What the Heart Wants

London 14

It was time to take Sasha home to meet London.

This was only 14 years overdue. England had been right all along. He’d been a fool.

Arriving back at his home, where she’d collapsed on the sidewalk less than 8 weeks ago, was a surreal experience. It didn’t feel like a few short weeks ago that she’d been standing there alone contemplating walking away and never looking back.

Now she sat nervously on the couch awaiting the arrival of her 14-year-old daughter. The baby of the woman he’d left her for. The baby who had grown up without a mother, because hers had died.

Each car that passed frayed her nerves even more and Clint must be able to feel it.

He chuckled as he plopped down beside her, pulling her over into his lap. “Nervous much?” he teased. “She’s only a 14-year-old girl, you can handle her.” He teased.

“She is England’s 14-year-old girl. And I am… not England.” She finished without a flourish, looking uncertainly up at the ceiling from her collapsed position.

“No, you are not.” He agreed seriously. “England wanted you to raise this welp of a girl. She’ll help you. You’ll be fine.” He winked sighing contentedly.

“I can almost feel how happy she finally is.” He mused to himself, lost in his own private revalry.

Confusion knitting her brows from his last statement, “ London or England?” She voiced her uncertainty.

"Both of them… “UK is very excited that I’m back in town, and she’s going to be thrilled with all the news we have for her. She always wanted siblings… and you’ve given her 3… of which she’s the oldest. She’s gonna love that!” he chuckled, crowing like an old red rooster.

Absently thrumming his fingers up and down my neckline to distract me from obvious nerves, this game was quickly skirting into dangerous territory with my skin beginning to dance everywhere he touched.

Sensing her subtle change of mood, his fingers single-mindedly got more deft and determined to see what other responses they could generate, eliciting a contented sigh from Sasha as his mouth moved along her jawline to capture hers and start a shoving match with their tongues.

I could kiss him for hours and never get bored. Each kiss so familiar and so different all at the same time. This man made my mind spin trying to understand his intricacies and take in all his complexities. How could he be this dangerous demon of a lover and this gentle lovemaker as well?

My subconscious mind marveled at how much we’d accomplished in such a short time. Connecting with the twins so efficiently that Cayden was beginning to call Clint regularly, reporting that Cane just wasn’t sure or ready to let either of us in further. Somehow he’d gotten it into his head that his relationship with his parents might suffer, or that they might think he loved us more than them.

Sensitive Cane, so like him to consider all the feelings of everyone involved while overlooking his own. Such a soft-hearted child, but he had bonded with his brother, and it was almost enough for Sasha to know that they spoke multiple times daily and saw each other as much as they could given the distance of proximity in which they lived to each other.

Sasha was so lost in her pleasant thoughts of her twin boys, she hadn’t noticed that Clint was staring at her expectantly or that their make out session had ceased.

“Did I miss something,” she stared down at him from her perch in the nexus of his lap; refocusing both her thoughts and energies to giving Clint her full attention. Scooting into a seated position beside him on the couch, she leveled him with her most dazzling smile.

“Just me telling you how thrilled London is going to be with having you as a mother, and finally coming home to live with me as she should always have.”

“Well, first… I wouldn’t lead with the mother thing and second… Are you sure that she’s going to be happy being uprooted and implanted into this makeshift family, ugh thing?” she finished without a flourish, kind of toning out the volume to stop herself from finishing the sentence that she wasn’t totally sure she should express out loud.

Clint looked as if she’d physically struck him, she almost thought he might burst into tears and suck his thumb, his lip protruded at least 3 fresh inches. This was not her Wolf King, as a matter of fact, most of the traits she’d loathed about him for so long had been eerily absent since they’d been dealing with setting things right, most specifically the children.

At least he knew how to compartmentalize… that would come in handy. And what was she complaining about anyway? He couldn’t always be panting after her, could he? He wasn’t really an animal. She finished the thought glumly.

As if keying in on her thoughts, he chose that exact moment to pounce and pin her to the couch beneath him. The swell in his nether region banishing all the irrational doubts she’d just given birth to seconds before regarding his unbanked desire for her, his demeanor and his outright animalistic tendencies.

“Clint,” she questioned tentatively, slanting a glance at his hungry scowl as his teeth bit into his full lower lip before his tongue darted out to tease her senses. Her eyes became hooded as the evidence of his arousal pressed to her secret place prompted a blush in response to the heat spreading through her limbs from her melting core.

“Clint,” she said more firmly, almost as if in warning; which only served to further embolden him. He pinned both her wrists firmly above her head with one hand while using the other to explore first her neck, collar bone and flirt gently with her side boob.

“Clint,” she sighed, not able to channel any of the admonition she was trying to convey; this entreaty was complete surrender. Happy to yield, she couldn’t even give a convincing impression of struggling against his hold on her wrists.

In answer to her pleas, Clint had her dress lifted, cotton undies pulled aside and had inserted the head of his d**k before she could draw her next breath.

Mindless in her passion, Sashas last conscious thought was, “Yes… this is what I was made for.”

After the too quick mating, Sasha found herself in the bathroom when London finally arrived. As if this wasn’t going to be awkward enough, now London would be able to tell what they’d just done. Kids were really intuitive.

Oh God, She thought as she wet a washcloth to wash her face. She did know that she couldn’t wash away the evidence, but somehow the damp cloth made her feel a scant bit better. It was at least giving her time to pull the dredges of her tattered nerves together enough to get through this meeting.

What was she doing? This was Clint’s daughter. It would be fine. Sasha, get ahold of yourself, you're overreacting. Eventually, this will be fine.

Nothing could have prepared her for the scene that awaited her as she rounded the corner into the small living room.

