by Monica James
Without thought, I thread my fingers through his hair and draw him deeper into my heat. He fucks me with his mouth, twirling his tongue and holding me prisoner with the precision of his strokes. I dig my heel into his back, shamelessly riding his face. The harder I buck, the deeper he dives, sucking and licking as he spreads me open like a rosebud in bloom.
When he suckles over my clit, I scream and lose all control, slumping onto my back and spreading my arms out wide. The change in position doesn’t faze London in the slightest because he hooks his arms under my knees and continues going down on me, humming and moaning around my sex.
When he dips lower, his tongue sweeping toward my puckered entrance, my eyes bulge open, and I have the immediate urge to close my legs. But London’s hand snaps out, holding me in place. Oh god, I’m horrified because it feels so good.
He gently works in the tip of his finger, mimicking the movement of his tongue, and I heat all over. He’s everywhere, and I surrender, allowing him full rein of my body. He moves up and flicks my engorged core, and I scream, my body undulating because I’m going to come again.
He consumes me with a fierce need, and when he circles his finger in a place no man has ventured before, I grow lax and stars flash behind my eyes. My powerful release has me bowing off the desk as I cry out raucously and thrash wildly.
I vaguely hear London purr his pleasure at the sight of me detonating, but before I know it, I feel the tip of his blunt heat nudging my aching sex. He uses my lubrication to coat his cock before thrusting into my heat in one long stroke.
“Fuck,” he curses. “Princess…”
I’m spread out across his desk at the perfect height for him to grip my hips and fuck me wildly. He isn’t tender, but I don’t want him to be. His aggression, his desperate need to make us one is so hot, and I meet him thrust for thrust.
He is an animal, an untamed brute as he throws his head back and pumps his hips wildly. I claw the desk, holding on tight as the momentum of his fierceness propels me from side to side and up and down.
One of my shoes topples to the floor, but I couldn’t care less because when I lock eyes with him, all that matters is this feeling, this completeness with someone who has been my everything since I can remember.
My name inked across his chest is my undoing, and I explode once again.
London grins, glowing with a light sheen of perspiration as he continues sinking into me without pause. “You okay?” he breathlessly asks.
I nod, no sounds escaping me.
“Good.”
I don’t know why that is until he pulls out and scoops an arm around my limp, well-sated body to flip me onto my stomach. With my ass high in the air, he enters me once again. I kick off my other shoe and stand on tippy toes to cater for the height difference.
London’s fingers dig into my hips as he yanks me backward, impaling me on his cock. He squeezes my ass cheeks and groans. “When I’m done with you, no part of you will be untouched.”
My cheeks flush because I know he means every single word.
“But I suppose we do have forever…” He accentuates his promise by thrusting his hips once more and propelling me forward. “So…what’s the rush?” He slows down his strokes, pulling out and pushing back in so painfully slow, I can feel every hard inch of him.
Groaning, I grip the desk and succumb to London Sinclair.
“Hold on, Princess, things might get a little bumpy.”
And for the next hour, he makes good on his word.
The past two days have been bittersweet.
Bittersweet because even though London and I have established ourselves as a couple, that doesn’t mean we’ve spent every waking moment together.
We both have responsibilities—well, mainly him, and that’s Emily.
He wanted to talk to her about us before introducing me into his family, which I completely understood. Kids can be tricky, especially since Belle, I can imagine, isn’t too pleased that I’ll be a part of her daughter’s life.
I don’t know where Belle and I stand. She will always be a part of London’s life; therefore, she will always be a part of mine because there is no way I’m letting him go ever again. But I have to admit, it’s weird. It’ll take me a while to accept, seeing as I tried for so long to forget her.
As for Lincoln, again, it’s bittersweet. He’s still MIA, and while it’s nice I don’t have to deal with him, I can’t help but think this is the calm before the storm. The longer we prolong this, the harder it’s going to become.
