Take My Breath Away (The Every Breath Duet Book 2)

  Take My Breath Away

  Copyright © 2018 by Faith Andrews

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

  Except the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles and lyrics contained in the book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  Cover Designed by:

  Najla Qamber Designs

  Editor:

  Brenda Letendre, Write Girl Editing

  Contents

  Take My Breath Away

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Books by Faith

  About the Author

  To my sisters, Vanessa and Paige.

  Life has thrown so many adventures our way, but having you both to share them with has been nothing short of a blessing. So glad we’re in this together.

  I CAN DIE a happy man.

  That was the sole thought pervading my mind as London leaned down to kiss me one last time before they rolled me into the operating room.

  Though a bit blurred in my drowsy state, the vision before me was nothing short of angelic. Long waves of chocolate brown hair that I loved running my fingers through framed her face as she dabbed at the tears that leaked from her honey-swirled eyes.

  “I finally got you. You better not leave me,” she’d cried just moments ago.

  I wouldn’t. Not ever. After years of hoping, waiting, and praying, she was finally mine. Even if I coded on that damn operating table, I would fight God himself to find my way back to her.

  The woman I’d loved from afar since the time we met at nine years old, my best friend, my everything, was now my girl. It had taken more than half our lives to get here, but hell if I wouldn’t do it all over again to wind up right where we were today.

  Happy. In love. Together.

  Don’t get me wrong; I was scared about the surgery. Not because I was uncertain about my decision to give London’s mother my kidney. No, this was an honor. I’d be responsible for saving Ella’s life. Do you know how good that felt? I was a real live super hero. At least that’s what London said. And thanks to that—and the anesthesia numbing me from the inside out—I envisioned myself soaring through the air, straight into the operating room, cape and all.

  But I watched hospital shows. I knew there were a million and one things that could go wrong while I was under the knife. No matter how valiant, I wasn’t invincible. I wouldn’t let London know of course, but I feared something might happen and our short time together would be over before it truly began.

  The fear of leaving her behind burned through me in the final moments before I closed my eyes and succumbed to heavy lids. That fear coupled with the guilt of not coming clean unsettled me to the point of agitation.

  “Stay calm, Mr. Goodwin. You’re going to be okay.” A quiet whisper in a cold room.

  Limp and lethargic, I could not fight back. So, I did my best to force it away—my one regret—but my heart, my conscience would not allow me to forget.

  London had no idea I harbored a secret. I’d broken our sacred childhood pact. I’d kept this from her to protect her, but now she had my love to keep her safe. I needed to tell her as soon as I could. No more lies, no more secrets.

  Above all else, she trusted me. Had I obliterated that trust by omitting this truth? Would she forgive me or would this ruin everything we’d worked so hard to attain?

  They say your life flashes before your eyes when you come face to face with mortality. The memories that mean the most, profound moments that have left a lasting impression. But in the final seconds before I surrendered to the darkness, it was her face that flashed before me—my angel, my every breath, my life.

  Three months earlier

  “YOU KNOW, YOU basically saved me from the clutches of a madman?”

  On a blanket in the sand, London lay between my legs, her back nestled against my chest, my hands exploring her perfect body in ways I only ever dreamed of.

  “No more mention of Doctor Crazy,” I said as I kissed the top of her head. “I’m the only madman you need to worry about from here on out.”

  “You’re no madman, Samuel. You’re a saint.”

  I slipped my hand under the bottom of her shirt and caressed the flat plane of her stomach. My fingers begged for more, but my brain implored me to take it slow. “I’d have to agree with that statement. Only a saintly soul such as myself has this kind of self-control.”

  Twisting her body so we were face to face, London straddled my lap as if testing her theory.

  Holy fuck. My cock instantly turned to a solid, aching muscle of want. My breath was stolen from my lungs, every nerve ending igniting in sparks. This had to be a dream. I’d died and been granted a new home in heaven. I’d waited so fucking long for this. So many years to have her this way.

  I dug my hands into the sand behind me as I closed my eyes and released a throaty growl. “What are you doing to me, London?”

  Leaning forward and taking my scruffy face in her hands, she brought her soft lips to mine and kissed me as she spoke the words I’d been dying to hear for a lonely eternity. “You’ve waited long enough.”

  That was all it took, a subtle benediction. She would be mine in every sense of the word. Her kiss, that declaration, granted me permission to have her, and what better place than here—our place. The night sky and all its stars, the waves crashing in the background, the salty sea air shrouding the moment when we would finally become one.

  Dragging our mouths apart, I stared into her amplified eyes and took note of how beautifully breathless she’d become. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I don’t want to wait another second, but if I have to, if you need more time, you know I will.”

