Page 87 of Licks

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.”