Page 32 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

TWENTY

WEST

All I want is to stay in bed with London, burying my cock inside her so deep, I’d convince her to never leave. I spent years pining for her, running a fool’s errand, searching for her among the millions of faces in New York City. I’d almost given up hope.

Especially the day we crossed paths, about a year and a half after we’d been forced apart by the adoption.

I was seventeen, and she was fifteen. I’d remembered our age difference. In fact, I’d remembered everything about her: the birthmark on her hand, her long black hair, the way her eyes shined whenever she’d show me a new drawing.

But that day at Coney Island, all my hope of reuniting with her shattered within seconds.

I meant what I told her about quantum entanglement. It’s always been around us.

I nearly broke when I saw her that day. The sun glistened off her black hair.

She stood in front of the bumper cars, watching them going around in circles.

Holding a large ball of cotton candy on a stick, she used her other hand to point and yell at whoever was out on the track.

She wasn’t tipping her head back in laughter, but I couldn’t help noticing the smile on her face and the dimple in her cheek.

She was happy.

Free .

I stood several feet down from her then, against the fence. It had been over a year since I’d last seen her. Since our circumstances ripped us apart. But I knew she would recognize me. She had to.

I didn’t look much different. My muscles had grown, and my jaw had become more defined, but she would recognize. My eyes hadn’t changed, and they were her favorite. She never went a day without telling me.

I’d promised her I would find her again, and I had.

She was there, within reach.

I watched her nervously, gathering up the courage to speak to her. To tell her I found her like I always promised I would.

In a cruel twist of fate, the words got lodged in my throat when she looked at me.

I’d caught the attention of her gray eyes. The ones I’d stared at for days in our foster home. The ones I fell in love with long before I even understood the depth of what it meant to love someone.

Reality had punched me in the gut when she looked at me with no expression. No recognition. I’d opened my mouth to speak. There was less than ten feet between us, but I knew she was further away than that.

My mother’s voice called for me in the distance, and a chill hit the back of my neck when London looked away. Not even hearing my name pulled her back to me. I was a ghost, a stranger, a blank face.

I was heartbroken that day, wondering how London could have forgotten me so easily.

How could she have let me go and pretend I no longer existed?

My teenage mind and heart were at war that day.

I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of her forgetting what we’d been through, even if it had been over a year before.

Trauma like ours wasn’t easily forgotten.

Then, years later, when my mother told me my brother’s new wife had amnesia, then seeing her and Heath at Julianna’s birthday party, it all clicked into place.

London hadn’t forgotten me by choice. I was stolen from her, just like all her other memories before she was fourteen.

Now, when I press my lips to her forehead as she sleeps, I wonder what memories have come back to her. If any.

She moans and moves underneath me. I’ve stirred her awake, and a flash of guilt washes over me. That is until I hear her moan and watch the dimple in her cheek deepen.

“Good morning,” I hum across her skin, dragging my nose along her collarbone. I slip my hand over her breast, pinching her nipple.

She hums, too, constantly shifting beneath me.

I know I’ve already driven her wild. My suspicion is confirmed when I slip my hand between her legs and am met with wetness.

I start to circle her swollen bud, and her head jerks back, digging into my pillow.

Her jaw falls slack as a loud moan escapes her.

“It is a good morning.” I growl. “Isn’t it?”

“It is.” She raises her hands and wraps them around my neck.

Her fingers touch the metal chain and then her eyes snap open as if a blaring alarm is sounding off.

Fuck .

I forgot that I put the necklace back on when I woke up an hour ago, or maybe it was two.

However long ago it was, I woke up long enough to use the bathroom and grab myself a glass of water while London stayed in my bed, sleeping deeply and peacefully.

I pull my hand from between her legs and move over her, resting my arms on either side of her head.

It isn’t that I don’t want London to see the necklace I’ve worn since my fourteenth birthday. I’ve thought about this moment since seeing her again. Would she remember it? Would it stir up a memory for her?

It has to, right? Considering the drawing she did on the napkin?