  “Sam,” she exhaled. “I want you. I need you. I love you. It might’ve taken me longer than you to realize that, but now that I’m sure . . . I meant what I said. No more waiting.”

  Then I wouldn’t. I would do the absolute fucking opposite of wait from here on out. Full steam ahead, not a pause, break, or stop in sight, without a single reason left to not take what finally belonged to me.

  “I love you, too, London. So fucking much.” I anchored her to me by gripping her waist. And kissed her so hard ou
r lips would surely bruise.

  More times than I cared to admit, I had imagined making love to London Monroe. Probably more times than there were stars in the endless summer sky that floated above us.

  I’d envisioned sinking myself deep inside of her as a teenage boy, with rampant hormones and an innate craving to fuck. I’d pictured devouring every inch of her, as a desperate man who coveted someone beyond his reach. On sleepless nights and in my most peaceful dreams, through lonely days both near and far, I’d visualized our bodies tangled together and my name falling from her lips with each hot-blooded thrust.

  I’d had London every which way I could in those fantasies. But tonight, that long sought after illusion was finally becoming my most prized reality.

  “Here, babe. Lie down.” I drew our mouths apart only to reposition our embrace so I could be on top of her.

  Reluctantly, she dismounted me and then slowly lay back on the flannel blanket we’d been sitting on to watch the sun set.

  Hours had passed since anyone else joined us on this part of the beach. We were alone. I could ravish her the way I would had we been in the privacy of my bedroom. But I reached over to grab the extra blanket we’d brought in case it got chilly, and wrapped it around my shoulders before crawling on top of her.

  “Cold?” she asked as I sheltered our bodies from the outside world.

  “No, not at all, but I don’t like the idea of anyone else seeing you before I do.”

  “Sam,” she groaned. “You know—”

  “Shh, I know. I may not be the first, but I will certainly be the last.” I silenced her with my lips, tracing hers with the tip of my tongue until she parted them with a breathy moan that caused my dick to jolt against her thigh.

  She dug her long fingernails into my scalp, intensifying our kiss and eliciting a fire so intense there was no use trying to extinguish it. No, these were the kind of flames you danced with, the kind that set your soul ablaze.

  Our second first kiss had happened only days ago. Every kiss since had been as special. I’d imagined it would take some time for us to fall into this as easily as we were. But it didn’t take any time at all. Instead, it came naturally—loving each other so completely.

  I did not sense an ounce of hesitation or embarrassment on her part. And God knew I was ready sixteen years ago. I needed to take my time because I wanted to remember every millisecond of this moment, but fuck me if my hands and eyes were not greedier than ever to undress her and take her in.

  Silent save for the rumbling of the ocean and our hasty breaths, I sat up on my knees and stared down at her. My eyes had adjusted to the moonlit darkness, so I could make out every seductive curve, detail for mouthwatering detail.

  Her soft cotton skirt bunched just above her thighs, her knees spread slightly as she awaited my next move. I could fucking weep at the sight of her so wanton, so ready, but I inched closer, nudging her legs apart and settling between them as I pulled my T-shirt over my head.

  London’s eyes flickered beneath the crescent moon, roving my chest, my stomach, the dark patch of hair that crept down below the waistband of my shorts. I flashed a crooked grin of appreciation, too stimulated to make more of how intently she ogled me.

  “Sam,” she whispered, reaching out for me. It was a desperate plea, spoken in an emotion-laced tone I recognized all too well. Hunger, yearning, anguish.

  I bowed forward, sliding my eager hands up the silkiest legs I’d ever had the privilege of touching. She arched off the blanket and pressed her still-clothed chest to my bare skin as I again claimed her mouth.

  Fumbling hands tugged at the hem of her shirt between us. I broke the kiss to aid her in removing it and my pulse kicked up to a fever pitch when she bared herself to me.

  I had to touch her. Finally. I’d waited so damn long.

  “My God,” I groaned, filling my hands with her perfect tits. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

  A tiny, melodious giggle escaped her but it was quickly replaced with a gasp when I clamped two fingers around one of her nipples.

  “Sam,” she purred, hollowing her stomach and bucking her hips forward. My name had never sounded so perfect dripping from her lips.

  The movement made her skirt slip further up her thighs, leaving her bottom half exposed, her sweet, throbbing pussy covered only by a thin layer of dark lace.

  “London, I am trying so hard to savor this but . . . I-I don’t think you understand how much it hurts to go slow.”

  “Then don’t,” she panted, her mouth a gaping oval, her hands fisting the blanket at her sides. “Don’t go slow. I need to feel you. I want to make love to my best friend.”

  Her words were a hymn, a prayer’s resolution. Best friends were sure to make the best lovers. Who knew you better? No one. We’d shared everything with each other over decades of time.

