Page 101 of From West, With Regret

We still haven’t figured out who it was that was following us after leaving Emily’s gallery. After the first few nights of London regaining her memory, we tried to think of who it could possibly be but with no luck. I asked Alden to investigate, telling him any details I could remember about the car that night, but he’s come up just as empty as I did.

Considering I haven’t seen the car since, I’ve let it go. For now.

My jet lands later in the afternoon than I expect, but my body is buzzing with impatience the entire drive home. I tell Alden to step on the gas as hard as he can. Spending one whole day in Texas was entirely too long and too far of a distance from her. I’d asked London to go with me, but she wanted to spend time with her sister and her ailing grandmother, which I understood.

Alden manages to get us there sooner than I expect, then I’m racing out of the parking garage and up into the elevator. Before the lift has even reached my level, I hear London’s music.

Heart racing and dick jumping, I gnaw on the inside of my cheek and curl my fingers into a fist. My hands are aching to touch her. My mouth aching to taste her.

Once inside, I immediately search for my raven-haired girl.

“Dimples?” I yell, shrugging off my suit jacket. I toss it aside, then start working on my tie. Unbuttoning my collar, I step into the kitchen. My personal chef must have left a plate of fruit out for London to grab whenever she takes a break from work.

I grab a handful of grapes from the charcuterie board andcarry them with me, following the music pouring from London’s studio upstairs.

Popping one into my mouth, I can’t help smiling as I grow closer, knowing when I step into the room, she’ll turn and look at me.

Not the me she met months ago.

The me she left that day at the foster home.

She’ll be looking at me as the Weston Knight she knew she loved, even at thirteen. Our love was innocent back then, more a friendship than anything else, though I believe our love is stronger for it. Through all the regret, the grief, and profound sense of never-ending loss, our love has transcended what I ever imagined possible. Our love is greater than one experience in a lifetime. It’s infinite. Transcending even past our lives here on earth.

London will be looking at me with all the memories of our love story alive in her eyes.

The door to her studio is cracked open, allowing the music to filter throughout my entire penthouse apartment. The breath is knocked from my lungs when I stop in the doorway, watching her.

Dancing. She’s dancing.

Leaning against the doorframe, I can’t help smiling as London stands in front of her large, wooden worktable. Sheets of paper and art supplies are strewn about. When shimmying her hips, her ass shakes to the beat. I have no fucking clue what the song is or who sings it, but I’m silently thanking the artist for bringing joy to my girl’s life. It’s a live version, the chants of the crowd heard loud behind the singer’s voices.

Stifling a chuckle, I press my fist to my mouth, sucking in my teeth.

The curves of London’s full ass peek out from the bottom of her torn jeans. They’re covered in streaks of charcoal. If I didn’talready know what caused them, you’d think she’d been digging in the dirt all day.

It’s funny how I only just saw her this morning, but it feels like it’s been ages. I flew halfway across the country and back in time to be home for dinner.

Her long hair sways across her back, fanning out as she spins around.

She shrieks and stumbles when she sees me. Falling backward, she catches herself on the edge of her worktable, and her mouth pulls into a wide grin.

Then she’s giving me the gift I’ve been waiting all day to see.

The look in her eyes alive with her memories of me.

I fight the urge to fall to me knees, and pop another grape into my mouth. It bursts, filling my mouth with sweetness.

“Like this song?” I ask her, smirking. She used to only listen to her music through her ear buds. Now, she hardly ever uses them. I like it because I get an inside peek into London’s music taste.

She grins. “You’re home.”

Fuck. I swallow, then pop another grape into my mouth before crossing the large studio. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I crash my mouth to hers and lift her up, setting her down on the table. I drop the few grapes I have left beside her.

Her arms and legs are immediately around me, pulling me close.

Rolling my hips, I push my stiff cock against her. I cradle the side of her face and pull back.

“How was Texas?” she asks, still smiling.

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