That One Moment (Lost in London #2)(74)

I cut her off, kissing the doubt right off her mouth. I swallow it whole and bury it deep inside of me to live with the self-doubt that is commonplace in my own soul. I frantically tear off the few pieces of fabric separating our skin to skin contact and then work towards kissing every bare inch of her luscious body. Finally, our mouths reconnect as I rest my back against her grand headboard and she straddles me. My bare cock pulses with need against her slickened folds.

Assurances that condoms were no longer necessary happened the last time we were intimate, so I’m rock hard with anticipation over feeling her bare on me for the first time. She places my tip at her entrance and quirks a sexy brow as she slides slowly down on top of me. I groan loudly at the incredibly intimate wetness gripping my shaft. My fingers bite into her lush thighs as I breathe deeply to maintain some control of myself.

Fuuuuuck. She feels so f*cking good. So f*cking right. So f*cking everything.

I bring her mouth down to mine, desperate to connect our bodies even further as she gyrates against me. Her tight nipples brush against my chest and I cup the heaviness of one breast in my hand. Needing to taste her everywhere, I break our kiss to pay homage to her perfect, pink bud. I suck hard and tap my teeth down lightly. She cries my name out with a throaty moan.

Hugging her tightly as she sits astride me, I swallow hard at the glorious intimacy of this encounter. The closeness I feel having her like this.

Suddenly, my leather cuff catches in her hair and I quickly detach it to bring my hands forward to continue their exploration of her body. She stops my action by gripping both of my wrists in her hands. Her small hands clasp around the worn brown leather.

My eyes find hers in confusion and she gives me a look that scares me. “No, Vi,” I say in a warming tone. I attempt to pull my wrists free, but she isn’t so easily deterred.

“Please, Hayden.” She says my name so reverently that I close my eyes, begging for my will to be strong. I want to give this woman everything. But only what I have in me to give. She has me. She has all of me, yet still she asks for more.

Painful and sudden tears burn in my eyes and I open them to find her watching me with a soft, warm expression. She leans in and kisses both of my cheeks comfortingly. “Please, Vi,” I beg, my voice quaking with fear. “I don’t think I can.”

Her face remains calm, serene, loving. “I’m here, Hayden,” she says. “You can.”

Her blonde hair fans a wall beside us as she looks down and takes one of my wrists in both of her hands. With my palm facing up, she releases one snap of the leather cuff. A sharp intake of breath on my part has her eyes looking up at me. She nods slowly before releasing the second snap, then the third, all the while maintaining eye contact with me the entire time. My hand tremors as she opens the cuff to reveal the bumpy ridge of the scar along my wrist. I turn my head to look away ashamed, traumatised, and completely f*cking sickened.

Two wet lips touch the scar and I hiss in horror as my eyes find hers. She leans back again and takes my other wrist in her hand, popping the buttons on that one and repeating the same soft kiss.

I shake my head and sniff. “They’re hideous.”

“They’re mine,” she says, kissing them softly again and holding them to her bare chest over her heart. My eyes look to hers in a pleading surrender. I’ve given her so much. So much she still can’t even possibly understand. But the intimacy of this is overwhelming. I can barely look at the scars myself and this woman…this woman worships them. She strokes my hands over her chest and adds, “Your scars make you My Hayden.” She inhales a shaky breath and utters three soft words that I’d never imagine hearing from a woman seeing me this way.

“I love you.”

Sadness lifts from my very soul at her proclamation and the absolute devotion swimming in her eyes. She loves me? How? How can she possibly love me after everything I’ve told her? What kills me…what completely guts me…is the attachment and love she displays for every part of me. All of my flaws. All of my darkness.

She looks at me as if my scars allow her to love me even more.

My voice is gone. Unwilling or unable to reply and return her feelings. Probably both. A knot creeps up my throat because I’m not even sure I have that emotion in me to reciprocate. It died inside me a long time ago and I have nothing more to give her. And f*ck! She deserves it. Vi deserves more. So much more.

Instead of watching her loving eyes turn to pain from my silence, I yank her to me, slamming my lips to hers in a hard, all-consuming kiss. It’s all I can give her right now.

My touch. My passion. And even…my pain.

As I hug her body to mine, the silky skin of her back feels foreign as it brushes against my bare wrists.

Scars against flesh.

Hearts against souls.

And it’s in that one moment that 11:11 ticks by and I physically choose to live in this moment and not wish for another.

If only it didn’t all make me feel so wrecked.





EVERYTHING IN NUMBERS



I glance outside my patio door to see Hayden leaning over the railing. His head hanging, his posture sagging. I turn to the clock.





11:11


I watch him carefully and can tell he’s doing his ritual. As much as I wish it didn’t, it feels like a personal strike to my heart. Last night was so tender, so meaningful, so completely intimate.