Licks

by Kelly Siskind

  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.”

  2:30 p.m., 9 ½ hours…

  Gwen

  We didn’t kiss the second we entered my apartment. Our clothes didn’t fly off. We didn’t hit the floor and dry-fuck like horny teens.

  Soft brushes had replaced our frantic fumbling: his hand on my hip as I opened my door, my fingers gliding along his forearm when he hung back to close it, his lips on my hair as I placed the box on my kitchen counter. We moved in slow motion, stretching our seconds to make them last. A shower was still in order.

  He followed me into my bathroom and started poking through my stuff.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.

  “Investigating.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged a shoulder and kept nosing through my drawers. Creeper. His PI skills led him to my stash of condoms, lube, and the waterproof vibrator I’d purchased the night drunk Rachel had dragged Ainsley and me into a sex shop. The videoed Dildo Incident was saved on my phone.

  Smirking, he held up my pink pleasure toy. “This could be fun.”

  “You have no idea.”

  He hummed appreciatively and placed it on the counter. My birth control was in the same drawer. He picked it up and spun it in his hand. “I was serious before, about wanting a family with you one day. But there’s no going back from that. We both have to be all in, no matter what happens.” His attention drifted to his right, as though scrutinizing my glassed-in shower.

  His true focus was on my kitchen, connected to the other side of that white tile wall. Where my mother’s secret box lay. He wanted assurances its contents wouldn’t turn us into liquefied skeletons.

  All I could offer was my honesty. “Having a child with you would be…everything. Thinking about it, even theoretically, makes my heart feel like it might explode. So sign me up for that future, August. I’m all in. For now, I want you before I detonate that bomb in there. I want to touch you and make love to you, no other drama between us.” I flattened my palm on his firm chest, connecting us. “I have this feeling everything will change after I open that box, which means I’ll need you more than ever.”

  And you can’t hurt me, I refrained from adding.

  “I may be leaving the country, but I’m not leaving you. Never again.”

  “So we’re really doing this? You and me, long distance?”

  Still holding my pills, his arm came around my back, the heavy pressure of his palm burning through my tank top. “It’s just us now, Gwen. We come before everything. That’s how we’ll make it work.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Don’t freak out on me.”

  “Don’t flirt with groupies.”

  “Don’t sleep with my brother.”

  I gasped, and his lips quirked to the side. “Too soon?”

  My sputtering laugh was answer enough. “Definitely too soon.”

  Gaze locked on mine, he returned my birth control to my drawer, eyes burning with intent. To one day have a child. To build a future together. A home.

  All I’d ever wanted.

  I threaded my fingers through his thick, black hair, pressed to my tiptoes, and kissed him slow and deep. He trailed his knuckles along my cheek, my jaw, my neck, never disconnecting his lips from mine. I traced the hard lines of his ribs, slipped his T-shirt over his head. Mine fell next to his in the same unhurried rhythm. We were on cruise control, taking our time, enjoying every curve along the ride.

  His callused fingers drew tender lines around my bra, over my lace-covered
nipples, coaxing them into stiff peaks. My hips moved, rocking automatically. His mirrored mine, an erotic dance to a tune only we could hear. Actually, no. There was a tune, a soft hum coming from August, so delicate I barely heard it.

  “Are you singing to me?” I dropped to my knees, helped him out of his jeans. I removed his briefs. My mouth watered as his erection sprang free. His shaft was thick, flushed, the strong vein on the underside begging to be licked.

  I peered up. The desire in his heavy-lidded gaze hit me between my thighs as he ran his strong hand through my hair. “You’ve always inspired my music. Can’t help but compose when I’m with you.”

  I palmed his erection, brought it to my cheek, brushed it back and forth. The silk-hard feel of him was irresistible. A glorious groan hit my ears.

  “I know the words to all your songs,” I said.

  “I want to know the words to all of yours.” Grit laced his deepening voice.

  It was an odd thing to say, considering my songwriting skills were up there with my whistling ability, but I understood what he meant. We were composing a symphony of short sharp breaths and longer sighs, guttural pants and dirty grunts as I took his gorgeous cock into my mouth. Our own love album.

