London Falling (Falling #2)(6)

Washing his release off my hands in the bathroom sink I took a long hard look at my face in the mirror. My sleep tussled hair would take a miracle to tame. I had rosy cheeks from thinking I was having a private moment with Collier, not Tripp. The pupils of my eyes were dilated, so black with lust over the Englishman I could barely see the blue of my irises.

“Are you mad?” Tripp’s voice was small and I hated it instantly. He leaned against the door, a defeated look plastered across his gorgeous face. I was not going to be another person who screwed him over, literally or figuratively.

“Yes.” I looked him in the eyes expressing my irritation. His features were drawn and apologetic. “So, how was it?” My lips twitched into a smirk.

His answering grin was huge and spread over modelesque features. It was hard to stay mad at such a lovely creature. My best friend was beautiful. Inside and out, though he would disagree with my assessment. His dark chiseled bone structure and light eyes made him the perfect playboy and he lived up to his title. Tripp was the definition of a man-whore. He loved men and women alike.

Often when I’d come home to spend time away from my clients, I’d find him sprawled across the furniture with a new piece of arm candy, looking freshly f*cked. I stopped asking names long ago. They rarely were invited for a second go-around with Tripp.

Then again, I was no better in many ways. I took my pleasure when and where I wanted it. The “who” seemed to differ quite often as well. Traditional relationships were not my thing. Aside from Tripp. He was the only constant male in my life besides Daddy and my brother, Rio.

“Bridge, baby, sometimes it’s hard for me to keep my hands off you.” He leered and gave me a full head to toe Tripp once over. My nipples hardened against my camisole, more because of the feelings I felt pumping off of him like a firehouse shooting water at a burning building than my own attraction.

“Tripp,” I warned. “We’ve had our fun in the past but…”

“I know, I know. We’re friends. Best friends. I can’t help it sometimes. You’re f*cking hot.” He came and put his arms around my waist and hugged me, my back to the solid muscle of his bare chest. He inhaled against my hair. “You smell so good.” He nuzzled my neck then slipped his hands up my waist and over my breasts, firmly gripping each globe. “And your body is f*cking incredible.” He tweaked my nipples through the fabric of my camisole and I pushed him away, shaking my head.

“You and I both know this never works. We both have issues…” He nodded in full understanding.

“I don’t want to screw up what we have. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to f*ck you.” The man was nothing if not honest.

Every few months he would make sexual advances toward me again. We’d had sex many times in the past. It was phenomenal. We’re very compatible as sexual partners. It’s real life we couldn’t handle. Each and every time we had sex in the past, we both became distant toward one another. It ruined our easy going friendship for a solid couple months. The problem always seemed to be that we loved each other; we just weren’t in love.

Tripp and I wanted to be with other people. Monogamy was not an option. That’s a fact we had in common. So we agreed to stop having sex and focus on the genuine love we had for one another. The best friend kind.

Real lovers, the kind of romance that lasts a lifetime, doesn’t allow for other relationships. Tripp and I wanted both. I’d had the real kind once. Never again.

“So where are you staying this month?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Dylan Matthews is my next client. Investment banker.”

Tripp pretended to yawn. “Booooorrrriiiinnngggg!” His smile was infectious and I snickered along with him.

Turning on the water for the shower, I removed my clothes and stepped in. Tripp hopped up on the bathroom counter and watched me. He’d seen me naked more times than I could remember. I wasn’t shy. “So what about double-o-seven from last night?”

“Collier Stone?” My tone sounded sultry, even to my own ears. “He’s who I thought I was giving a handy to this morning when you so rudely interrupted my dream fantasy.”

“Really? Interesting. You dreamt about a man?”

“Yes. Don’t sound so surprised. I have the occasional wet dream.” Not really. Usually I sleep like a rock, a dreamless rock.

“Since when? You never once told me about your dreams. I actually remember you saying you don’t dream.”

The damn man had a perfect memory. It was tiring. You could never pull one over on him. “That’s ridiculous. Everyone dreams, Tripp.”

“Yeah, but you never remember them. Now you’re dreaming about a man you met last night, and kissed, I might add. That was a little fast, even for you.” He laughed loud enough for me to hear it over the running water.

He was right. Kissing Collier last night was an unusual response, even for me. Typically I’m not shy around men I want but generally not so aggressive. I practically devoured the man on the sidewalk after barely meeting him. He tasted good too. Everything about the man was rich and thick, like a full bodied cabernet.

“I was really proud of you…and turned on. Hence the need for the hand-job.” He lifted both arms and made a jazz-hands movement. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I hope you enjoyed it because you’re not getting another one.” The moment I turned off the water he opened the door and held a towel open for me. I stepped into it and he wrapped it around drawing me into his arms.