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And then his mouth follows the sweet, sticky trail with hot open-mouthed kisses. I clutch his head and sink my teeth into my lip, to muffle my moan of delight when his lips close over the throbbing tip of my breast.
The already aching peak swells, the heat of his mouth scorching even through the fabric. My core contracts in delicious anticipation.
But we’re not even close to being alone and now that we’re off the island and making our way back to Cabo San Lucas, real life doesn’t feel as far away as it did yesterday.
Reluctantly, I let go of his head, push at his divinely muscled shoulders and manage to snake out of his hold and scrabble backwards just in time to evade his lunge.
“Stone, stop, not here!
” I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he’s so strong and he pulls me into his lap. The urgent press of his arousal nestles against my backside. His lips brush my ear and I giggle.
“Promise you’ll sit on my lap on our way back, and I’ll let you go.” he draws and my shudder in anticipation.
“I promise,” I whisper and press a kiss to his temple and draw in a lungful of his delicious sweat, and fresh air scented skin before I climb off his lap and sit cross legged next to him. I cross my arms over my chest when his gaze drops to the wet spot over my nipple.
He straightens and mimics my pose. “Fine, let’s talk.”
I chuckle at the way he says talk like it’s an expletive. “Okay. So, you were telling me why Colombia,” I refresh his memory.
I’m impressed with, but not surprised by, my ability to refocus on the conversation when my body is still so distracted by aftershocks of his attention.
Stone stimulates the most erogenous zone on my entire body - my mind. And when he’s talking to me while he’s inside me, it’s like having a full body orgasm.
He takes his cues from me and leans away a little, his eyes darting the banks of the mangrove lined river.
“I went to med school thinking I was going to be a trauma surgeon. Then I had my rotation in obstetrics. My very first delivery made a believer out of me. Babies are the only people in hospitals who aren’t there because they’re sick.”
“Do you like kids?”
He frowns and looks skyward, as if he has to ponder the answer to that question.
“Ummm, that’s a pretty easy yes or no question,” I tease, but find my laugh constricted by the breath I’m holding.
His chuckles. “Yes, I do. They remind me that there’s hope for humanity. As long they keep coming into the world, we have a future. You know?”
“So, you want children one day?’ I ask, genuinely curious but acutely aware of the flutter of apprehension in my gut. I don’t know why his answer should matter to me. But it does.
“I don’t know…. From the time I was ten until I was twenty-two, every decision I made was based on what was best for my brothers. I was in medical school and too busy trying to survive that to do anything I wanted. Now that I’m finally living just for me, I can’t imagine going back to being responsible for getting little people to school, and doctor’s appointments, and all that shit.”
I feel so many things at once; Disappointment – because it’s another reminder of how discordant our pairing is. Admiration – that he not only survived an absent mother, but made sure his brothers did, too. But most strongly, I feel a sense of nostalgia.
“I used to not want kids,” I admit.
“I guess you got over that?” Stone says and I don’t begrudge him the teasing quirk of his lips. I often laugh at the irony of it myself.
“Getting pregnant kind of forced me too.” wince at how that sounds. “I love my children, desperately. Having them is without any doubt the most selfish thing I’ve done.”
He narrows one eye and frowns. “Selfish?”
“Yes. It’s selfish. They don’t ask to be born. It was purely for me. But I’ll admit, when I found out I was pregnant, I thought my life was over.”
“Why?”
“My mother is brilliant. From what I heard; she could run circles around my father in intellect. When they met, she was working the concession at the basketball stand, waiting for her moment. She found it when my grandfather offered her a job. Then she fell in love with my father. She forgot her goals, forgot her ambition and got pregnant.”
“With you and Remi,” he reminds me.
I roll my eyes. “I mean, I’m just saying. I love my mother, but I spent most of my childhood thinking she didn’t love me. And, from my great grandmother on down, they’ve all fallen in love with a man who left them - whether by death, divorce, or prison – they spent their whole lives alone and brokenhearted. And even when I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life professionally. I knew that I didn’t want to repeat that cycle.”
