by Monica James
With hesitation, he reaches for my hand. The touch takes on a whole different meaning because it’s the first one we’ve shared where the truth has finally been set free. “After what happened with your parents, I knew your mom was right. I would just drag you down, and the farther away you were, the safer you and your family were.
“When I saw you on the news, after you won that case, I finally felt like I did something good. You looked happy. You’d made something of yourself, and that’s all I ever wanted for you, Princess. I can never offer you the life you have.”
I purse my lips, not fully understanding why. Surely, he’s still not worried his mom will tarnish my family name. We’re not kids anymore. “Why not?”
He runs his thumb over my knuckles, deep in thought. “My life is…complicated,” he settles on after debating what to say.
A horrifying thought occurs. “Is it Sandy?” She was clearly staking her claim on London back at the bar. “Are you guys…a thing?” I swallow past the lump lodged in my throat.
He shakes his head without thought. “No, we’re not anything.”
Relieved, I address his declaration. “Mine isn’t exactly a walk in the park,” I reply, not sure what I even mean. “I’m supposed to get married in two weeks, but after everything, I can’t…” I can see London’s guilt, but I shake my head, interlacing our hands. It’s the first time I’ve reached out, and his surprise shows. “Even if this never happened, I wouldn’t have married him. How can I, when…”
Every inch of my body is telling me to do this, to finally be honest with myself and strip bare. I was hiding, too afraid to breathe, but looking into these blue eyes, I’ve at long last remembered how to live again.
Shifting closer, I bask in his warm cinnamon perfume and never want to stray far from it ever again. “How can I…when I’m still in love with you?”
A weight is lifted from me and I feel a hundred pounds lighter. Who knew the cure was sitting in front of me all along?
When London remains quiet, his jaw clenching and unclenching, I suddenly regret jumping into the deep end. I probably should have led in with something a little less forthright. He squeezes my fingers before standing, running both hands through his hair. I have no idea what he’s thinking.
I try my best to recollect my thoughts. Lincoln’s hatred toward London was what spurred him on to show an interest in me. Even after I left for Florida, he never made an effort to contact me. But why would he? He’d won.
London is right, however. We all grew up, and call me naïve, but I know Lincoln’s feelings for me are now real. Being together for years with nothing for him to gain proves to me that he does love me, but if he loved me enough, he’d have told me the truth.
I still have no idea where Belle is and what part she plays in all this. The pieces of this puzzle are finally coming together, but I’m missing the vital piece.
So many people had a say in my life. And the one person I’ve seen as the enemy was the only person who let me be free. I need to touch London, need to tell him again that I love him, but he’s pacing, appearing someplace else.
I’ll give him all the time he needs because he’s done the same for me.
When I think I can stand, I walk over to the iPod docking station and scroll through the selection of music. London’s tastes are very similar to mine, so when I find a song which allows me to escape for even a fraction of time, I let the music take over.
The moment the music starts, I close my eyes and let go.
The song choice seems perfect for how I’m feeling, for how I’ve felt for so long. As long as London stands by me, I think I’ll finally be okay. The melodic tune transports me to another world, the lyrics striking a chord because I can relate to every single one. I won’t be afraid…
Swaying to the music, I forget about tomorrow and the day after and just focus on today…focus on the now. So when a warmth presses against my back, I reflect on the way every inch of my body bursts alive, desperate for so much more.
My heart is nigh on exploding, but I embrace the feeling because I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be in love. London’s sweet breath is tepid as it ripples down the column of my neck, but I continue rocking. Tears slip down my cheeks as I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this free.
Memories of every moment leading to now flicker before me, and I can’t help but smile. It’s only taken me ten long years, but finally, I’m home.
London wraps an arm around my middle, closing the distance between us as he molds us into one. A sigh escapes me, and I arch backward, needing to feel every inch of his body pressed to mine. We rock to the music, both lost in our own private oasis.
