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 song-writing 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 greedily 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.”
Round two had her ass in the air, my chest pressed to her back, a soft mattress finally below us. I couldn’t drag out my pleasure long enough, loved learning every rhythm and angle that made her moan. It was a rougher affair. Skin slapping. More fucks shouted as my orgasm winded me. She claimed I’d turned her into jelly.
I kissed the back of her neck afterward, stayed in her as long as possible. “Not sure how I’ll live without this.” I shouldn’t mention my impending departure, but there was no point denying the inevitable.
She pushed her hips back into me. “Our reunion will be so sweet.”
The comment was lighthearted, but there was no disguising the break in her voice.
Needing to see her face, I pulled out and cleaned us up with a towel. Gwen’s bedroom was simple and neat. Blue-gray walls, a gym bag on the floor, laundry basket, fitness and outdoor magazines on her dresser. There was one photo, a candid of her with Rachel and Ainsley. Her friends, not her family. I wanted my picture here, too, to be her family. She was already that for me, but Gwen had always searched for more. Pined for it.
More reason the box in the kitchen could hurt her, and us.
I wanted to lounge under the sheets together, forget the world for the rest of the day, but I needed to know what I was dealing with. It was her birthday, too. We had plans with her friends. Last thing I wanted was to upend Gwen’s life more than I already had, especially when I was taking off tomorrow. She’d need her friends more than ever.
I crawled onto the bed, grabbed her hand, and lifted her to sitting. I kissed her nose. “I think it’s time.”
“To have sex again?”
Sneaky little vixen. “If I was twenty, maybe, but this old man needs a break. And we have a box to open.”
“Old-schmold,” she mumbled. Her silliness drained as she picked her nails. “Will you bring it in here? Actually”—she gripped my wrist as though I’d slip away—“what did my mother mean in her note, when she wrote: Remember what I told you on Gwen’s birthday?”
With all we’d been through, I’d forgotten about that detail. “I called her, to get your address, and she said the wildest thing.”
“What did she say?” Gwen looked like she was holding her breath.
“She said that you loved me. Told me not to let you push me away.”
“My mother said that?”
“Shocked the hell out of me.”
It was also one of the reasons I’d caught Gwen with Finch. A couple times that fateful night, I’d questioned if I should let things lie with Gwen, not get in any deeper. Then I’d replay Mary’s words and had eventually followed my gut. Walking in on Gwen and my brother had been the shittiest day of my life, but I’d believed it was supposed to happen. Like finding this journal, following the clues. That brutal event had given me my career. It gave me this time with Gwen. If we’d gotten together back then, we might not have lasted.
I snuck another kiss while she absorbed that confession, then pulled on my briefs and retrieved the keepsake. I cleaned the dirt from it before returning to Gwen.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, still picking her nails, wearing nothing but a thin tank top…and four-leaf-clover boxers. My lucky boxers. The ones she’d stolen. They looked fucking amazing on her.
I settled across from her, placed the keepsake beside me. “I see my boxers survived your sniffing.”
A sweet blush highlighted her cheeks. “They’re comfy.”
They were downright sexy. I blinked, wishing my eyes were a camera, capable of capturing the simplicity of a blushing Gwen, on her bed, bare legs folded, wearing my boxers.
“You can steal my underwear any time.” She could have my whole damn wardrobe, as long as she was mine. I moved her mother’s time capsule between us. A possible live grenade. “Whatever’s in here, we’ll get through it.”
She quit picking her nails and switched to chewing her lip. She nodded noncommittally. Whatever her mother had buried would hit Gwen hard. There was no shouldering that burden for her. All I could do was love her hard and be her rock. That didn’t keep my heart from racing.