Either way, I hold my breath and try as hard as I fucking can not to freak out as she delicately grabs the chain. She holds it between her fingers, using both hands to smooth down the length before her eyes fall to the tiny charm at the end.

I watch her with bated breath, terrified, naively believing this could be it. This could be the moment her memories are triggered. I feel nauseous. My stomach wobbles, and I can’t figure out what to say or do.

Deciding on saying absolutely nothing, I wait and watch, shaking like a leaf with anticipation.

Her brows pull together, and she pulls her chin back. She doesn’t say anything, turning the charm over in her hands.

I’m aware of every breath, and every second of waiting is spent in agony.

“Is this…?” She never looks away from the charm.

Holy shit. This is it.

I swear, I see the memories falling into place for her.

The three lines between her pinched eyebrows disappear as they settle back into their natural place, then she finally looks up at me.

“Big Ben?”

I swallow, loudly. “Yeah.”

“Why?” she asks, confused, her gaze dropping back to the tiny clock tower .

I’m wrong. This isn’t it. This isn’t the moment she remembers.

Disappointment floods my gut, but I try my best to keep breathing and not let it show.

“A birthday gift from a friend,” I tell her plainly. It’s the truth. A vague one, but true.

“Were they from London?” she asks, her mouth tilting into a ghost of a smile.

“No.” I clear my throat.

“Oh.” She frowns. This time, she’s the one who looks disappointed. “What’s the story behind it, then?”

She lifts her chin, staring straight at me. The words stick like glue to the back of my throat, refusing to budge.

“It’s a long, complicated one.” I smirk, letting out a sigh.

I can’t be the one to tell her. Either she won’t believe me, or if she heard me out, what would happen then? Would I run the risk of losing her again? Because she’ll not only remember me, but everything else that comes along with it?

Her face relaxes. “Maybe for another time, then.”

“Another time.” I nod.

She looks at the necklace longingly for a moment before wrapping one hand around the charm. With her other, she drags her black-painted nail down the length of my jaw.

“Kiss me,” she whispers, her eyes falling to my mouth as she tugs on the charm.

I do so without hesitation. My lips press to hers, and I’m transported back to the day she gave me this necklace. The memory plays in my mind, and for a moment, I imagine a world in which she remembers it just like I do.

“Touch me again,” she says against my mouth.

“Are you sure?” I ask, leaning on my left arm while using my free hand to explore her body.

She wiggles beneath me, the heaviness around the topic of my necklace dissolving with every breath. Sadness tugs at the barbed wire wrapped around my wounded heart, but it subsides long enough to allow the happiness I feel wrapped up in London to take over.

My fingers find her swollen clit again.

“You aren’t too sore, are you? I didn’t hurt you last night?” I ask, fighting back a smirk. I don’t ever want London to be in pain or hurt, especially because of me, but there’s a flutter of satisfaction in knowing it’s only because we haven’t been able to stop since last night.

“No.” She shakes her head. “You could never hurt me.”

I grin wickedly. “Do you want me to kiss and make it better?” I start to lower myself down her body, but she stops me, spreading her legs wide.

She lifts her hips to meet me.

My dick is wide awake, our conversation about the necklace now long gone.

She bites down on her bottom lip, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of her tongue piercing, the silver ball sitting on top of her tongue.

She hums as she shakes her head, then pushes against my chest. Fire rages in her eyes as she straddles me as soon as my back hits the mattress. We both laugh, only to stop abruptly when she slides herself over my dick.

Fuck, I’m going to come if she does that again.

Leaning down to meet me, she brushes her nose to mine as she holds back her curtain of raven-colored hair.

“It’s my turn to kiss and make it better,” she whispers.

And holy motherfucking shit.

I’m in love with London Walker.

Her nails scratch the front of my hardened pecs, and my entire body stiffens. Each of her kisses against my muscles is a silent bandage to the pain we’ve been through. The years of silence. London hasn’t regained her memory, but I know she’s in there.

