Childbirth is traumatic. Not sure how Danny boy’s making out—or if he’s ever making out again—but I’m not sure how I feel about sticking my dick anywhere it can make babies. When I point this out to Rain, she just laughs at me and counters with something high-school obvious. There’s a whole lot of places I can go that won’t grow babies. At this rate, we’re gonna wear my dick out. After I come on her boobs, her stomach, and (my new favorite) between the cheeks of her ass since she still won’t let me in the back door, I’m feeling a whole lot better about pussies and penises and potential baby-making.
I’m just glad werewolves don’t breed easy.
And the funny thing is, even if we weren’t banging like storm shutters in the rain, I’d enjoy spending time with Rain. Not only is she hot as fuck in bed, but she’s a lot of fun even when she’s fully dressed. She’s got a mouth on her, she’s confident, and yet she’s also strangely sweet. Sure, I still don’t understand what spills out of her mouth half the time, but trying to figure it out is also fun.
The weeks after my assist at the birthing center speed by on fast forward. And while I’m not big on words, being more of an action man, I’m learning to compromise. Take this weekend, for instance. I’ve taken Rain out on the bayou for a little fishing and a few cold beers. After I do all of the work catching the dinner she’s not gonna eat because apparently fish have faces and feelings too, I let us float aimlessly along the bayou. She lies next to me on the sun-warmed floor of the boat, staring up at the canopy of trees and Spanish moss floating past us. Her fingers are laced with mine and occasionally she gives them a tug when there’s something she thinks I should see.
Ordinarily, I’d want more action. The best adjectives to describe wham, bam, thank you ma’am are speedy, satisfying, and one-and-done. Not sure that last’s an adjective, but you get the point. I don’t slow my roll and I don’t hang around when my dick’s not getting any loving. I hate when girls get clingy and start talking about an us and future plans. I don’t think about tomorrow, let alone next week, next month, or next date.
Somehow Rain’s different though. Our fingers fit together, our hands touching, her skin brushing against mine. It feels good. Not orgasmic good, although I’d be willing to give it a shot if that was what Rain wanted. But just good. Right. Peaceful.
She turns her head, switching her gaze from the trees to me. “You want another beer?”
I stashed a six-pack in the cooler and we’ve both had one. “I’m good.”
I don’t need the chemical rush when I’ve got Rain, plus beer’s not gonna help my driving any. Not as if I’m worried about getting pulled over for driving under the influence, but I’m not about to risk Rain’s safety.
“Great,” she sighs.
I laugh. “Was that a test? You wondering if I’m gonna have problems stopping at one? Because there’s only one thing I’m addicted too, sweetheart, and it’s you.”
Rain shifts her gaze back to the trees. “Maybe.”
“Did I pass?” If she’s testing me, I want an A.
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah.”
I feel the need to be completely honest, which is strange. Still, I go with it. “Because I have to admit that I’ve had my share of nights where I’ve drunk more than I should. Club likes to party. It’s no big deal.”
Her fingers tighten on mine. “But not every night.”
“Nope,” I agree. “Got better things to occupy my time. Shit’s fun, but it’d be like having cake for breakfast seven days a week. Cake’s gonna be stale by the weekend and I’ll end up fat and gassy.”
She doesn’t laugh. Instead, she gives a little shrug. Her eyes might get glassy too. “Dave liked cake. He liked cake a lot.”
“He drank.” It’s a statement, not a question. I smelled the guy when he showed up in Rain’s driveway.
“Always.” Her face is sad. “Drinking came first. He started as soon as he was done with work. When he finished one beer, he’d open the next. Sometimes, he added whiskey. And then sometimes he’d go out or he’d tell me he had to work late. I have crazy hours, so I didn’t question it at first. He’s good at his job.”
I raise her hand to my mouth and brush a kiss over the back of her fingers. Not sure what to say. And maybe I don’t have to find any words. Maybe just being here with her is enough because she gives a little sigh and squeezes my fingers again.
“I guess I just need to hear that you’re not going to do that.”
“No drinking,” I agree.
“No secrets,” she counters.
I pull her on top of me, so she’s looking at me instead of the trees. “You got secrets, baby?”
She shrugs. “I’m not that interesting.”
Is she right?
Not a chance.
Fair isn’t in the universe’s vocabulary. I don’t care how hard you try or don’t try—at some point she’s gonna hand you a bag of dog poo when you asked for candy. And then sometimes you end up with champagne in your glass instead of tap water. Rain’s the highest end, most expensive, abso-fucking-lutely amazing champagne and I in no way deserve her. I’m sure we’re in total agreement on that.
Just in case she starts noticing that, I reach up and pull her head down to mine and get busy kissing her. Kissing I’m good at.
“Here?” She giggles long minutes later.
“You bet.” I don’t stop kissing her, though, and she must not mind because she kisses me right back, wrapping her arms around me and holding me tight.