Bad Boys of London(29)

I lean forward and lick the smooth head. He rakes his fingers through my hair, fists them, and fucks my mouth as if I am a prostitute he picked up on a street corner. But I understood, even when I was getting on my knees, that it is the hurt, the terrible hurt that I reminded him of that is driving him.

He comes in my mouth without asking if he can.

I get it. He has just made me submit. Made me swallow his cum. He has owned me. I look up at him, my mouth still full of his softening flesh. His shoulders heave. He pulls out of me, crouches down, and we stare at each other. And I know that something has changed.

‘I have to leave,’ I say.

‘Stay the night.’

‘I can’t. Dominic is taking me out to breakfast.’

‘Sorry, I can’t let you go just yet. I haven’t had enough of you yet.’

‘I’m too sore, BJ.’

‘I know,’ he says softly, his voice husky. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

I feel my stomach lift.

He puts me on my back, pins me to the bed with his body, and kisses my eyes. What he does afterwards can only be called a worship of my body with his tongue and mouth. He covers every inch of me kissing, sucking, licking, nipping, biting. Neck, hands, fingers, legs, toes, breasts, nipples, stomach, hips, back, buttocks, asshole, and—finally, finally when I am shivering with arousal —clit.

The result of so much attention is an orgasm like I’ve never had. The kind where there are stars at the back of your eyelids and you really think you are going to pass out, or perhaps you even actually pass out. No wonder the French call it la petite mort, the little death. It is so consuming and powerful I feel almost melancholy and tears slip out of my eyes.

He looks at them curiously, bending his head to lick them.

The gesture is so innocent, so without guile that it makes me feel unreal. At that surreal moment I believe myself to be merely a reflection on a shiny surface or part of a dream. It is in the play of light from the flames in the fireplace on his face that pulls me back. I see him for what he really is. A totally misunderstood, half-man, half-beast, hiding a suffering heart. And I feel as protective over him as a mother bear of her cubs. I could never let anyone hurt him. And I know, in this moment, that I must never, never bring harm to him. I must guard him from the wrath of my family.

I touch his scar and he flinches.

‘What happened?’

‘Someone bit me,’ he says quietly, but I know it was not just anyone. The scar is still alive in his mind. And sometimes when I look at him, it even seems so to me.

‘A scar is a special thing. It means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you.’

His eyes widen. He stares at me in wonder.

‘What?’

He shakes his head. ‘You’re just different than what I thought you would be.’

I smile. ‘What did you think I’d be?’

He shakes his head again and looks away. ‘Not like this.’ He sits up. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘Starving actually.’

‘Come on. I’ll feed you and then take you home.’

We dress quickly as if we are leaving the scene of a crime. I have a great desire to stroke his cheek and make it better. But what am I making better? We have nothing but sex between us. There can be nothing between us, but secret passion. He looks at me, his stance, waiting, watching, patient.

I tie my skirt over my shirt, shrug on my jacket, and slip into my shoes. ‘Ready,’ I declare.




He takes me to a Chinese restaurant, one of these places that stays open all night. He orders what seems to be the entire menu.

‘Are you really going to eat all that?’

‘I burned a lot of calories tonight,’ he says with a grin.

The food starts arriving almost immediately. He has ordered all kinds of food, but I feel full after a helping of Kung Po chicken and ginger prawns on half a bowl of rice. It is actually too late to eat.

Feeling lethargic and satiated and happy, I lean my chin on my hand and watch with sleepy detachment as he goes through the pile of food. In the car, I yawn and lean my head back against the head rest. He turns towards me.

‘Meet me for dinner tomorrow?’

‘I can’t. I have to be in bed early. I have a job interview on Wednesday.’

‘I’ll call you and we’ll meet for lunch instead,’ he suggests.

The feeling of contentment disappears. ‘Let me call you,’ I say quickly.

‘Why?’

I bite my lip. ‘Jake doesn’t approve of me dating you.’

He leans away from me, his eyes grim. ‘I’m not going to sneak around behind anyone’s back.’

I feel the happiness ebbing away. ‘I was using the word approve euphemistically. He promised all-out war.’