Because the London I fell in love with at fifteen is the same as the one in my bed right now. Only she’s now a twenty-eight-year-old woman. Fucking beautiful.

She lowers herself until her mouth is in line with my cock. She grips onto the base, each of her gold rings glistening in the morning sun. “Tell me what you want me to do, Mr. Knight.”

I sit up and scoot back until my back hits my headboard.

London stays on all fours, crawling to catch up to where I am.

Her full breasts sway as she moves, the curve of her hips on full display with her actions.

She grabs onto my base again, and I hook my finger under her jaw, tilting her face up to me.

“Open that pretty mouth of yours,” I tell her, deepening my voice.

Goddamn, this woman has all of me.

She does as I command. Her pouty lips part, and her jaw drops.

“Let me see your tongue.”

She sticks it out, and my dick jumps. I’m pretty sure I’m already oozing pre-cum. Heat builds in my belly, and my legs start to tingle.

“This.” I tap my finger on the delightful little silver ball. “I’ve been aching to have this sweep across my cock.”

When I pull my finger away, she slips her tongue back into her mouth.

“You’ve been fantasizing about this?”

“You have no fucking idea.”

She doesn’t waste any more time. Opening her mouth, she takes my cock, driving it all the way back until my tip meets the back of her throat.

She gags slightly, but that doesn’t stop her.

Since I’m sitting up, I have better access to her.

I gather her long, black locks around my hand and fist her hair, holding it against the back of her head, guiding her with every thrust.

Heaven. I’ve died and gone to fucking Heaven.

Pressing both hands to the base of my stomach, she moves over my cock, allowing me to guide her.

I gently lift myself off the mattress with every hard thrust, meeting the back of her throat.

The little ball pierced into her tongue is a completely new sensation and adds to the buildup.

I’ve never had a woman suck my cock who had a tongue piercing before.

London is the one and only, and I know from this day forward, she’ll be the only one.

She sucks and puckers her cheeks, her dimple deepening.

I try not to close my eyes or tilt my head back against the headboard.

I want to watch her. I want to watch her tits swinging under her, her eyes widening as she watches my face to see what she’s doing to me.

She licks the tip and drags her tongue up and down the length.

Then she cups my balls as she takes me all in again.

“Holy shit, London,” I grunt.

She moves faster. Or I move her faster. I’m not exactly sure who is doing what. It doesn’t matter. The blood shoots straight for my cock, and two more pumps of her mouth on mine, and my cum is exploding into the back of her throat. My legs shake as I ride out my orgasm.

She swallows my cum and licks the corner of her mouth as she sits up and falls back on her heels.

“Fuck.” I tilt my head back and push my hair off my forehead, catching my breath for only a beat.

Seeing London sitting between my legs, on her heels, bare, and with my cum inside her both ways, does something to me. A switch is flicked. Catapulting myself forward, I wrap my arm around her and spin her around before dropping her down onto the bed .

She yelps, but when she falls back, with her arms above her head, and her hair spread out maniacally around her, I lift her leg until her knee meets her chest.

She’s spread wide and open for me.

I lean down and give her a gentle kiss on her forehead, then her mouth.

“You’re right,” I tell her. “This is a good morning.”

Lifting her hand, she trails it down the side of my face.

For a moment, I see her eyes change. It’s brief and fast, almost as if she recognizes something.

I’ve learned it’s a sign for when she remembers something or is thinking about those puzzle pieces she talks about.

False hope, probably. Another fool’s errand.

Though I can’t help the flicker of hope sparking in my chest that maybe she’s starting to remember. We’d never been together like this until last night, or even the night before, but maybe it is possible she’s starting to remember me.

“Don’t you have a ton of bars to run or something?” she teases. “I would feel terrible if you started neglecting your businesses for me.”

“Oh, trust me.” I bare my teeth, pull back my hips, and drive my cock inside her.

She stills, tipping her head back on a gasp.

I hold still where I am and stare into her eyes before I bring my mouth down to her ear and pull my hips back once more.

“If you were the reason my business empire crumbled”—I slam back into her—“it would all be worth it.”