Page 80 of Loving London

The one and only truth is love. I’ve had it all along, and I finally believe in it.

London

“True joy comes when one’s heart is completely open and vulnerable to the world.”

—London Wright

The sun is just starting to warm the earth with its light. Its rays sneak into the bedroom between the fluttery white curtains that dance from the salty air of the sea.

After visiting Loïc’s granddad yesterday, we came back to the cottage where we plan to stay for the rest of our vacation.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve been so happy. The obvious reason for that is because there hasn’t been one.

It’s hard to wrap my mind around the past three years.

I think of that girl who basically rubbed her boobs against Loïc’s dirty truck that hot May day. In hopes of what? A booty call, a one-night stand, attention?Who was she?God, I barely recognize her.How did she ever win over Loïc?

I was never a bad person. I did the best I could with the knowledge I had of the world, and at that point, I was looking through entitled, spoiled, rose-colored glasses.

Loïc thinks I saved him, but he’s wrong. He saved me. He saved me from myself, from me living a shallow, self-centered existence. I know that sort of life would never have led to happiness. No one can live a life of genuine happiness without experiencing the gift of loving someone more than themselves. True joy comes when one’s heart is completely open and vulnerable to the world. Yes, with that vulnerability comes potential for great pain, but the pain is what allows us to appreciate the love. Loïc taught me that. Change comes with knowledge. As soon as I knew better, I demanded more from my life.

“What were you giggling about?” Loïc’s tired but alluring voice whispers from behind me as his arm that’s wrapped around my middle pulls me against him.

His firm chest against my back causes an intoxicating pressure to start to build within me. I turn around to face him, immediately lost in his impossibly blue depths.

“What was funny?” he asks again with a sly grin.

He knows I can’t think straight when confronted with a Loïc who’s just woken up. His hair all tousled and his sleepy expression just make me want him more.

I blink, clearing my lust-hazed mind. “Oh, I was just thinking how much things have changed since the car wash.”

“God, have they ever.” He lets out a chuckle, raspy and sexy, from deep within his chest.

I place my lips against his skin, and his pectoral muscles tighten at the contact.

“I love it here,” I whisper between kisses.

“Me, too.”

“We need to come here a lot.” I kiss my way down his stomach.

“We will,” he says with a pant.

My hand that’s splayed across his chest can feel the wild beating of his heart as my other hand explores beneath his boxers before pulling them off.

I take Loïc in my mouth, and he groans in pleasure, his fingers pulling at the bedsheets. There is nothing I love more than rendering Loïc completely helpless with want. I crave his release. Watching him come undone with ecstasy is one of my favorite things.

When he’s finished, I kiss up his body. With every touch of my lips, I’m saying a prayer of gratitude.Thank you for this man. Thank you for this life. Thank you.

“I love you,” he utters breathlessly when I reach his face.

The adoration that radiates off of him in waves is so tangible that I can feel it hit my skin, absorb, and then permeate my soul with a satisfaction so fulfilling that it aches.

“I love you,” I say back. Those three little words don’t seem to be enough, as they could never carry the entire weight of what I feel. Ever.

In one swift move, Loïc flips us so that my back is against the sheets. In a matter of seconds, we’re one as he enters me hard and fast. There are occasions for slow, sweet, and savory—gentle kisses, words of devotion, and heated breaths. Then, there are times when the need is so great that nothing quenches it but quick and forceful—bed-shaking, toe-curling, animalistic moaning, and skin-slapping with all-consuming love. And Loïc always knows how I need it.

“Who said England wasn’t magical?” Loïc states through panted breaths as we lie beside each other in post-orgasmic euphoria.

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