Page 62 of Lost In London

For whatever reason God didn’t want the Kalmins to fight this battle and everyone had to be okay with that.

Give or Take by Giveon played through my ceiling speakers. Aromas of lemon zest, cream cheese, and other spices and seasonings used to make tonight's chicken alfredo could be smelled from the entrance of my home. Strawberry cheesecake from Loften’s Bakery sat on a cake high-top plate on my counter. Sweet peach Bellini wine chilled next to it.

Delicate fingers grabbed the sides of my shirt until her arms were completely wrapped around me, head resting in the middle of my back. “Can I help?”

That’s been her question every twenty minutes since she arrived at my home.

We were alone.

Just London and me.

Her guard Benny, who she finally introduced me to was outside doing what he does best - guard her.

An hour hasn’t passed and my antsy love bug couldn’t sit down and relax no matter how many fresh-cut strawberries I fed her. No matter how many kisses I gave to reassure her that I had dinner covered and all she needed to do was to relax and let me cater to her.

For our second date, I asked London what she wanted to do. The first thing out of her mouth was that she wanted me to herself with no distractions and good food. I delivered and then some.

Lifting her hand and bringing it to my lips, I had to bite my jaw to keep from groaning, feeling her body shudder. Quickly I learned that the easiest way to gain her trust and boost her confidence was to let her lead. That included letting her lead when it came to permitting me to touch her. She lacked not one ounce of confidence when it came to touching me, something that I admired and turned me on immensely.

The greatest reward was seeing the light getting brighter in her eyes as the days passed.

Placing the lid over my pasta, extra creamy as she requested, my eyes became heavy with each massage of her fingers along my stomach and chest. “Can I feed you?” I breathed out feeling my muscles relax under her touch.

She and I were two greedy lovers warring with our inner obsession of who could touch the other more.

This type of intimacy with London was different and often left me tilting over the edge of delirium. It made me woozy but anxious. Lackluster but thrilling. Paralyzing yet invigorating.

“Only if I can sit on your lap.” Through the cotton of my polo, I felt each kiss of her lips along my back.

Shit.

Releasing my favorite wooden spoon before I broke it from the tensing of my muscles, I fought to keep forward and not turn around to have full access to her. Restraining to keep myself from giving so much, taking so much, I had to practice a lot of self-control. She wanted to sit in my lap while I fed her dinner and I wanted to fest between her thighs while she became my dinner.

London was my alter and I wanted to worship.

“Fix our drinks and I’ll fix our plate.”

Like a waltz dance we’ve been practicing all of our lives, we moved around my kitchen with such fluidness and rhythm that I was tempted to hoist her up on my counter and feed her there just to keep up the normalcy we created by moving in sync with the other.

“Mhm, this is so good. I love how creamy it is.” Sitting Indian-style on my lap, she opened her mouth to take another helping of pasta that I offered.

One plate and two forks.

She fed me and I fed her.

Having her this close to me was such a fulfilling reward. As much as my pride loved the ego boost, being able to have London as my woman came with much humbleness. This was the same woman who avoided me to the point of damn near running a sprint in her heels. Now I had the honor of feeding her. Holding her close in my arms and becoming friends while nailing down my place as a lover in her life.

“You can cook for me anytime that you like.” Once I closed my mouth with it full of the food she fed me, she’d seal my lips closed with a kiss.

I’ve never enjoyed chicken pasta or dinner so much more than this moment here.

Her defensive walls were non-existent. She was being free and herself. That was something I prayed for since I saw the first glimpse of weariness in her eyes. Even those haunting clouds that once followed her around were becoming a thing of the past.

At this moment, one hand gripping her thigh, rubbing up and down in contentment, and the other feeding her. Her in my lap feeding me and her other hand massaged the back of my neck.

God, thank you.

This type of peace you can’t buy with frivolous things. It can’t be bought with false intentions or lies. This type of peace comes from releasing control and letting go.

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