  Everything but this one sacred gift.

  Our souls were already trussed together by an invisible string of intimacy reserved only for a best friend, but this was the one way in which I wasn’t familiar with London.

  I knew her as a young beauty who brightened the dark days that followed my father’s abandonment. The girl who made sure I laughed when all I wanted to do was rage. Who held my hand for comfort, even when I didn’t want it, because she knew I needed it, that I needed her.

  I knew her as a blossoming woman, coming into her own, learning to kiss, to drive, to test limits, and enjoy the best days of her life with me as her sidekick, rather than the multitude of girls her age who vied for her friendship.

  I knew her as the stunning person she’d become in her adulthood. A devoted daughter, a hard worker, a wife to another man, someone who longed to be a mother so she could share all the love contained in that massive heart of hers.

  I knew all the remarkable little pieces that made London Monroe the work of art she was today because I bore witness to every fragment.

  But I didn’t know her as a lover.

  That was about to change. And the staggering thrill of putting the final piece into place—the piece that meant we would belong to each other in every way possible—caused my heart to swell in my chest as I stared down at her. My beautiful girl. My best friend. The love of my life.

  It all came down to this moment. I knew it would be perfect. Everything we did together was. But I wanted it to be more than perfect. I wanted it to be . . .

  “Stop overthinking this.” London’s chest rose and fell beneath my fingertips. I couldn’t even say it amazed me that she knew my innermost thoughts. Of course, she did. She could read me better than anyone. She sensed my hesitation and, as always, wanted to set my mind at ease. “I might not live up to your wildest dreams but—”

  “Are you kidding me?” I interrupted, lowering myself on top of her, the tips of our noses touching. She was my wildest dream. There was no way she could disappoint me. Just giving herself to me was all I’d ever asked for. “London, there’s not a chance you won’t—”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” she said, silencing me with her lips.

  The words I’d tried to say disappeared as she breathed them into her mouth.

  We were soon worked up again from the kiss, our limbs tangled, our naked chests pressed firmly together. Running her fingers through my hair, she pulled my head back and looked deeply into my eyes. “I might not live up to your wildest dreams . . . but I know without a doubt this will be the best night of our entire lives.”

  God, this woman. She understood. She knew the depth of my heart’s most intimate thoughts.

  I brushed the long strands of windswept hair from her face and adored her with my eyes. “This will be the first best night. I promise to make every day of the rest of your life the best day ever.”

  From that point forward, there was no hesitation.

  Our breaths became one as we kissed to the brink of insanity, our hands making up for lost time, never getting enough. When she moaned my name this time, I made quick work of sliding the lace down her l
egs and then removing my shorts. Fully bare and primed before me, her body begged to be tasted. And I could not resist. My tongue longed to reveal her flavor, to drink her honeyed nectar, and delve into her.

  Spreading her knees apart, I lowered my face between her thighs and slipped my tongue inside. London released a loud whimper and a lyrical moan. She was so wet, so delicious, it drove me crazy. Better than any fruit, sweeter than any candy. I could stay here for hours, indulging on this delectable feast, but my cock became jealous of my tongue. It was so ready the pulsing ache was painful.

  “I need to be inside you.” I sprang to my knees and poised myself at her entrance. I looked over to where I’d tossed my shorts and she caught my line of sight.

  “No.” She stilled my hand. “No condom. You’re my best friend, Sam. You’re my everything. I want nothing between us. I want to feel you, every sensation in its realest form.”

  “Are you sure?” I didn’t have to second guess her decision. I felt the same way. But I wouldn’t be able to control myself once we got started and pulling out might prove impossible. There was nothing I craved more, no desire more carnal than to empty my seed into her, to create a baby, a beautiful family together, one day. But not yet. No, I wanted her all to myself for a while. Selfishly, I needed to have her alone, not sharing her with a soul.

  “Yes,” she reassured me. “I want this. I don’t know how you waited as long as you have. I feel like I might die if you don’t take me right now.”

  I laughed at her eagerness, but stroked her frustration away by reaching between us and slipping a finger into her silky heat. Kissing her, I whispered, “It was a slow, torturous burn that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. But the wait is over and this . . . is heaven.”

  She met each drive of my hand with a push of her hips, and I relished in the sight of her sprawled out and writhing beside me.

  Fuck, she’s gorgeous. And she’s mine.

  Her dark hair fanned out over the blanket, the tips spilling off the edge and onto the sand as she closed her eyes and thrashed her head backward. The temperature had dipped a little after the sun set, but it was still warm enough to forget about the other blanket. I was grateful for that, for the way in which the moonlight cast a glistening luster on her smooth, bare skin, exposed to the sky, but seen only by me. And her tits, round and firm, bounced about as she squirmed beneath my touch.