All the complaining I do about Blake being irresponsible yet here I am, behaving exactly like him. Thinking with the wrong brain. Ignoring logic for instinct.
The feeling of London’s tongue trailing lower robs me of a heavy groan.
I know I should stop her. That we should talk. That she should know I not only appreciate the way she saved my skin yesterday, but that I am interested in more than just the perfect way her tits fit in the palms of my hands.
Rising onto my elbows, I instantly smile at the sight of wild, auburn curls blanketing my lap.
Talk about a beautiful vision to wake up to….
Guilt gnaws harder in the back of my mind over the reckless decision to sleep with a stranger.
I was raised better than this. I was raised to take a woman out on a real date. You’re supposed to get to know what a woman likes and why she feels she has to eat salad instead of steak before you even consider sticking your dick in her mouth. At least you should when you’re a true gentleman and not a bed hopping man whore like the younger brother everyone confuses me with.
Irritation over falling victim to comparing us the same way everyone else does causes me to sigh, “London…shouldn’t we…I don’t know….Talk?”
Her eyes connect to mine at the same time she takes a long, slow lick of the tip of my dick.
I groan again and grip the rumpled sheet beside me.
“After.”
And without another word her mouth envelops my entire shaft, the wet, hot heat collapsing me backwards. One hand inches over to thread itself into her curls while I tuck the other behind my head. Reaching the back of her throat so easily has me gritting my teeth to stop from letting go too soon.
Which is a problem I never had prior to this little redhead.
Her sucking is slow. Hard. Harsh. Her hand mimics her mouth by giving my nuts a similar pull. She toys with my sanity, dragging my dick all the way out to tease the tip. I lift myself back up onto my elbow to watch the show. London smirks and swirls her tongue around to lap up the pre cum spewing from the slit. The fingers planted in her hair twitch in protest, an inaudible plea for me to pull her perfect lips back down my cock. Suddenly, a playful look appears in her expression, indicating she wants me to lose control again. She wants me to have her the rough way I hate to admit I enjoy. I grip tighter on her tangles and tug her back down my dick. She viciously swallows, lips bumping profusely against the base. My hips and hand work in an oscillation to keep my cock buried against her tensing muscles. The brutal way her mouth bounces swells her lips. Reddens her cheeks. London moans in desperation for more, and the vibration tosses me over the edge before I have time to stop it. My entire body stiffens at the same time my eyes fall shut, lost to the mercy of her sucking. An animalistic howl is pried from my chest, and I give her one final yank forward. Scorching burst after burst splashes against the back of her throat. She gorges on the sticky reward, humming her satisfaction until my frame flops backwards once more.
London takes her time slipping my spent shaft from her mouth. She litters it with light licks and kisses as if thanking it for a job well done.
When she’s finally finished, I force my eyes open to drink in what has to be the best fluke of my entire life. Her bright smile stretches from ear to ear, and the lingering rosiness to her light complexion fills me with a sense of confidence.
She’s turned on by me . She’s excited because she made me come. What kinda man wouldn’t be anxious to keep a woman around who wanted not only to be satisfied by him, but be the one to do it in return?
I’ve never had that before….
I’ve always wanted something like this before….
I’m not exactly sure I really get to keep it now.
Just as I drop my jaw to speak there’s a knock at the door.
London gives my puzzled expression a giggle. “It’s room service.”
She scampers off the bed while I simply toss a sheet over my lower extremities. “When did you have time to order room service?”
“After sprinkling a little morning shimmer in the air.”
Unsure of what that is or where she put it, I start looking around the room for something strange floating around. I skip the decision to ask more about what the hell she’s talking about and question, “Which was when?”
“Right before I gave you your wake up call.”
My face does its best not to heat.
Her light, victorious laugh at coloring my cheeks is followed with her sliding into my black suit jacket. On her sweet, petite frame it blankets her like a burlap sack providing no clues to the beautiful creation underneath. I try to hide my smirk of gratitude.
No one else should see her long, lean legs, or the freckles that trail along the curve of her hips beside her Celtic symbol tattoos. They damn sure shouldn’t see her perfect, natural tits or the way her nipples harden with a hungry stare. No. I’m the only man in the world who deserves that right.
Wait.
Do I deserve it? Realistically speaking, she’s still basically a stranger. I barely know more than her damn name. I’m an asshole who took advantage of an easy situation. Not a gentleman who should be given lifetime access to her.
