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“You think I don’t think about all those things too? Every time you come to bed, you’re wearing those low-slung pajama bottoms that hang low on your hips. You lift your arms to scratch the top of your head and your T-shirt lifts just a little, and I can see the trail of hair that leads down…” Her fingers slide across the trail and into my waistband, tickling as much as they tug.
And if I wasn’t hard before, I am now. I cover her hands with mine. “You feel it too?”
“Of course, I feel it. Every time I look at you I want to feel you inside me. But I hurt you and I was trying to give you some time to like me again. I wanted you to like me as much as you want me.”
I spin around and hold her face in my hands so she has to look up at me. “I like you just fine.”
She steps up onto her tiptoes. “You like me?”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum, my lips hovering over hers. “I like you more and more every day I spend with you.”
“Despite my lack of underwear?”
I drag a knuckle down the front of her T-shirt and across her nipple. She gasps. Her eyes fall closed. “You can walk around naked, for all I care. But don’t expect me not to be affected by it.” I take her hand and push it down to my dick, which is standing hard between us. She touches it tenderly with the tips of her fingers.
“Is all that for me?” she asks.
“I don’t see anyone else I want to give it to.”
Her hand wraps around my length through my pants and she gives it a squeeze. My head falls back. With her other hand, she pulls my waistband back and pushes her hand inside. And then it’s skin on skin. Her hand is hot and soft, and it’s wrapped tightly around my junk. She gives me a lazy tug. I grab her hand and pull it out of my pants. “We had better stop.”
“Why do we have to stop?” she asks, her lips against mine.
“What are you doing?” a little voice asks from the doorway of the kitchenette.
Wren freezes. “We’re talking,” I say to Anna, who’s standing there holding the ears of a stuffed bunny. “That’s all. Just talking. Why are you up?” I’m still trying to catch my breath, and I have to have a rational conversation with an eight-year-old?
“I want some water,” she says.
“It’s in the fridge,” I reply. She pads on her little feet to the refrigerator and gets a bottle of water. “Can you open it?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. She just opens it and takes a drink. “I’m going back to bed now,” Anna says.
“That would be nice,” I squeak out.
“You can go back to kissing,” Anna calls over her shoulder.
Wren snorts and falls against me. I pull her close, wrapping my arms tightly around her. “We should have confined this to the bedroom.”
“That would have been smart.” She lays her hands on my chest and leans close to me. “Do you want kids?” I ask her. Because I can see this in my future. The whole getting-caught-by-the-kids-when-you-really-want-to-fuck thing.
“Do I want kids?”
“Yeah.” I brush a lock of hair from her face. “Do you want kids?”
“Well, if the time were right and the finances were right and I found the right man, I might.” She’s repeating what I told her earlier. “Why? Do you want to give me babies?” She laughs. “I bet you do. Right this very minute, you want to give me babies.” She snorts.
“Be honest. Are you willing to face that again?” I ask gently.
“I would love to be a mother. Hanging out with those four just solidifies it for me. I kind of think your mother and my mother put us together with them in order to put me off the idea of having babies, but it’s done the opposite. They’re a lot of work, but watching them learn and grow…there’s nothing like it.”
She pulls back from me a little.
“What?” I ask.
“When my mom and dad died, I worried that no one would ever love me again. I’d lost my brother, because he went to live with our uncle. And it was just me and Star. Star loved me, but not like a parent loves a child. So, maybe I thought that baby would love me. No matter what, he or she would want me, would love me, and would need me. Just me. And there’s a heady feeling in that.”
“I want you. Need you. Love you.”