Martha has assured me he hasn’t been back to our apartment, but that doesn’t mean he’s not back in New York, which is the reason I’m on hold with Lincoln’s assistant.
I’ve tried my absolute hardest not to give myself away, but I’m certain she’s suspicious of why I’m asking if she’s seen my fiancé. I’ve made up some lame excuse that I left something sentimental back in New York and couldn’t get married without it. Lincoln offered to get it, but now I haven’t heard from him.
I hinted that because he’s such a workaholic, I figured he’s snuck in a few hours work. I tried not to gag when I recited this in a sickly-sweet voice.
“Holland? Are you there?” asks Jennifer. She is a nice enough girl, but since Lincoln is a lying, cheating pig, I’m suspicious of everyone.
“I’m here,” I reply cheerfully, putting my game face on.
“I’m sorry, but no one has seen him. I asked around the office. He would usually check in with me, but I haven’t spoken to him. I hope he’s okay. Should I let Gerald know?”
“No!” I almost shout, shooting up from the end of the mattress. “Why worry Gerald?” Gerald is Lincoln’s partner in crime, and if anyone is housing him, it’s Gerald. “I’m sure he’ll turn up.”
Rubbing my brow, I sigh. Where the fuck is he?
“Okay. I will let you know if I see him.”
“Thanks, Jenn.” I hang up, tossing the phone onto the bed.
This is making me nervous. Someone just doesn’t disappear. Peering at my reflection in the mirror, I arch a challenging brow.
I haven’t shared my thoughts with London about Lincoln and custody over Emily because I don’t want to worry him. Until I talk to Lincoln, there really is no point in stressing us both out.
It was his weekend to have Emily, so I haven’t seen him, but tonight, he’s dropping her off at Belle’s. Once that happens, he’s coming to pick me up so he can make good on his word and take me on our date.
I offered to meet him someplace because even though my mom said she’d try her best to be civil toward him, I didn’t want to rub him in her face. My dad has remained tight-lipped, and it’s apparent he isn’t as open-minded as my mom.
Over the past two days, my mom and I have reconnected, and it’s been nice. We went shopping as I needed a brand-new wardrobe. Doing all the normal mom and daughter things like going for coffee and talking, we are trying to salvage the relationship we’ve lost.
Work is running smoothly without me, which is a relief. Now that I know those letters weren’t from the Rossi crew, the pressure is off. I’ve been checking my email, and my assistant, Yvonne, has ensured I receive anything of importance.
She hasn’t mentioned Lincoln turning up unannounced, so it’s safe to assume he’s staying out of sight from anyone who might recognize him.
Not wanting to ruin my night with thoughts of what awaits me, I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror. My wardrobe overhaul was cathartic, and this peacock green dress is one of the many reasons why.
It’s casual but cute with thin straps and a short, gathered skirt. I’ve forgotten how hot the California sun can be, so I’ve opted for brown sandals. My hair is tied into a high ponytail, and my makeup is light. All in all, I’m beginning to feel like me.
London said he’d pick me up at seven, so it’s no surprise when I see his truck pull up just after. The lace curtain shields me as I watch him exit the truck. He runs his fingers through his hair, looking a
touch nervous.
He looks amazing in dark blue jeans and a black button-up shirt. As I watch him walk to the front door, it’s still hard to believe this is happening.
Grabbing my bag, I rush out of my room and dash down the stairs so I don’t subject him to any unnecessary discomfort. Baby steps. He’s here, and maybe next time, I can reintroduce him to my parents.
He doesn’t get a chance to ring the doorbell because I get to the door first.
When I open it, I grip the doorjamb because I’ve forgotten how damn incredible he is. “Hey.” I’m proud of myself for articulating a coherent greeting.
“Hey, yourself.” He doesn’t bother with pretenses and swoops forward, drawing me into an embrace. “I missed you.” I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders as he cups the back of my neck and brings me in tight.