London saunters towards the door, and I lean forward to let my eyes follow the perky ass I know is under my coat.
When she opens the door, the male with the cart lets his attention dip down the slightly open front.
I instinctively bark, “Eyes. Up.”
He immediately relocates his stare to the ceiling. “Here is the breakfast you ordered. Can I….Do you need….Should I-”
“Go,” I bite, this time preparing to lunge off the bed to ensure he does.
There’s a shuffling sound, and his presence disappears.
With mirth in her voice, she questions down the hall, “You don’t want a tip?”
“He got one when I told him where to put his eyes.”
London snickers again as she and the cart enter further into the room. “Jealous?”
Inordinately.
Her eyes sparkle with so much mischief and adoration it forces me to confide, “I don’t wanna share.”
She offers me a wink.
Guess I don’t have to know that much about her to know what matters most. Her attention, her body, her focus should belong to me the same way she has unapologetically overthrown all of mine. That would be fair….Ha. When has my life ever been fair ?
London swiftly removes the lid to the dishes. “Got a bit of everything here. Sausage. Bacon. Ham. Bagels. Toast. Waffles. Oatmeal. Hash browns. Fruit.” She points to the two coffee cups. “Cappuccinos.” Her dainty finger motions towards the other glasses. “Orange juice. Water.…”
“Do you have any idea how much all that shit costs?”
She grabs a piece of toast and begins to butter it without retorting.
I try to push down the sensible part of my brain that wants to lecture her about the benefits of being frugal, how normal people pick one or two items as opposed to the entire menu, and why she really should wear more clothes when answering the door for complete strangers.
A long beat passes before I state, “Room service isn’t cheap, Sunshine. Do you want me to help pay for it?”
She smirks but shakes her head.
“Are you sure? It’s costly.” I glance around the room we spent the entire night intimately wrecking. “As is this room….”
“Really, Hot Stuff. It’s fine. Breakfast, like this room, cost me nothing.”
“It’s not a free buffet.”
“It is when you’re me.”
Her answer settles poorly on my shoulders.
I have no idea who she is or why she’s famous. She mentioned something about sports last night, but never elaborated. Is she an Olympic medalist?
London plops herself on the edge of the bed beside me and has a large chomp of the toast. Crumbs cascade down my coat and across the bed causing a scowl to crawl onto my face.
“Really? You want us to roll around in bread flakes for the rest of the day?”
Her bright smile returns with enough light to make the sun peeking through the blinds jealous. “You really think that’s any worse than us rolling around in jizz?”
The crass choice of language drops my jaw.
She tosses her head back on a loud laugh, and I simply enjoy the view.
Stunningly beautiful with a mouth that would make my mama proud.
I snatch the piece of bread out of her hand and have a bite.
London sucks the lost bit of spread off her thumb. “So, I don’t know what your Sunday plans really are, but I have the room until tomorrow morning if you’re interested in keeping the ones we were flirting about.”
My cock begins to stir underneath the sheet.
No. We have to… talk . We can’t just keep having sex. We can’t just have a physical relationship. That’s not the man I am. That’s not the man I wanna be even if for a weekend it would feel fucking amazing to be.
“Interested in extending our time in paradise from one night to two?”
After swallowing the remainder of the toast, I nod. “On one condition.”
“Don’t worry. Like I told you last night, I’ve got more condoms in my bag.”
An unexpected growl lunges up the back of my throat.
How the hell am I jealous over the idea anyone else has ever had sex with her? There’s crazy and then there’s insane. That’s insane. This adorable spitfire is managing to transform me from a responsible, logical man into a territorial lunatic with nothing more than her luscious lips and audacious attitude.
“That um…that wasn’t it.”
“Then what?”
“We talk first.”
Her blue eyes glaze over in disappointment. “You’re back to that?”
Unclear on why it’s a bad thing, I ask, “Why are you afraid of that?”
“London ‘Little L’ Hall is afraid of nothing . Haven’t you heard the rumors?” She slides back off the bed and heads for the cart. “Haven’t you seen the headlines?”
The irritation in her tone creates an unusual uneasiness in my chest. “No.”
“And that’s one reason I like you.” She grabs one of the coffee mugs with a small smile and offers it to me. “And one reason we shouldn’t.”
I adjust the warm cup in my grip. “We don’t have to talk about those things if you don’t want. We can talk about other things. Things people never read about online or on their media feed. Things….Things you’d only wanna tell a stranger you never plan to see again.”
