Read Fall Into Love (Simone: Part One Naughty Nookie Series) Online

Authors: Serena Akeroyd

Tags: #romance, #erotica, #chick lit, #menage, #international, #love triangle, #wealthy

Fall Into Love (Simone: Part One Naughty Nookie Series) (7 page)

Where it came from, I
don’t know.  Maybe the pull of his teeth and tongue at my
nipple?  The build-up of tension as I watched him near his own
peak?  I don’t know and don’t care.  In comparison to the
explosions of before, this is just a gentle quake, but its power is
still incredible.  Awe inducing, even. 

The spontaneous and unexpected climax knocks
me out. 

And this time, I stay out. 

The hours seem to pass by
in a blur and the next time I awaken, he’s still beside me and
sleeping heavily.  He’s borderline snoring and I’m feeling
rather proud of myself at having worn this experienced man
out—because no one with moves like this guy could be labeled
innocent
. Inwardly, I
chuckle at the idea.  

From the clock on the bedside table, I can
tell it’s time for me to be going.  The idea of not seeing
Zane again doesn’t fill me with glee.  In fact, I hate the
very idea of it.  I meant it when I said I feel connected to
this guy.  I don’t know why or even how, but I do. 

Maybe it’s just the sex. We’re obviously
very compatible in the bedroom and after tonight, I’d gladly settle
for a few more hook-ups. Eddie and Marina have been pushing me to
break free from my inhibitions.

As Marina put it, “You need a party in your
panties.”

After that experience… I’m in total
agreement.

That being said, I have a feeling that this
could go somewhere; don’t ask me why.  But I’ve never been the
pushy sort.  I’ll let him make the decision, because I won’t
humiliate myself by trying to press ahead if that’s the last thing
he wants. 

He picked me up; he might
want a one-night stand; nothing more, nothing less.  On the
other hand, more might be what he’s after and if that’s the case,
then I do too. 

I’ve already made a fool
out of myself over a man.  And a worthless sack of shit Dan
was too.  Never again.  Even if Zane
is
a sex god, both in bed and
out.  

Carefully climbing out of bed, I dress
myself with the pieces of clothing I find dotted about the
room.  I’m a cleaner, used to being invisible, so I know that
Zane isn’t pretending to be asleep to avoid me.  There’s no
way, not even with his experiences in the war, that he can hear
me.  I’m paid to exist but not to show it. 

Eventually, I source my purse.  Tucked
within is my wallet and inside, there are a few cards Marina
insisted I had printed after my divorce.  She said that it was
far more sophisticated than writing down my number on a scrappy
piece of paper.  Leaning one in front of the alarm clock, I
leave the decision up to him.  And let fate take control of
the game. 

Because that’s what it
is.  No matter how I feel, if he doesn’t feel the same
connection, then that’s that. 
Bye
bye, Zane.
 

The thought depresses me.  It feels
like a dumb move leaving the ball in his court, but what do they
say?  A woman has to play hard to get if she wants a man and I
won’t be messed around again. 

If he wants to call me, he can. 

If not, then I’ll be
gutted, but I’ll have a fabulous night to show for it.  And
hell, he’s opened my eyes to how sex can really be. How it
should
be!

I know I promised him breakfast in bed, but
I’d hate for him to feel trapped with me.  Having never taken
part in a one-night stand, I can’t say that I know how these things
work.  If he calls me, then I’ll treat him to a sandwich this
time.  Otherwise, I won’t be made to feel like an unwanted
encumbrance who should have known the score and should have
disappeared before his alarm call.

Letting myself out of the suite and then the
hotel itself, I try not to feel ragged or rumpled, when I’m just
that.  My dress is in a real state and I’m not sure if even a
visit to the dry cleaners will salvage it!  I stink of
sex.  Beneath my nose, I can smell him and me and know that
both of our sexual fluids have mingled in with sweat at my pulse
points, so that I’m wearing sex as a perfume. 

It wouldn’t sell in the shops, of that I’m
sure!

