Page 64 of Finding London

The slurping sound of my straw searching for liquid no longer present among the ice in the large margarita glass fills the space, and I stop sucking. Yet Loïc’s now seemingly darkened stare is still on me, and with nothing to occupy my lips, I start to chew on my bottom one.

His gaze is heavy, almost primal. It does something to my insides, and my body instantly responds to him. I feel the flush of desire creep up my neck and the familiar pull in my gut. His eyes dart from my lips to my eyes. Paige laughs at something Cooper said, but I barely hear it. My surroundings are now white noise to my sole focus—the gorgeous man before me.

I grab the bright yellow cotton napkin on the table, twisting and pulling it in my grasp. My palms feel sweaty as my heartbeat continues to accelerate. I’ve felt lust-filled want before, but it has never been this palpable, this urgent. With one look, Loïc has left me a fumbling mess of need with a craving so desperate that I would do almost anything to sate it.

I push back from the table. Clearing my throat, I say quickly, “I’m going to the restroom.”

I walk toward the restroom like my ass is on fire, and while it technically isn’t true, it sure feels like my entire body is ablaze. Inside the restroom, I wash my hands with cold water.

God, I’m a wreck.

My neck is splotchy, and my face is cranberry red. My pupils are dilated, and I look like I’ve just been thoroughly fucked or like I’m on drugs. Sighing, I shake my head to clear it. I don’t do drugs, and unfortunately, I’m in a restaurant, so the initial one isn’t true either.

I pull down on the paper towel from its dispenser and rip off a sheet of the brown paper to dry my hands. The restroom door swings open, and the air instantly changes. I turn, and my eyes go wide as I watch Loïc take two purposeful steps toward me. Before I can formulate a word, his hands grasp the sides of my face as his lips crash against mine. A whimper escapes my mouth as my hands frantically fist into his short hair, pulling him closer.

His hands drop from my face and hold my bare thighs beneath the sundress, lifting me off the ground. I circle my legs around his waist as he walks us past three empty stalls to the larger handicapped one at the end. His mouth continues to move against mine as he uses one arm to fumble with the lock on the door behind us.

I pull my lips from his as my back hits the hard wall behind me. “We’re in a restroom.” My voice is ragged as his body presses me into the hard plaster.

“Yep.” Loïc produces a foil wrapper from his pocket and bites it between his teeth.

I’m contemplating protesting because it’s arestroomwhen I hear him unzip his jeans.

I close my eyes, my chest rising and falling with labored movements. There’s a rip of foil and some movement before Loïc’s lips are on my neck—kissing, biting, sucking.

I’m about to be fucked against the wall in a dirty restroom, and oddly enough, I can’t wait.

“You make me crazy, London,” he whispers against my lips. “I can barely control myself with you. I want to be inside you all…of…the…fucking…time,” he says between kisses.

Before I can respond, he pulls my thong to the side and enters me in one swift movement. I groan with the immense pleasure coursing through my entire body. Loïc kisses me hard, his tongue licking greedily, mimicking the movements of his body below.

I’ve never experienced a high like I do when I’m with Loïc. Everything about him—from his kisses to the way he touches me to the desperation in which he moves inside me, all of it—is so addictive. I need it. I need him. He’s a drug I can’t resist, and I would never want to.

This entire experience—the forceful way in which my back moves up and down against the wall, Loïc’s urgent thrusts, our breaths, our kisses—creates a utopia of forbidden pleasure that sends me over the edge before I know it’s coming. Loïc catches my cries in his mouth as he pumps faster and harder. He forcefully pushes in one last time as his body shudders against mine. I wrap my arms around him and hold him close as we both come down from our releases.

We stand this way for many heartbeats. The restroom is silent, save for our heavy breaths. After a beat, Loïc steps back, pulling me away from the wall. He pulls out of me, and I drop my feet to the floor. He disposes of the condom and buttons his jeans up. I take a moment to situate my clothing, and then we stand, facing each other.

His impossible blues gaze down at me with an expression of wonder. He lifts his hands to my face and runs his thumbs across my cheeks. “You are so amazing.” He gives me a sweet kiss before resting his forehead against mine. “Well, I feel better. How about you?”

I giggle, my hands splayed across his T-shirt-clad chest. “Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good.”

He moves his head back, assesses me again, and shakes it with a smile.

“I’ve never done that before,” I admit.

“Been fucked up against the wall in a Mexican restaurant?” he questions with a smirk.

“Or any restaurant,” I answer.

“Then, that’s another first.”

“Have you?” I question.

“Nope. Never in a Mexican restaurant.”

“What about a restroom in any establishment?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“I plead the fifth.”

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