“I missed you, too,” I whisper, basking in his scent as I bury myself into him.
A simple hug shouldn’t feel this good, but I should know by now, nothing is simple when it comes to London Sinclair.
“How have you been?”
“Better now,” I reply with a docile smile.
We break apart, both appreciating the other because it feels like two hundred years instead of two days since we last saw one another.
“Where are we going?”
He takes my hand. This is so like London—no matter what we’re doing, he always has to touch me. The fact has me grinning like an idiot. “I thought we could go down to Santa Monica.”
“Sounds perfect.”
This suddenly feels exactly like a first date because although I’ve performed some deliciously lewd acts with this man, this is something new, something we haven’t done before.
“Hello, London.” And when my mom greets him from behind my shoulder, this just adds to the first date vibe.
He breaks our gaze to meet hers. “Hello, Ms. Brooks.”
I hold my breath.
“Where are you two off to?”
I exhale.
Turning slowly, I’m thankful she isn’t toting a shotgun.
“I was thinking of going to Santa Monica.”
She’s clearly uncomfortable but nods for my benefit. “It’s a lovely night for it. Will you be coming home, sweetie?”
Clearing my throat, I look at London as we hadn’t discussed it. “I’ll have her home by twelve.”
My mouth gapes open, but London ignores me.
Even though this is absolutely absurd, as I’m a grown woman and can stay out until the sun comes up, I remain silent because this is progress. I don’t want to rock an already unstable boat. When my dad suddenly emerges, however, I realize this might be a re-enactment of the Titanic going down.
Iceberg! Iceberg!
There’s a shift in body language as London stands tall—like a soldier standing to command. “Hello, Mr. Ferris.” He steps forward and offers my dad his hand.
My father eyeballs it, then wraps his arm around my mom protectively. “Hi,” is his curt response. I suppose it’s better than the last time they met.
London sighs before dropping his hand.
Well, the air just dropped around fifty degrees, but this is the best we’ll get for now. “We better get going, seeing as I’ll apparently turn into a pumpkin come midnight.”
London’s lips twitch, but he remains straight faced.
“Have a good night.” My mom waves a gentle goodbye while my dad appears as though I’m walking off into the sunset with Satan himself.
Reaching for London’s hand, I slip my fingers through his, saddened my dad can’t let this go. The corded veins in his neck display just how hard he’s trying to be polite, so I guess that’s better than him throwing London off his porch again.
As London tongues over the scar above his lip, I know he too is thinking of the memory. “Bye,” I say to my parents as I lead London down the stairs. He comes willingly, but by the slight drag to his feet, it’s apparent he wants to talk to my dad.
Even though his intentions are good, I know this will just makes things worse.
“Not now,” I whisper, shaking my head. He thankfully lets it go—for now.
We walk toward his truck, and when he opens the door for me, I’m certain I can hear the grinding of my father’s teeth from here. I quickly enter, thankful when London jumps in beside me unscathed. He starts the engine.
My parents watch on unhappily, the sight tearing out my heart. I’m torn; I don’t want to hurt them again, but we need to find middle ground. “Last chance to back out,” London quips, only half joking.
“Just drive.” He does as I say, and my parents look displeased that I didn’t change my mind. They turn and enter the house, not looking back and neither do I.
For the first few minutes, we’re both quiet, processing what just happened until London breaks the silence. “Well, that was fucking horrible.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I try to reason, but it’s laughable at best.
His hands are locked around the steering wheel; his eyes focused on the road. “No, it was worse. I’m sorry, Princess. If I hadn’t been such an asshole to you, your parents wouldn’t want me dead. I did give you a black eye and make your life hell.” He flinches at the memory. “They have every right to hate me.”
I recall the incident well. He threw his football at me, putting his quarterback prowess to good use. Bruised and livid, it was here I uncovered I’m a complete masochist, and my obsession with London Sinclair, or Sin, began.