It’s as embarrassing as hell leaving the
hotel in the same clothes as I wore last night, especially when the
silk is showing signs of being worse for wear, but the skeleton
staff isn’t interested in the goings on of the foyer, and I escape
without too much attention being cast my way.

It being a Saturday
morning and before nine, things are pretty quiet and the majority
of the reception’s crowd are cleaners wiping and polishing and
keeping the vestibule in tiptop condition.
    

As soon as I step foot onto the sidewalk, I
call a cab and damn the expense.  I’m not entirely sure that
my legs are up to the challenge of getting me home.  They’re
usually quite capable of the hike, but after last night, they’ve
had enough exercise. 

The thought brings a smile to my face and as
a cab pulls up, I climb in, and let the driver take me
home. 

As we drive throughout the city in silence,
I process every single one of my aches and revel in the slight
pain.  Who knew?  Who the hell knew that it could feel so
good?  

The way I feel, the things he made me feel
belong in a romance novel.  A part of me wants to believe that
the power of our orgasms came from some deeper meaning; some
emotional bond, but if I was to even mutter those kinds of thoughts
to Eddie or Marina they’d knock them out of my head. 

Sex is
sex
, they’d say to me.  I can hear it
now.  Their lecture as they look at me with concern for
feeling too much with a drive-by encounter. 

Sighing at the thought, I watch the city
wake up.  In truth, this place never sleeps.  Just like
the old adage says.  But there are quieter periods and early
Sunday morning is one of them.  Or it is in my
neighborhood. 

The transition from Kensington Park to my
building is a nasty one.  I’m ashamed of the rough area and
the even rougher state of my apartment.  Back in Georgia, had
I married one of the boys from the local church, I’d have had a
small but well-kept house, a kitchen with all the modern
conveniences.  Nothing like this dump.  And probably
three or four tow-headed kids tugging at my apron
strings. 

Great!

Not.

But now, it all makes sense.  I was
meant to leave Georgia, I was meant to meet Eddie and Marina,
because they were meant to lead me to Zane.

Oh, I’m not saying he’s my soul mate. 
No matter how much my romantic heart likes the idea of
it. 

I’m saying he was meant to open my eyes to
sex and all its possibilities.

Not for me tame couplings under the cover of
darkness; where I’m made to feel shame for receiving any pleasure
from the act.  Because that’s how it would have been.  My
parents and their church were zealous in their beliefs.  Sex,
to their minds, isn’t about pleasure but about
reproduction. 

Tonight has opened my eyes to the truth and
I’ll never forget those teachings, even if I never see Zane
again. 

My dingy flat is stifling;
airless by the time I let myself in.  There’s an unpleasant
smell emanating from the kitchen, which could either be rotten
fruit or sour milk.  I’ve only been gone for twelve or so
hours, but in this heat, maybe a rat died behind the wall partition
and is already making its presence known. 

My life is never dull, is it?

What with housekeeping,
worrying over bills, and dead rats rotting behind my walls, I
really live a full life, don’t I?

Refusing to think of such inanities, I
ignore the weird smell in favor of checking my voicemail. In the
cab, I noticed my cell had died so I plug it in, load it up and see
there are messages from Eddie and Marina. Eddie’s concern leaps off
the text, so I message her and tell I’m her fine, because before I
call them with the good news—that my celibate state is no more—I
want answers. My curiosity has most definitely been piqued.

Retreating to my lounge, where my laptop is,
I turn it on and wait for it to boot up.  As it chugs away, I
look at the mirror I’ve hung on the back wall of the room and study
myself.  Because internally, I feel like a brand new person,
it comes as something as a shock to realize that I look no
different.  If a little rumpled.  Okay, a lot
rumpled.  The dress is a complete write off and I do something
I’ve never done before, outside of my bathroom that is. 

I pull the confining material over my head
and wander in my bra and panties to my bathroom, where I tug on a
dressing robe. 

Such ease with myself and my body might not
last long, but even if it’s just for the morning, it feels very
freeing. 

As I look in the bathroom
mirror this time, with its harsh fluorescent light, I seek changes,
because surely there’s something. 
Some
change.  But as far as I
can tell, there’s no difference between the Mona of yesterday and
the Mona of this morning.   My green eyes haven’t matured
with my sexual awakening.  There’s no coquettish vamp hidden
within their depth.  It’s just me. 
Mona. 