London lifts her mug to her mouth. “You don’t ever wanna see me again?”
I wanna see her every fucking day, but I know that’s illogical, improbable, and most likely impossible. Or at least I think it’s impossible. From what I gathered, she doesn’t even live in this city. Maybe not even the state. The chances of us crossing paths again are slim and as much as I loathe that knowledge, I am not above using it to my advantage. Normally, I would suggest we get dressed, talk at a restaurant with our clothes on, and proceed to discuss the idea of continuing something. That line of thought doesn’t seem to exist with her. It’s odd. It’s refreshing.
She sweetly hums, “It’s okay if the answer is no, Oliver. Sex doesn’t have to turn into a lifelong commitment.”
Yet I want it too.
“Is it okay if the answer is yes?”
A smile threatens her lips. “Does it feel good when the answer is yes?”
“Feels incredible.”
London smiles wider and the entire world appears to make more sense than ever before. “Alright, Hot Stuff, what do you wanna know? And if at all possible can we skip most of the boring biography questions? They always make my face wrinkle.”
The continuously used nickname grabs a light chuckle. “Fine. Let’s start with you calling me Hot Stuff.”
“What about it?”
“Why that?”
Her grin expands and every fiber inside of me lights up. “Because you are.”
I can feel warmth trying to radiate from my face again.
“And because I like the way it makes your face turn red.”
“I’m not red.”
“You are.”
I try to hide my toasting face behind the cup of coffee. After a sip I ask, “Do you always drink cappuccinos?”
“No,” she casually replies. “I am definitely more of a mood based soul. I do whatever feels right for the moment. Cappuccinos are a must after amazing sex.”
Pride appears in my expression.
Damn right it was amazing.
Normally, it’s me who feels compelled to reassure women of that, even when it’s not true. That’s not the case here. Yet again, London lives outside the box.
“Lattes are for celebrations. Fraps for disappointments, because the high amount of sugar helps soothe the spirit.”
Slightly baffled by her answer, I slowly shake my head and retort, “Don’t um….Don’t remember my doctor mentioning that little fact about sugar the last time I had a physical.”
“He probably didn’t. It’s a secret known to those outside of western medicine. Learned it in a little village close to the Swiss Alps.”
My eyebrows can’t resist shooting up. “What was the name of the village?”
“Le Starbucks.”
The joke causes me to scowl, but she sneaks out another snicker. I shake my head again. “Have you ever even been to the Swiss Alps?”
“Actually, yes,” she answers, putting down her cup to grab a piece of bacon. “I’m friends with Guy Klinger, the world famous extreme snowboarder, and after winning yet another competition, he decided he wanted to unwind in the Alps, so he took me and a few others there for a week.”
“Did you two…” I try to smother out the growl growing, “sleep together?”
London shamelessly giggles again. “I tell you I spent the week with a world-famous athlete and instead of asking me obnoxious questions about who else I know, you get grumpy over the idea of me having sex with someone else.” She wets her lips with a smirk. “Gotta say, Hot Stuff, you’re making me feel special.”
“You are.”
I knew that the minute she looked up at me with her light blue stare. It hit me like a punch I would’ve never predicted encountering and keeps hitting me like an unseen force goading me towards something extraordinary.
“What about you?” She swiftly avoids the compliment. “Do you always like cappuccinos, or is this your first time? You know kinda like it’s your first time hooking up with a total stranger.”
“How’d you know that?”
London picks a grape from the bowl of fruit. “The whole ‘let’s talk thing’ is a dead giveaway.”
Embarrassment burrows into my cheeks once more.
What can I say? I prefer to know a little bit about the person who’s letting me bury my dick between their legs. Women aren’t just objects for men to get off with. They’re people. They deserve to be treated like it.
“Not a bad thing, Hot Stuff.”
Her reassurance lifts my chest back up. “I prefer cappuccinos all the time. Since the first day of college actually. Ordered one at an attempt to stand out from everyone else in my family who had always sworn by black coffee with a splash of milk.” The memory returns my smile. “I will say the best ones I’ve had were at this little shop in Venice.”
Intrigue appears in her blue glare, and my heart speeds up. “Why were you in Venice?”
“Woman I dated my last year in college begged to go for her birthday, so…I saved every penny I could and took her.”
London swoons from behind a strawberry.
“Unfortunately, she ended up cheating on me while we were there, and I cut the trip short.”
