Page 86 of Licks

“You jump out of airplanes and off bridges. You’re trying to tell me lying safely on the ground is suddenly giving you a fear of heights? Try again.”

He might love me. That didn’t mean he wanted to hear about my ticking biological clock. Talk of babies was a fast track to losing the guy, but there was no escaping him or what I’d blurted. I quit wriggling and groaned. “After we had sex in my apartment, the first thing I thought was that I wished I wasn’t on the pill. I wanted you to come inside me. I wanted us to join in every way possible. Make a baby. So I could have a piece of you forever. I’m sorry. I know how it sounds, and we’ve—”

His lips descended on mine, swallowing my embarrassed babbling. Our desperate moans mingled. I tugged his hair. He sucked on my bottom lip, each taste deeper than the last. Our tongues licked and slid restlessly.

Once. Again. More, more, more.

This wasn’t the sweet kiss that built heaven. This was the kiss that sent well-meaning people to hell.

His lips moved in a carnal rhythm, erotic and panty-melting. A rock dug into my back. I didn’t care. We were at it again, dry-fucking like kids in a lookout spot. This time in broad daylight.

He came up for air, panting. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want us to have a baby.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You have no idea how serious I am.” He pressed his erection into me, right where I ached.

I liked his serious a whole lot. “You want a baby?”

“No. Not a baby. I want our baby. I want us. A family. God, I love you. I’ve loved you forever. I’ve never wanted anything this much, Gwen.”

A baby. Our baby. “Seriously?”

“Ask me again, I’ll tell you again.”

I pressed my knees into his hips, keeping him close, wanting him closer. “We haven’t even been on a proper date. Baby talk goes against all pre-first-date rules.”

“There are no rules with us, Possum. How many times do I have to tell you that? And I don’t want a baby tomorrow, but you’re it for me. The possibility of having a future with you? A family? That’s all I need.”

“I love you.” My harshly whispered promise caught me off-guard.

“My girl,” he crooned. We breathed in sync, and I inhaled his soapy man scent, a hint of spice mixing with the dirt below us. I didn’t want to move from this spot—under him, with him, safe in his arms. He lifted up suddenly, intent in his stunning eyes. “I’m going to marry you one day, Gwen Hamilton.”

I bit my lip as my eyes filled. My pulse pounded in my ears. This beat the rush of flying alongside an eagle or conquering my CrossFit goals. It was adrenaline on steroids. I was so far gone for this man…still and always.

I slipped my hands up the back of his shirt, splayed my palms on his heated skin. The planes of his muscles tightened. It was the wrong move. Our heavy petting accelerated to groping, neither of us able to hit the brakes. He fitted his hand under my ass, tilted me up while thrusting, the thick denim between us infuriating. We should stop. We should breathe. I reached for his belt buckle.

And a childish screech sliced through the air.

We flew apart, breathing hard. A blond boy with a model airplane crested the hill, pumping his pudgy legs while flying his toy. I licked my lips, tasting August and his promise to marry me one day. God. His eyes were as dark as I’d ever seen them. My body burned, sensitive and swollen.

The boy’s parents followed shortly, casting wary glances our way. Not that I blamed them. We looked homeless again, covered in dirt, clothes askew.

August straightened his T-shirt and motioned to the box. “We should probably focus on this.” Still, he eyed me hungrily and adjusted himself in his jeans.

That move ruined me. We should open the box, but I only had one night left with him. Whatever was in there would change everything. I kept picturing Raiders of the Lost Ark and ghosts ripping through the air, sucking the life out of all who dared lay eyes on the ark of the covenant. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t turn into a liquefied skeleton, but the contents we unearthed could devastate me, ruin my last moments with August. As desperately as I wanted answers, the box would be here tomorrow. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t.

I needed one night with him, an afternoon even, before I unleashed my mother’s secrets. “Will you meet me?” I asked, suddenly tentative. “At my place.”

“You’d rather open it there?”

“I’d rather shower with you there. I’ll deal with the box later.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed down his tanned throat. “I’ll drive your way,” he said. “I think it’s faster.”