We fit perfectly, our bodies in sync as if we’ve always danced to the same beat. Tears continue falling. London nudges his face over my shoulder, nuzzling into my wet cheek. “Why are you crying?” he whispers.
“Because I’m happy,” I reply in a tone matching his. He tightens his hold on me, adding another arm. I’m enclosed in his entire being, and I never want to leave.
Leaning my head to the side, I’m exposing myself, hoping he soothes this fire burning me up inside. He does. His lips press against my neck, kissing softly over my feverish pulse. A soft moan escapes me, as I never remember feeling this good.
He drags that luscious mouth up and down, feasting on my heated flesh, consuming me until I’m whimpering, growing weak at the knees. If he doesn’t turn me around, I’m positive I’ll explode. He reads my need and huskily chuckles, the sound striking low. I almost buckle with the intense force.
With one arm still enclosed around my middle, the other slides up the center of my torso, coming to rest between my breasts. He splays out his fingers and presses his hand to my heart. The gesture is filled with nothing but love.
“I don’t know what happens now.” His misgivings remind me of his earlier comment, but I don’t care.
“I don’t either…but I’m excited to find out.”
He’s quiet, but the tension is thrumming through him. Is he nervous? Does he think once tonight is over with, things won’t change?
Everything has changed for me, and although I shouldn’t, I do.
Fastening my fingers over his wrist, I gently remove his hand from my chest and turn around submissively. Our eyes lock, and I get lost, never wanting to be found. Peering down for a long moment, I have no uncertainties when I slip Lincoln’s ring from my finger. I place it on the dresser, committed to giving it back to him when the sun rises. My finger instantly feels lighter. I never should have worn it in the first place.
London’s mouth parts, but he’s done enough talking. I just want to feel.
Hooking my thumbs beneath the thin straps of the dress I wear, I slide them down my shoulders and allow the garment to glide down my body and pool on the ground. I’m standing before London in my black lace underwear and heels.
My nipples pearl when his Adam’s apple bobs, his undivided attention on my barely covered breasts. The pillowed tops spill from my strapless bra, rising and falling vehemently as I gulp in mouthfuls of air.
He makes no secret that he’s examining every scrap of flesh, tonguing his upper lip as his eyes blaze. Every inch of my body is popping. Unable to take the heat, I rub my legs together, desperate to appease the burn.
London hisses through clenched teeth, rubbing the back of his neck. If he doesn’t make a move, then I’m bound to explode.
I point at his shirt. “Take it off.”
He smirks, my words the exact ones he said to me when we found ourselves in this same position all those years ago.
“Take it off…please,” I repeat, remembering the slow, sexy grin he bestowed on me because he’s rewarding me with it once again.
He’s complete perfection standing before me in all black, the recipe for a sublime disaster. And although I appreciate the way his t-shirt hugs him in all the right places, showcasing his brute masculinity, I know that once I see him in the flesh, all barriers betw
een us lowered, I undoubtedly will never want him clothed ever again.
I’m tempted to disrobe him myself, but when he reaches overhead, tugging at the back of his collar and lifting the garment, I freeze, not wanting to miss a thing. The shirt rides up higher and higher, revealing inch after inch of glorious, bronzed, muscled flesh. My fingers itch, tempted to trace every hardened bump on his abs, but when I see a flourishing tree tattooed on his flank, I want to get down and worship him on my knees.
I don’t know where to start because every part of him is truly epic, but when the shirt falls to the floor by his feet, I zero in on a tattoo over his heart. A gasp escapes me. Just when I think he can’t shock me further, he goes and does something like this.
“Like it?” he asks, rubbing over the ink, his permanent badge of honor.
“L-like it? London, I…” But I don’t even know what to say because this is just something else.
“I told you,” he states, his palm flat on his chest.
“I know, but I thought you were joking.” With eyes wide, I step forward and place my palm over his. “This is…just…oh my god,” I settle on, unable to vocalize how I feel seeing my name tattooed on his chest over his heart.
