Page 8 of Eternally London

“Yes, London. I want to make a baby with you. Right. Now. You think that’d be possible?” His voice drops an octave, and that husky whisper causes a rush of desire to penetrate my body.

I clear my throat. “Actually, yes. Remember when we were traveling last month, I was supposed to get my birth control refilled, and I forgot? So, I’m not positive, but I think it’s perfect timing as far as that goes.”

Loïc gifts me with his irresistible boy-next-door smile as he makes quick work of removing his boxers.

Then, he crawls atop me and kisses me hard. His mouth and tongue move against mine in a passionate dance. I’m delirious when he pulls away, his lips hovering millimeters from mine, his breaths my own. I open my eyes and blink as he comes into focus.

“I love you more than anything in this world, London Berkeley.”

“I love you the same.”

His fingers thread through mine as he lifts my arms above my head. His lips press against my own once more, and when he enters me, it’s unlike anything I’ve felt. After he pulls his mouth away, my gaze finds his, and he holds me there. The intensity in his stare leaves me breathless. His moves are deliberate and powerful. Each thrust is deep, a promise—one that’s offering me the world. So many emotions fill my heart until they’re flooding out, falling from my eyes and rolling down my cheeks.

The sex is unhurried and intense. I’ve experienced what it’s like when Loïc worships my body with his. He touches all the right places, drawing out sensations I didn’t know existed. Pleasure engulfs me. His flame lights my soul on fire while his love simultaneously soothes the blaze.

Making love to Loïc has always been phenomenal. But making a baby with him is amazing.

I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life because it’s nothing short of perfection.

Loïc

“Hope is the catalyst for happiness. The first step to a future void of torment is to allow one’s heart to be open and vulnerable to trust.”

—Loïc Berkeley

“You have reached your destination,” the female GPS voice says from my phone as we pull into the drive. I shift the rental car into park, stopping next to a quaint little bungalow that sits atop a little hill.

Dixon and Sarah bought a home together in Silver Springs, Maryland. It’s a nice suburb right outside of Washington, DC. Sarah says that it’s a great community with wonderful schools for Evan, and it’s not too far of a commute for Dixon, who still works with injured vets at the Walter Reed hospital in DC.

“It’s super cute,” London says.

“Yeah, it is,” I agree as I turn off the car’s ignition. “I can see why Sarah loves it.”

I can’t help but smile as a conversation with thirteen-year-old Sarah comes to mind.

“Someday, we’re going to live in an adorable house. It’s going to be white with fancy shutters like Red Riding Hood’s grandma’s house in the woods. You know, all cute and cottage-like with a white picket fence. That’s where we’re going to live, Loïc. Just me and you. But there won’t be any big, bad wolves in our story. We’ll have killed them all. It will just be me, you, and muffins.”

“Muffins?” I laugh. I shift, so my back is against the bricks of the building behind me.

Sarah lies across the pavement of the alley, her head resting in my lap.

“Yes, muffins! Doesn’t Red Riding Hood carry a basket of muffins in the story?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember the story.”

“Well, I think she does. What kind of muffins should we have?” She doesn’t wait for my answer before she blurts out, “Chocolate! Oh, and blueberry with real blueberries, the kind that squirt sweet juice into your mouth as you take a bite. What kind do you want?” she asks eagerly.

“I don’t know, but you’re making me really hungry, Sarah.” My stomach growls, agreeing with my statement.

“Come on. Pick one.”

I think for a moment. “Well, I do remember this muffin that my mom made once. It was yellow…I think. It had all of these black specs in it. I want to say it maybe tasted kind of like lemon. But it wasn’t lemon.”

“Poppy seed!” Sarah says with excitement. “I’ve never had one of those, but I saw the recipe in a magazine once. I remember the black specs. Those are poppy seeds.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.” I nod. “Then, we’ll have chocolate, blueberry, and poppy seed.”

“I can’t wait, Loïc. How long do you think it will be until we have our cottage full of muffins?”

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