Clint and an older man were chest to chest, breathing heavily, barely able to disguise their obvious contempt for each other. Neither noticed when she entered the room, but the two identical pairs of blue eyes turned to welcome the new player to the game.

The younger, obviously London with her father's telltale Auburn hair a full shade brighter (if that was possible), stared, unable to stop her mouth from gaping. The elder, remarkably calm when she took her index finger and closed her granddaughter's gaping mouth.

Quickly gaining her composure, “Who the hell are you?” quipped London, obviously perturbed that Sasha was at home enough to have come from the back portion of the house. Crossing her arms over her chest in an unconscious protective move, she stamped her booted foot and got into a wide-legged fighting stance.

The rude greeting snapped all the adults out of their stupors, eliciting loud protests from each simultaneously. All the displeased comments fell on deaf ears, London was solely focused on Sasha and undeterred to temper her attitude. The swelling howl of her rapidly heating blood made her deaf to their cries of displeasure.

As the protests died down to murmurs of displeasure, disappointment, some tongue clicking… London was still singularly irritated by Sasha's presence, even looking her up and down and narrowing her eyes.

This girl was threatened. She did not like this turn of events at all. This was not going to be okay.

“Hi London,” Sasha attempted tentatively with a genuine smile that originated in her glowing silver eyes, raising her right hand in a physical representation of her greeting attempt.

Rolling her eyes and pursing her lips, London huffed then knit her lips together as if to never speak again. When a solid thump resounded through the room, as her grandmother swatted her rump breaking her very grown-up display of temper.

Clint’s lip visibly pouted as her clear blue eyes filled with tears, shattering the illusion she’d so successfully portrayed just moments before. Looking to her grandmother with crestfallen panic, as if to say, “How could you?”, she swelled and swelled with intake after intake of breath.

Stepping between the identical blue eyes, the Stallworth gentle man with shock white hair expertly diffused them without firing a single shot. If only he could use some of those skills when dealing with Clint, but apparently, where Clint was concerned, all his reason was lost in a torrent of testosterone-fueled rage.

“Hello,” he politely chimed. “My name is Dale, this is my lovely bride Virginia,” he continued, gesturing toward the white-haired blue-eyed older woman, as he wrapped his left arm over her shoulder.

“And this little spit fire here,” he paused to cradle her next to his ribs under his right arm, successfully quelling her growing unease. “This is our London, Clint’s daughter.” He finished without embellishment.

“I’m so pleased to meet all of you.” Sasha finished honestly and matter-of-factly, seeing no need to inject extra sentiment, hoping that the truth of the moment and the statement would in itself portray the intentioned meaning.

Now was not the time for fluff or subterfuge. Here only honesty would be appreciated.

“Should we all just sit.” Clint gestured toward the couch and chairs occupying most of the available space.

He sat on the couch where we’d just finished making love what seemed like an eternity ago, and patted the seat next to him, beckoning me with his green gold eyes.

Reaching out my hand, too late to hide the wedding band from the three observers, whose eyes quickly darted from his ring to mine then to rest on Clint expectantly.

London looked at the floor, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as her grandmother dabbed her nose and sniffled into her handkerchief.

The angry blush taking over London’s face the only telltale sign she was still breathing, she was so resolute.

Nodding in encouragement, Clint stood to pull me next to him before sinking down into the couch, positioning his right arm over my shoulders to snuggle me into his side, much like Dale had done before with Virginia.

The symbolism wasn’t lost on anyone.

“Dad, why?” London said, still staring at an imaginary spot on the rug.

“UK, the simple reason is, that I’ve been in love with this woman for over 15 years, and we’ve wasted enough time.” He answered gently, much more softly than I’d anticipated. He was a talented psychiatrist. It was amazing to watch all these facets and nuances of his personality at work.

“Please remember that simple thought going forward, okay? Everything is going to change, and it may be hard for a while… but most things are before they get better.” He smiled at the end, drawing her tentative downcast gaze, as she shook her head in affirmation.

I could see her visible discomfort at not giving in to his silent entreaty of compromise, how difficult it was for her to deny him a smile in response to his attempts. But she didn’t relent. She held fast to her insolence, her teenage instincts kicking in and aiding her in denying him the sweet reprieve he sought. A simple smile.

Sasha sat astounded at the strength of the man sitting next to her. Every once in a while, he would catch her eye, give her a reassuring wink, a comforting squeeze or pat her knee.

For the next half hour he updated his family on how everything had changed, detailing for them exactly what had changed and answered the many questions they presented him.

London sat and listened in awe to the fact that she had brothers and a sister. Her eyes sparkled with wonder and she openly dissected me when she didn’t think I was paying attention. She was curious. So was I.

Maybe that small boon would work in our favor.

The second hour, London was asked to go to her room to allow the adults to chat freely. Her reluctance to leave the room was obvious, her eyes darting from Clint to her grandfather and finally resting on me. Entreating me to advocate for her to stay within earshot of the discussion.

I grasped this small fragile cord, “Maybe London and I can go into the kitchen to get to know each other a little better.” I chimed with a hopeful glance directed at Clint scooting every so slightly away from him.

Nothing doing. His stern gaze fell first on me and then on her, immediately sensing and shutting down the nescent conspiracy. Slowly shaking his head and tightening his hold on my hand, “I need you here…” he stopped short of finishing his thought.

Stamping her foot angrily, London ungracefully and very noisily made her exit from the room a personal statement of how displeased she was to be cut out of the conversation at this point.

“London,” Clint said in warning, quieting her noisy, childlike retreat, yet not successful to stop the adolescent slamming of her door.