Sandy’s comment now makes sense. I guess I have been the proverbial third wheel. Even though I don’t have London’s name tattooed over my heart, his memory and my love for him never faded from mine.
Gently asking permission, he allows me to lift his hand and stare in awe at this work of art. It may only be my name, written in a cursive script, but it’s the most beautiful tattoo I have ever seen. Acting on pure instinct, I swoop my hair to one side and lower my lips to our everlasting union.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
His skin is warm and has my taste buds salivating in hunger. Now that I’ve had a sample, I want more…more…more. Kissing over his heart, I saunter over to his left pec, boldly tonguing his nipple. I’m rewarded with a sharp hiss, spurring me on.
I can’t help myself and work my way down, my hands tracing his sides as I kiss every inch of flesh. His skin prickles beneath my lips, a low moan slipping from him as I outline each ridge of his washboard abs with my tongue. Just as I work his buckle, desperate to taste everything and more, he scoops his hands around me and lifts me up.
I’m moments away from protesting, but when he fists one hand in the hair at my nape, and the other low on my waist, all speech escapes me, because my body is the conduit. He guides my head to the right, before leaning forward and running the tip of his nose along the column of my neck. He inhales and groans low.
Every part of me trembles, desperate to crawl inside him and never emerge. “Please,” I beg, indicative of the first time I had a taste. My pleas are unheeded, and he continues his torture, turning my passion into delicious pain.
He suckles over my rampant pulse, taking his sweet time. “I’m…”
“You’re what?” I coax, tipping my head backward and opening myself up to him completely.
He kisses and sucks at my ripened flesh, intent on leaving me a writhing mess well after dawn. “I’m still in…love…with you, too,” he confesses against my throat. “I never stopped. Game over. You won, Princess.” His admission is my final undoing, and the walls I’ve erected around my heart crumble down around me.
I can’t stand to be separated from him a moment longer, so I cup his cheeks into my palms and draw his face to mine. He is truly extraordinary, and he’s all mine. “We both won.”
I don’t have time to utter another word because London smashes his mouth to mine, putting an end to a drought which has drained me dry for ten years. We kiss like starved animals, pawing and clawing at the other, needing to unite as one.
He hauls me forward, pressing us breast to breast, our lips never breaking apart. He takes my bottom lip into his mouth, sucking and running his tongue along the seam. I groan around him, the feeling comparable to total bliss.
My tongue meets his as he deliriously licks his way inside. He tastes me, samples the goods, slow and sluggish, as we have so many years to make up for. We collide with languid, learning strokes, reacquainting ourselves with this all-consuming, penetrating feeling of being connected mind, body, and soul.
Each taster has both of us wanting more, a glutton for this decadence to never end. I feel him growing hard against me, shooting a shockwave of pleasure all the way to my toes. I cry out in ecstasy when he rubs me in just the right way.
I writhe in agony as the simmering fire within me sweeps out of control. Still locked in a frenzied union, I work my hand between us and unbuckle his belt. As I unsnap his button and yank down his zipper, my heart threatens to explode from its confines because I have no shame dipping my hand down the front of his jeans and palming his hot, swollen shaft.
He grunts in the back of his throat, the sound echoing between my legs.
He’s not wearing any boxers, so I’m working him in the flesh, which is exactly what I need, what I crave. I work my hand up and down, the feel of his hardened flesh almost too much. Our kisses become more frenzied, but I have no intention of stopping any time soon.
My nipples are pebbled and aching for his touch. He reads my desperation because he tears his mouth from mine, only to replace his kisses all over my aching breasts. He bites the tops of them, growling in frustration when the lace shelters what we both want.
