. But, honestly, I’m just being selfish. Just because I have to spend my evening alone doesn’t mean they have to. Georgia’s right. I am jealous.

Ever since I’ve been going to New Year’s parties, my first one at the age of sixteen, I’ve always kissed someone at midnight. Hell, I don’t even remember who I kissed most of those years, but it was someone.

This year, I actually have someone I’m in love with, and I’m spending the holiday alone. It sucks. If Loïc were any of my previous boyfriends, I wouldn’t have hesitated to use the I-was-drunk excuse when I explained to him the next day that I’d kissed someone else and I now had to break up. But everything is different now that I’m with Loïc. I’ve changed. It’s good.

I follow Paige and Georgia toward the group of guys.
What else am I going to do? Stand by myself?