Page 72 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
Margarite comes to clear the final plates away, then brings us out coffee and homemade mint chocolates. Then she brings out her husband, Philip, who had done all the cooking, and the small room of people cheers, while he does an elaborate bow and then goes around and shakes everyone’s hands while we compliment the food.
I insist on paying and leaving a substantial tip for the couple, and, as we stand from the table, I reach out and slip my fingers through Sophia’s. It feels so good to be holding her hand again, and she makes no move to pull away. The rest of the world vanishes, and, as all of the other diners collect their belongings and file their way out, and as Margarite and Philip clear the tables around us, I can see only Sophia. I reach up with my other hand and twisted a lock of her red hair around my finger, marvelling at how she’s real and not a figment of my imagination. And she gazes up at me with those wide, blue eyes, and her perfect lips parted, and I know I have no choice other than to kiss her, right here in the middle of someone else’s front room.
I slip my arm around her waist, pulling her into me, and I duck my head to hers. Our lips meet, and it’s a tentative kiss at first, soft and gentle, as though we’re both remembering if we know how to do this right. But then she exhales a sigh, her breath tasting faintly of coffee and chocolate and mint, and that tiny action goes straight to my cock. I hold her tight, crushing her up against me. Our mouths open, and our kisses deepen, tongues edging out to touch and then taste and explore. Her hands creep up my back, her fingers fisting my shirt. I sense the passion in her, the years we lost having gathered momentum.
Someone clears their throat nearby, and we break apart.
“Time to go, folks,” Margarite chirps.
We’re the last ones left. We grin at each other, a little embarrassed but also stupidly happy.
“Thanks, Margarite,” Sophia says, her cheeks flushed pink.
“You’re welcome.” She gives her a wink. “Always enjoy seeing a couple so in love.”
Sophia’s blush deepens, and she catches my eye and then glances away again. Neither of us correct the older woman or tell her we’ve only just been reunited after ten years apart.
Suddenly, those ten years don’t matter anymore.
We leave the pop-up restaurant, still hand in hand, and stop outside on the street.
“Don’t go home yet,” I tell her. “I don’t want this to end.”
“Do you live far from here?”
I shake my head. “No, fifteen minutes, that’s all.”
A small smile touches her lips. “Much closer than travelling all the way back to my parents’ house.”
I understand exactly what she’s saying, and my heart lifts. “Yes, it is. Come on.”
I hold her hand tightly as we hurry down the street. I hope none of my flatmates will be home and throw up a silent prayer of thanks that I made the effort to tidy up. I’m not a perfect man, I know that, but I will try to be a better one if it means Sophia will be in my life.
By the time we reach my building, we’re both flushed and out of breath. I let her into my flat and listen for any signs that we have company. “Good, sounds like everyone is?—”
She doesn’t even let me finish my sentence. Her arms wrap around my neck, and her elegant, slender body presses against mine, her mouth claiming mine for her own. I’m not going to complain. I groan as our tongues meet, and I slide my hands down her body, taking in every curve as though she’s a sculpture I’m trying to memorise.
I go to tug off her top, but she pulls away slightly. “Wait, I have some scarring on my arm, from where I’ve had treatment. They’re not pretty?—”
I tug her back in. “I don’t care about that, Sophia. You’re perfect.”
She shakes her head. “Please, don’t think that. I’m not. I’m so far from perfect, it’s not funny.”
“Stop. You’re perfect to me.”
Tears fill her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I don’t normally cry so much on a date.”
“Well, you can’t cry while I’m kissing you.”
I lean in and place another kiss to her lips.
“No,” she says against my mouth. “I can’t.”
“Or if I kissed you here.” I duck my head and kiss her neck.
She lets out a sigh. “No, not there either.”
Then I reach the bottom of her long-sleeved top and pull it up over her head, revealing her pale skin. A tubular stretchy bandage covers the lower half of her right arm, to hide her scarring, I assume.