I’m not sure if that disappoints me or
relieves me. 

What I do know is that I feel better; inside
and out.  And while there are no radical changes, there’s a
slight smile curving my lips.  Almost like another famous
Mona… this time, the Mona Lisa.  Barely there, mysterious and
teasing and all the while, hinting at what happened last
night. 

When my computer plays a sound, telling me
it’s loaded, I walk back to the lounge and sink on to my sofa.
 I instantly load up the internet and log into my E-book
store.  Determined to know more about Zane, I also type his
name into a search engine and let the internet tell me the secrets
I didn’t dare ask him last night. 

Typing in Zane’s name to
the online bookstore this time, I wait for the search to be
processed and grin when a list of forty books appears as well as a
short biography.  He’s more prolific than I
thought. 

At first, as I read more about him, feeling
naughty at learning about his past and background without his
knowledge, that faint, mysterious smile gradually
disappears. 

As I read the blurbs of
his novels, purchase the newest one, the one he mentioned last
night,
Devil May Have
and download it and then scour the internet for information
about him, my incredulity grows. 

Any feelings of guilt for intruding into
Zane’s past and present fade as my confusion explodes and with it,
my hurt and my anger.  When the phone rings, I blindly seek my
cell with my hand, patting the cushions as I look sightlessly for
it on the cushions.  As my hands stumble to find the ringing
phone, I’m on the brink of tears and while the tone endlessly
churns away, I fail to hear it.  I’m deaf to the irritating
sound. 

It’s pathetic, wanting to cry for a man I
don’t even know all that well, but I feel as though I’ve been
knocked out.  The more I read, the more astounded I
am.  

Trying to match the Zane
of last night with the Zane I’m reading about online… the two
barely compute, but the pictures match.  As does the history;
he
was
in the
Marines and he did serve three tours of duty in the Middle
East.  The last one brought him home ahead of time thanks to a
blast that nearly took off his leg and did major damage to his
spine.  It was only by the grace of God that he could walk at
all. 

The louse.  

As my eyes dredge over the endless source of
information about him, my ears start to work again.  My
fingers eventually touch upon my cell.  Answering the call,
all of my focus on the laptop, I mutter with complete lack of
interest in the caller, “Hello?”

Only as I utter the word does terror fill
me.  What if it’s him?  What if he saw my card and has
decided to call me?

Feeling sick at the idea, I mutter a silent
prayer as Marina’s voice fills the sound waves.  Relief crawls
through me. 

At the same time, I wish it had been
him. 

Maybe he could explain.  Maybe he could
tell me why he did what he did.  Why he acted out such a
pointless charade.


How was last night? Tell
me every single detail! The filthier the better,” Marina bursts
out, her glee weighing down every word so that it almost oozes with
her satisfaction. 

Marina thinks it’s unnatural for human
beings to be celibate.  For the last few years or so, she’s
paired me up with ridiculous matches, all in the hope that I’ll
have sex.

Now, I wish I’d just fucked the first guy
she’d set me up with four years ago. 

Hell, I wouldn’t feel so frigging betrayed
if I’d listened to her and hadn’t waited so goddamned long.


It was
wonderful.”

Even to me, it sounds unconvincing. 
Wooden as hell. 

Knowing Marina as I do, I know that she’ll
be forcing herself not to frown.  She has this thing about
aging, but she doesn’t believe in fillers to erase the signs of
time.  As such, she tries to stop herself from making facial
expressions. 

Marina’s quirks take a lot of getting used
to.  But once she’s your friend, she’s there for life and by
that time, you’re used to her oddities and grow to love
them. 

At this moment in time, I’m not feeling love
for anyone. 

I’m feeling hurt.  And I’m feeling
dirty.  As though I’ll never be clean again, because of the
situation in which Zane has involved me.

 “
Well, why don’t you
sound like you’re happy?  You should be dancing in circles!
 You’ve finally done it.  The drought is over, bring on
the wet season!”

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