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“Yeah. I love seeing him let loose like this.”
“I wonder if…”
She turns away and lowers her gaze.
I almost roar at the very notion that my woman would ever need to feel shame, that she would ever need to hide anything from me.
“What is it, Maddie?” I urge, reaching forward and softly touching her chin, redirecting her gaze to mine.
She bites her lip, and visibly summons her courage, hardening her jaw. “I was going to say I wonder if our children will be as crazy as him.”
Warmth lights up my body, right to the ends of my fingertips. My balls give an insistent pulse at the thought of an energetic little boy or girl.
“I hope so,” I tell her.
“Have you ever thought about that before, about children, I mean?” she asks.
She watches Boxcar as she talks, as though she’s unable to open herself up with so much intimacy and meet my gaze at the same time. But I delight in watching her, at all the subtle twitches of her expression, all the casual beauty contained inside of her.
Every single moment with her is like a gift.
“Not really,” I say. “I used to want kids, in my twenties, but I never found a woman who interested me. Who did anything for me, to be honest. I was starting to think it wasn’t for me and then I received your letter, and my whole world changed.”
She giggles with intoxicating spontaneity, as though she’s surprising herself as much as me, throwing herself against me and pawing at my chest.
“I must be pretty special, huh? If I can change your whole world with a letter?”
She says it with heavy irony, her eyes brimming with that half-shy half-sassy look of hers. But I return her gaze with steady certainty, nodding.
“Yes, you are. You’re the most special woman alive. You’re the only woman who matters to me.”
I grip her hips, those full childbearing hips, and pull her body flush against mine. She gasps as my manhood thrums and hardens, sensation dancing up and down my length.
The only thing that stops me from taking things further is the presence of others in the park. An old man stands at the pond, tossing breadcrumbs into the water, and a couple walks hand in hand down the path.
I step away with an effort, letting out a sigh.
Boxcar pads over and sits down, staring up at me with his tongue hanging out.
“I guess somebody’s finally tired himself out, huh?” Maddie says, leaning down and stroking her hand over the little man’s fur.
“I’ll never get tired of that,” I say, once I’ve recovered as much as I’m able to recover, with all that hungry need stowed up inside of me.
“Of what?”
“Of you watching how maternal you are with him. How naturally kind and good you are. You’re such a beautiful person, Maddie, inside and out.”
“What if you’re wrong?” she says, standing and tilting her head with a note of sassiness, as sunlight bounces off her full gorgeous cheeks. “Maybe I have a hidden past. Like I used to skin squirrels and boil bunnies in my basement or something.”
I toss my head back and laugh, fully, deeply, in a way I haven’t in years.
“Goddamn, are you trying to kill me?” I smirk over at her. “Where did that come from?”
“Maybe I just like hearing you laugh.” She shrugs adorably. “But, just for the record, I don’t have a squirrel fetish or boil bunnies.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“But I mean it,” I say, as we walk on.
Boxcar ducks his head and pads ahead of us, his little butt shaking from side to side as he grins over at everyone we pass.
“I can tell what an incredible mother you’re going to make. It’s like I can smell the maternal instinct inside of you, which makes no sense. Which should make no sense.”
“But the rules are different for us,” she murmurs softly.
I nod. “Yes, yes they are. So tell me, Maddie. What are your deepest darkest secrets?”
She giggles, a sound I could listen to for the rest of my life and never grow bored. “I’m not sure I have any. Except for the fact I’m a serial killer, of course.”
I laugh at this macabre note of humor, shaking my head indulgently down at my woman. She smiles up at me, her cheeks glowing.
“Fine then.” I reach down and take her hand, squeezing it softly, and yet hard enough she can feel all the possessive intent in me. “Tell me something about you I don’t know.”
“That’s a lot.” She laughs again. “Where should I start?”
“Everywhere. Anywhere. Nothing you say could ever bore me.”
“Oh, really? That sounds like a challenge.”
“Does it?” I chuckle. “Well then, go ahead. Prove me wrong.”
“When I was a kid, before what happened with my parents, I had a pet hamster called Cocoa. She was sort of like Boxcar, really energetic and crazy, always running around the place. Well, one day this little escape artist disappeared from her cage.”