“In my defense, I didn’t mean to hit you in the face. My aim was off because I was a little distracted by your legs when you were walking down those stairs.” He tongues over his smooth scar, lost in the past. “But that’s the story of my life when it comes to you.”
“Apology accepted although you didn’t get off unscathed.”
He laughs, turning his cheek to look at me. I’m thankful some of the worry has faded from his eyes. “Damn straight. I still have nightmares about your viciousness.” He shudders playfully.
The air is cleared, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “So we’re okay?”
“Yes, of course,” he confirms, eyes ahead.
Seeing as we’re taking this pleasant trip down memory lane. “Do your parents know I’m back?”
We have yet to discuss this. With everything going on around us, it seems wise to tackle one problem at a time.
His cheeks billow as he exhales. “Yes.”
I wait for him to elaborate. When he doesn’t, I press. “And?”
“And I don’t really care what they think.” Which is code for it was a fucking disaster.
Shuffling in my seat, I yank on the seat belt to keep it from cutting off my air supply. I don’t know why I expected this to go any other way. Just because London and I are in love doesn’t mean everyone around us has to be.
“Maybe we just need to lock our parents in a room and have them fight it out, UFC style.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but when London just pulls his lips into a thin line, I crack open the window to get some fresh air.
“This is so ridiculous. It’s been forever. Your mom should just apologize…”
“And so should your mom.”
His lightning-quick comeback has me turning in my seat gradually and arching a brow. “You’re not…defending her, are you? Because in case you’ve had a lapse in memory, she’s part of why we were apart. My mom never told me to stay away from you.”
“Didn’t she?” he asks. His tone isn’t accusing, though. He’s merely asking a question. But it irks me nonetheless because he’s right—she did.
“That’s different,” I say, primed to defend her honor. She is nothing like Kayla Sinclair. My mom was only trying to protect me; there is no way the same can be said for Kayla’s intentions. But I’m suddenly not so sure.
In her warped way, was she trying to keep her son away from me, the spawn of evil? She knows firsthand how stubborn London is. No doubt she’d tell him to do something, and he’d do everything in h
is power to defy her. So did she resort to blackmail? A little like Carrie White’s mom but it wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law.
No, fuck no. This revelation is not true. Kayla is a conniving harlot. Case closed.
“Princess, I don’t care about them. All I care about is you. We have enough shit to deal with.”
“Like?”
His hoarse chuckles settle my annoyance. “Like what happens when you go back to New York. Or when Lincoln stops being a little pussy and comes out of hiding. You still haven’t heard anything from him?”
I shake my head, the mention of him turning my already queasy stomach. “I’ve got eyes and ears to the ground but so far, nothing.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He was always a gutless asshole. Nothing has changed.” His anger almost burns me, and I decide to put this conversation on hold. Talking about Lincoln while operating machinery is definitely not recommended.
We ride the rest of the journey in silence.
I’m held prisoner by the sea of lights, lost to my musings over whether London and I have jumped into this too quickly. In no way am I questioning my feelings for him, but maybe we should have gotten to know the adult version of ourselves before committing to one another so quickly.
Sighing, I rest my forehead to the glass, suddenly feeling sixteen again.
Only when London kills the engine do I realize we’ve stopped. Blinking back my fears, I take a closer look to see where we are because this is definitely not Santa Monica.
When the bright pink and blue fluorescents light up the inside of London’s truck, I all but press my nose to the windshield to ensure I’m not seeing things. I’m not. It may have had a slight revamp since I was last here, but there is no way I would ever forget Paradisco Roller Rink.
“I thought you could teach me a thing or two.” His words are heavy with an unspoken message, but I’m so happy he brought me here, I decide to focus on the now. “And besides”—he leans over the middle console wearing a grin—“I still have very sweet dreams about you in those tiny pink shorts.”
I reach out and playfully slap his arm.
Just like that, the discomfort settles, and I berate myself for allowing my fears to cloud my better judgment.