“Bitch,” the foul mouth red head scoffs. “What kinda fucking person does that to someone who went the extra mile for her? What kinda person puts that poison into their karmatic stream?!”
I shrug. “Women cheat on me constantly. I always chalked it up to the whole nice guys finish last bullshit.”
“You do finish last.” The smirk on her lips stirs my sleeping cock back awake. “It’s a pro not a con.”
With a smirk, I state, “If only you knew just how hard it was to finish last with you, Sunshine.…”
She winks, grabs the bowl of fruit, and bounces back over to the bed. “Do you like to travel?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t done much outside of work. You know, a conference here. A conference there.”
“Conferences for…?”
“Technology. I work with computers. I actually just changed jobs. I’m now head of the IT department for McCormick and McCordick, the art company.”
“Congratulations!”
The sound of genuine praise from someone besides my parents feels incredible.
It’s not that my brothers aren’t happy for me, it’s just anytime I mention work or start to, it always feels like they have to find a way to one up me with an achievement or announce a woe, rather than just let me have a moment. And because I love them, I let them have it. I put my excitement or accomplishment on the back burner to give them what they need. It’s always been this way. Probably always will be.
“Thanks….” I bat away the burden of my brotherly thoughts. “Anyway, I haven’t travelled for fun since…well-”
“The twat waffle incident.”
A louder laugh escapes at the same time she settles beside me on the bed. “What about you? Do you like to travel?”
“Love!” She exclaims. “Which is a good thing since I’ve been doing it from the womb.”
I remain silent in hopes she’ll willingly explain.
To no surprise she doesn’t. “When I go somewhere completely new for the first time, I always get a new ray for the sun on my back.”
My mind momentarily pictures the beautiful orange and yellow bursting design I prayed would assist in fusing her soul with mine. I assumed the vibrant colors and zig zag letter lines were the result of drunken chaos, nothing as significant as she’s stating.
Maybe that’s why I like London. Maybe I like that there’s always more than I’m expecting.
“I didn’t get to examine you as much as I liked,” she flirts, “so I’ll just ask. Do you have any tattoos?”
I quickly shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
“Afraid of needles?”
“No.”
“Afraid of strangers with needles?”
“No.”
“Afraid of strangers with needles in seemingly seedy areas?
I furrow my eyebrows at her accusation. “No.”
“Then why not?”
“They’re not professional.”
London leans back on the palms of her hands with a cocky smirk. “Depends on what you do for a living.”
“I can’t think of a single profession where covering your body with ink would be considered professional .”
Despite the slight disgust in my tone, she continues smiling. “When you work with extreme athletes for a living, it’s almost less professional not to have any.”
“Work with them how?”
“I’m more or less a sports blogger.”
The two words freeze my entire body.
Fuck. It’s not bad enough I don’t know shit about sports; she has to also write in the one form that annoys me the most?
“Extreme sports mainly. I work for X-treme X-press. Biggest extreme sports company in the country. Second biggest in the world. I go all around the globe writing about new talent, old talent, competitions, and pretty much whatever else I feel like. Sometimes I do live videos, sometimes I do interviews….It’s really whatever I’m in the mood for. Which is the best part. I can give my energy to whatever moves me when and where it does.”
Loving the light in her eyes as she speaks encourages me to keep her talking. “Is this what makes you famous?”
“That and of course the fact that my father is NBA legend Lamar “Big L” Hall.” When the look on my face doesn’t change, she coos, “You have no idea how much I love the clueless expression.”
I stretch over to place my mug on the cart. “Glad you do….Makes me feel like a moron.”
“Don’t.” Our eyes lock. “It means you’re sitting around listening to me babble because you wanna get the booty not because you want the booty to lead you to a hall of fame champion.”
Playfully, I tease, “I do want the booty.…”
“Then can we banish this twenty questions bullshit for something more fun. Perhaps, twenty moans instead?”
The memory of her moans echoes in my mind causing my cock to nudge the blanket. Briskly, I brush away the fruit bowl barrier, and yank her close to me. She squeaks and drapes her arms around my neck. My mouth lightly feathers hers. “You first….”
London gives my top lip a swift lick. “Think you can make it twenty?”
“Thirty.”
Her blue eyes sparkle as I lean her backwards.
There will be plenty of time to get to know each other later. To ask the normal first and second date questions. Well, at least I plan on there being time. While she seems skeptical in this lasting longer than the time she has this room booked, something in the pit of my stomach is refusing to let that be true. This is not the end of our time. It’s just the beginning.