He unsnaps the front clasp of my bra, ripping the garment from my body and hungrily sucking my left nipple into his burning mouth. I cry out but don’t let him distract me from the mission at hand. I continue working his shaft from the root to the tip. He grows harder, longer, if that’s even possible, but the image of him driving into me, punishing me over and over again has me growing so incredibly wet, I feel it pool between my legs.
He circles my areola, then suckles my nipple one last time. It pops from his mouth, and before I can question what happens next, he sinks to both knees before me, his face level with the junction of my thighs. He inhales deeply, and I redden, as I’m certain he can smell my arousal. Peering up at me, he smirks, licking his swollen, red lips.
I tremble, awaiting his next move.
When he runs his finger along the band of my underwear, I’m certain he leaves a trail of fire in its wake. My stomach ripples, so turned on, I can’t contain the quiver consuming me whole. He fists the front of the lace, and with one sharp, unapologetic tug, he tears them clean from my body.
I yelp, but that soon turns into a low-seated moan when he buries his face into my bare center and laps at my needy flesh in one long, languorous move. He squeezes the tops of my thighs, gently spreading them farther apart. I cry out, knotting my fingers through his hair, needing to anchor myself before I explode. My hips ripple and roll when he presses the flat of his tongue against my swollen clitoris. He sinks his tongue into me, penetrating me as deep as he can go.
My arousal coats him. I can feel it, a slick varnish on his face as it acts as the perfect lubrication. I’m slippery and ripe, and when he twirls his tongue in a way that should be illegal, I scream in utter delight.
“I want you everywhere. All over me. I can’t get enough of you,” he hums against my flesh, his words adding to the incline I’m presently mounting.
He plunges deeper and deeper, his tongue and mouth never missing a beat. To add to the delicious torture, he reaches a hand behind me and palms a cheek. He’s now holding me prisoner, both back and front, but being held hostage has never felt this good.
The sting of his tongue as he sucks over my inflamed bud is too much, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. He grunts when I pump my hips forward, riding his face without a lick of shame. Just when I think he can’t torture me further, he dips lower and runs his tongue from bottom to top.
I whimper, but it gets caught in my throat when he slaps my ass—hard—and finally gives into my not so subtle demands. He consumes me with a fierce need, sucking and lapping at my clit, knowing I’m riding close to the edge. The tickle of his b
eard adds a whole different dimension to being devoured this way.
My fingernails dig into his scalp, but he seems to like my aggression because he tunnels in deeper and deeper, not showing an ounce of mercy. He flicks his tongue in just the right way, and when he squeezes my ass in both hands, forcing me to ride his face, I come like I’ve never done so before.
My orgasm overtakes me, and it’s the most amazing feeling in the world.
Aftershocks rock my body, and I don’t think I’ll come down any time soon. But London doesn’t allow me a moment of reprieve. He stands, taking me into his arms, and advances toward the bed. He tosses me onto the mattress. I like that he acts with aggression.
This is us.
We don’t make excuses for what we want because we want it all.
His pants hit the floor, and I lean up on my elbows, not missing a second of seeing him standing before me completely nude. He is glorious—hard and ready in all the right places. He opens a drawer on the dresser, the unmistakable sound of foil crinkling. Feeling completely wanton, I shake my head.
“No more walls between us. I want all of you.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Princess…” With my desire slathered all over his face and lips, he couldn’t look sexier as I confirm I want all of him, now and forever.
“I’ve already got everything I’ve ever wished for. You.” A lopsided smile tugs at his lips, and he nods once. He crawls onto the foot of the bed while I tumble backward, settling onto the pillows.
His hulking body shadows mine when he presses us nose to nose. I shift my legs to accommodate his size, and he nestles between them. I’m ready and waiting—I want him so badly I can scarcely breathe.
Reaching up, I run my fingers over his cheek, through his beard, coaxing him by the back of his neck to kiss me. It doesn’t take much swaying. He kisses me, but this time, the passion is simmering. We’re lost in the laziness of our hunger, the sluggishness a heady aphrodisiac.