Page 63 of Lost In London

Fear and love can’t coexist in the same space.

London wouldn’t be here, sitting on my lap comfy and eating my food if she didn’t break up with her fears.

“What the hell?”

“Are we having company for dinner?”

My doorbell ringing confused both of us. First of all, I never entertained pop-ups. Quest was with Dove and London was here with me. Whoever that was picked the wrong house and night to stop by unannounced.

Using her tongue as my napkin, she licked the residue sauce from the corners of my mouth making me growl in her ear and pulling her closer. “Maybe you should go see who that is.”

After the way she cleaned my lips, hell no I wasn’t going to answer my door. Whoever was using my doorbell as drums could spend all night out there. However, I was curious. Pulling up my security app on my phone I pulled up the live footage from my front door and got a shocker. A shocker that turned into frustration and rage.

“Baby, wait right here while I go handle this.” I tapped her thigh, helping her stand. This girl was so focused on eating she didn’t care about anything else. “London,” I called her name.

“Yes.” Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy from my homemade lemon Alfredo sauce, she swayed side to side as she chewed slowly.

For a second, I forgot about the rude person on my porch and focused on the beauty sitting in my dining room. Wanting to taste my sauce on her lips I kissed her until her lips parted for me. Damn. It did taste better. Tasted a whole lot better being mixed with her zest.

“Hurry and come back to me.” I don’t know what sorcery London was on but damn it felt good to feel her tongue latching onto mine.

Every suck, every glide, and twist. Then her lips held my tongue in place while her tongue slowly licked mine.

Mind-blowing.

My hand was on her neck before I could stop it. Not too rough but just enough to catapult her into overdrive. She went from slow licks against my tongue to savagely pulling me closer by my beard, holding my head in the position she needed, and making love to my mouth.

Never in my life has a woman ever kissed me that way.

London gave me the blueprint of how she wanted me to make love to her through her lips and tongue.

Mind-blowing.

“Flesh of my flesh. Bones of my bones.” I mumbled against her lips, my thumb rubbing along her throat as she kept nipping my lips. “Stay right here.”

“Come back to me.” She pecked me one last time as the doorbell rings became more persistent.

Marching through my living room to the front door, I snatched it open and glared at India. “Have you lost your damn mind?” I seethed with a twitching eye.

“Yes, Quincey. I’ve lost my mind because you won’t take me back!” She yelled in my face before trying to push past me to get in my house.

That wasn’t happening.

She already violated by coming over here like she still lived here. I damn sure wasn’t about to let her issues come into my house and create chaos where there wasn’t any.

“Let me in. We need to talk and you’re going to talk to me.” No matter how many times I blocked her entrance into my house she kept trying to push me out of the way. I’ve never put my hands on a woman in a violent way. Even the thought of shoving her out the way felt wrong but she was pushing her chances.

“I’m not doing shit. Go home, India.”

Her yells turned into sobs that had me wanting to stuff a sock in her mouth to shut her up. These antics weren’t working on me. She knew how I hated to cause disturbance where I lived. My neighbors and I were cool. Never had any issues but here she is out here carrying on. I didn’t like that she was doing all of this for attention.

“Why can’t you just talk to me? You once loved me so much that you would’ve done anything for me.” Exactly. Once loved you. “I fucked up. I really did and I own that. We have so much history. How can you walk away like I meant nothing to you? Like our relationship meant nothing? Tell me what it is that I have to do and I’ll do it.”

My chest burned and my hands felt weighty.

Watching the tears run a stream from her eyes to her chin, I wanted to wipe her tears and tell her setting me free had been the best thing she’d ever done for me. She let me go. Telling me, my love wasn’t fashioned for her. Releasing me from the obsession I forced myself into. But in the same token, I felt a large weight of despair, her despair.

All of the anguish that I had riddled my body to the point I felt hot and wanted to strangle the damn girl. I now felt remorse and sorrow. Her discomfort of moving on, with each hiccup cry she released, I felt her pain and it wasn’t pleasing at all. God wasn’t tormenting me by allowing me to feel her pain for shits and giggles. No. This has always been a gift of mine and I wish it could’ve skipped her.

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