  “Fuck, Gwen.” He moved with me, gliding in out of my mouth. Not fast and rough. A slow slide, each one hitting the back of my throat, so deep I almost gagged. I wanted to take him deeper, though, give him more pleasure. The most. Drown him in it. My own desire pooled between my thighs.

  I dragged one hand around his tense thigh, dug my fingers into his clenched ass. A strangled breath hissed from deep in his chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stop.”

  His slick cock fell from my mouth, and I licked my swollen lips, loving the taste of August Cruz. “You’re saying fuck a lot again.”

  “You inspire profanity, and you’re about to make me come too soon.”

  He yanked me up and tugged my jeans down. I reached to undo my bra, but he slapped my ass. “This goes slow.” A statement. A command.

  I’d never been so wet.

  He dragged my thong over my legs, dropping kisses in its wake. He attended to my bra next, lavishing my breasts with the same reverent attention before sliding lower. My knees weakened in the best way. I gripped the meaty parts of his shoulders, smiled at the cowlick in his hair. The one I’d tug when watching TV, to annoy him, to get his attention, to pretend I didn’t love my best friend.

  “Spread your legs, baby.” Words I’d never thought I’d hear him say.

  He pushed me against my shower, kneeled, then hooked one of my legs over his shoulder. He trailed his tongue in a mind-numbing slide. The move was excruciatingly slow. He did it again, and again. I whimpered. I tried to move my hips, desperate for him to lick faster, press harder.

  He chuckled against me. “So impatient.”

  I was about to tell him where to shove his impatience, but he clamped his lips on me and sucked while moving his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” was all I managed.

  Our limited sex vocabulary.

  My hands were somewhere in his hair, my heart was somewhere in the clouds. We were somewhere in the world, but I had no clue where.

  This. Just this. “That fucking spot.”

  A purely male sound rumbled from him. He took my cue, concentrating his efforts where I needed him. His fingers joined the party, pleasure building. He was everywhere: inside my body, promising me a future, reminding me of my past.

  Regardless of our mistakes or what lay ahead, we’d cope. We’d always return to each other. That security had my body relaxing, enough to shape my orgasm, fuzzy edges that sharpened. Good. This. Yes. More.

  “Don’t you dare stop.”

  He pumped his fingers and held me steady against his face. The next lick sent me bucking. I let go in a rush, nearly yanked out his hair as I came. The aftershocks ravaged me.

  Gently, he lowered my leg, kissed the curls between my thighs. “You’re amazing.”

  “I think I’m supposed to say that to you.”

  “You can say it after we make love in the shower.”

  He worked his way up my body, stopping to knead my breasts, suck on my nipples. I was even wetter than before, uncharacteristic for me. Some women could go for rounds, rack up orgasms faster than a credit card bill. I was happy to have sex after a guy went down on me, but more so he could get off. A thank you for his hard work. Not with August.

  I wanted him inside me, moving with me. Filling me. Over and over.

  He turned the shower on while rubbing his erection against my belly. He nestled his thigh between my legs, the two of us grinding on each other. Then we were under the hot spray, kissing, stroking, but savoring, too. Not rushing to join. I followed the water that sluiced over the lean planes of his chest, each crevice of his abdomen, the defined bones of his hips. I sucked his length again and bit his thigh.

  He moved behind me, exploring my spine while I splayed my hands on the cold wet tile. Hot water plastered my hair to my neck. August squeezed my ass and moved lower, tongued my crease. A tease before dipping farther south and kissing the backs of my thighs and knees.

  Knees shouldn’t be erotic. Neither should elbows or ribs. August’s devout attention turned every inch of flesh into a G-spot. An E-spot. An R-spot.

  New spots, each with the power to blind me.

  “Now,” I murmured, dizzy with desire. “I need you now.”

  “Now,” he agreed, pulling my legs back slightly.

  Still behind me, his thickness brushed my ass. I sensed him bend his knees to line up with my entrance. It wasn’t low enough. I lifted to my tiptoes, but one of my feet slipped. His knee hit the shower wall.

