Page 27 of London’s Calling, Part 1 (London’s Calling)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mickey

Roni drops onto the bed beside me, and I try to catch my breath. I’m insatiable for this woman. It’s late afternoon, and I’ve just fucked her for the second time, yet my dick is semi hard and preparing for the next round.

I tuck an arm behind my head as Roni rolls to her side and runs her fingertips up my torso, and I glance down at her. Her lips are kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded.

“You okay,” I ask, running the back of my fingers along her cheek.

“Yeah, but I’m starving,” she drawls, mischief in her eyes as she circles my nipple with her fingernail.

“Oh really,” I tease, rolling her over and covering her body with mine. I take her lips, tasting her, us, and my dick hardens instantly.

She smacks my arm and breaks the kiss. “No, you fucking nymph. I mean actual food, sustenance.”

I lean in and bite her lip, sucking it into my mouth before releasing it with a pop. “Hmm, I know what you meant. If I feed you, does that mean I get to taste more of you later?”

Her mouth slants to the side. “Maybe. Feed me and find out.” She taps my chest, indicating for me to get off her, which I do.

She gets to her feet, still naked, and I watch as she bends over in front of me, giving me a clear view of that sweet pussy of hers, glistening with my cum and her own juices.

I groan, and she looks over her shoulder to me. “You are killing me right now!”

She laughs as she pulls on a robe, tying the belt loosely around her, and I swing my legs off the bed and get up. Before she can take a step, I hook an arm around her waist, pulling her back against my chest.

Tilting my hips, I whisper, “Feel that?” She moans, letting me know she can feel my cock pressing into her arse. “Good, keep that in mind while you eat. Think of it as a taste of what happens after I’ve fed you.”

Her hand snakes up and around my neck, caressing the back of my neck with her fingers, and she turns her face up and to the side, kissing me. “Hurry up and feed me then because I’m craving more than a taste.” She kisses me again before pulling away, and I let her go, willingly, somewhat.

If I could keep her wrapped in my arms all day, naked and ready for me, then I would. The thought hits me full force, and I wait for the impending desire to run the other way. But it doesn’t materialise.

I pull on my boxers and follow her downstairs to the kitchen. My eyes watch her hips swaying in front of me, but my mind is somewhere else entirely.

My father’s words come back to me, “Be careful with her, Mickey. The apple never falls far from the tree, son.”, but I feel his words are useless. Kind of like opening the door after the horse has bolted.

I’m falling for her.

“Hello! Mickey.” Something flashes in front of me, and I’m snapped from my thoughts to find Roni waving her hand. “Were you looking at my arse, Mickey Rawlins?” she asks, tilting her head and smiling wide.

“Me? No, of course not,” I say, feigning offence. “Come on, what are we eating,” I ask, spinning her around and shuffling her along from behind.

“Something dirty,” she says salaciously, twisting away from my reach when I try to tickle her. She turns to face me, walking backwards and waving her finger at me. “Nah-uh, no slapping the tush,” she admonishes, knowing exactly what I was thinking.

“The tush?” I say, screwing my face up at her lame word choice.

“Yeah, tush. I’m a lady, you know.” The pitch of her voice rises and her pronunciation more formal.

I lunge at her, snatching hold of her waist before she can escape. “A lady, huh?”

“Yes, a lady,” she says as my fingers bunch up her robe and slip a hand beneath it. “A lady who will wither away if she doesn’t eat—”

“Something more than my cock, m’lady.” I growl, burying my head in her neck and nipping at the delicate skin of her neck.

She giggles, trapping my head between her neck and shoulder as she tries, unsuccessfully, to stop me.

“You’re disgusting,” she cries as I bend her over, trailing my mouth down between the opening of her robe, nudging the material aside and seeking out a nipple.

Finding what I’m looking for, despite her best efforts to stop me by pushing at my shoulders, I wrap my lips around her nipple and suck it into my mouth, eliciting a deep groan from her.

“Oh god…Mickey,” she moans while somewhere upstairs a phone begins to ring.

I don’t stop immediately, letting the hand holding her arse slide down to slip my fingers between her thighs. The ringing stops, but starts again almost instantly, and I reluctantly release her nipple.

“Someone is keen to get hold of you,” I say, raising her to an upright position.

“It’s my stomach ringing to demand I feed it.

” I laugh, releasing her, and she pulls her robe back over her uncovered breast and reties the belt tighter, then she points to a bunch of menus pinned to the fridge.

“Pick whatever you want. Just order me something.” Then she disappears upstairs to see who is calling her.

The menus are all mine, so I find the one for my favourite Thai and place an order.

One of the things I love about London is the extensive choice of food available to order.

I put the menu back and open the fridge, hoping Roni has something to drink.

Grabbing a couple of beers, I pop the tops using the bottle opener on the wall beside the fridge.

Turning to head into the lounge, I spot an empty bottle on the side.

“No fucking way!” Placing the beers on the counter I reach over and pick the bottle up, spinning to check the label. There really isn’t any need because I know exactly what it is.

“Did you—” Roni’s words come to an abrupt stop when she sees me holding the empty bottle of whiskey.

“You drank my 1991 Don Ramsey Glenfiddich?”

“Er…yeah,” she says with a grimace. “Was it expensive?” I look at the bottle then to her. “Sorry,” she says, but it comes out as more of a question than an apology.

I put the bottle down and pick up our beers, then I stalk toward her.

When I reach her, I hold out the bottle for her.

She wraps her fingers around it, and I pull it back, forcing her to step into me, and as she looks up with a raised brow, I say, “You owe me, Ice Queen, and I plan to collect later.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. And just so you know, I’m more than happy to pay the price.” There’s promise in her words, and the heat between us builds.

I had used her nickname to distance myself from her, from whatever the fuck is going on between us, but she batted it away like an irritating fly. Because, truthfully, she is far from an ice queen and much more reminiscent of a black widow, weaving her web around me and luring me into her trap.