  “Shit.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Ow.”

  “Oof.”

  I fell backward into him, laughing. “Shower sex is not our forté.”

  He caught me around the waist. “Everything with you is perfect.”

  We wound up on the floor again, half in the shower, half out, still grinning, the water still running. I straddled his hips, couldn’t believe August Cruz was smiling up at me, laughter and love in his eyes. “Perfect,” he said again.

  I lifted up, guided him below me, and lowered myself down. We both sighed, but my exhale was louder. It was full of this moment and all I wanted: to be with August, make a baby one day, a girl or boy who we’d raise in a loving home, here or abroad. Even if we had to spend time apart, we’d make it work. I wouldn’t let my insecurities rule me. I’d give that child everything I never had. With August.

  I circled my hips and went to lift up and show him my heart with tender loving, our bodies meant to be joined, but he gripped my hips. “Wait.”

  I squirmed. “Why?”

  “I’ve never felt this.” His pupils had blown wide with intensity.

  I traced his wet nose. “Felt what?”

  August

  Gwen was straddling me, surrounding me, all her wet heat fisting my cock, and I struggled to explain my need to hit pause. I’d experienced this base pleasure with women before, the burn before the release. But I was still amused by mine and Gwen’s fumbled shower sex attempt, how I’d loved tripping over her and winding up on the floor—again. There was no awkward moment. No hesitancy or embarrassment.

  And I was bare in her. We wouldn’t try for a baby until we were solid, but being nestled in her, balls deep, at peace yet rock hard, imagining our future and coming inside her soon: I just couldn’t find the words.

  I gathered my breath and did the best I could. “I didn’t know what love was until you.”

  Laughter. Fumbles. Fuck-ups. Forgiveness. And this fever. This hot, thick lust waiting to explode because of the woman who’d taught me the meaning of life.

  “Then love me,” she said, rocking on me as much as I’d let her.

  We lived in the pause, the shower making a mess of her bathroom, Gwen making a mess of my heart. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Then I let her move. I palmed her breasts, watched g
reedily as her head tipped back and lips dropped open. I slid my hands down her body, supported her hips, met her each time she lowered. Still slow, still drawing out our pleasure.

  The longest seconds in history.

  I flipped her on her back, inching us farther out of the shower. On my knees, I canted her hips and thrust into her again, deeper than before. I watched each slow drag of my cock pulling out and pushing in. Fire shot up my thighs. “Wish you could see how beautiful you are.” Her tight, glistening pussy swallowing my length.

  “We’ll video it next time.”

  Possessiveness surged through me at the notion. My girl, on camera for me. Something to enjoy when we’re apart. “Damn right, we will.”

  I pumped into her harder, faster, deeper. I fell forward, ground my pelvis where she needed me. She caught her breath each time we connected, dug her fingers into my back. I sucked on her neck, wanted to leave a mark. A tattoo. A permanent reminder of who loved her, no matter what that box brought.

  She may have said we’d work through anything, that she’d put us first, but that box was a wild card. It could alter everything.

  We had now, at least. This incomprehensible perfection on a wet floor, her nearby birth control a reminder of our pledge. Just us. We’d always come first.

  My orgasm threatened to rip down my spine, building, building.

  Her knees dug into my sides. “I’m so…”

  “Me, too.”

  “You feel…”

  “So fucking good.”

  Her first contraction squeezed me so hard, I spasmed. She cried out—the sexiest song I’d ever heard. My grunts followed, her name mixing with the sounds as I pumped harder and spilled into her, blinding bursts that never seemed to end. We both shuddered.

  “We’re on the floor again,” she said into my neck and held me closer.

  “A very wet floor.” Which meant we couldn’t linger. “Cuddling will have to wait.” I kissed her deeply, then lifted up.

  She touched where we were joined as I pulled out, an erotic move that had me wanting to plunge back into her. “I’m not done with you yet,” I said. “I’ll shut off the shower. Meet me in the bedroom.”