Page 24 of Wrong Place, Wright Time
“OK,” I say, dropping my mouth to hers and kissing her softly as I fuck her gently with my fingers, bringing her back down slowly from her high. “I can do that for you.”
“Really?”
I pull my hand from between her legs and nod. “Yeah.” I bring my hand to my mouth and lick her juices from my fingers with a pleasurable hum. “For a woman who tastes as good as you do. I think I’d do just about anything.”
“I really appreciate that.”
“And I appreciate your honesty, because I think I’ve made my unwavering interest in you very obvious.”
“You have. And I know I’ve been playing my own cards close to my chest this past few weeks, but…” she says, sliding down the door until she’s on her knees. “I think it’s about time I get a taste of you too.”
I brace my hands against the back of the door.Sweet jesus I’m in for a treat.
Isla
So far, being together without the pressure of a future has been amazing. We see each other a few times a week, spend Friday or Saturday nights together—depending on Banks’s work schedule—then spend a lazy day in bed, doing puzzles at my place or cross stitch at his. And I have to say I’m getting quite good at this new hobby we’re sharing. Banks even bought me a gold needle like his so it runs smoother through the cloth, leaving less of an imprint with each stitch. It’s been lifechanging. Actually, being with Banks has been lifechanging. I have no idea what I was fighting against in the beginning.
“Do you think you’ll ever want children?” he asks in the quiet of his room one Saturday night about two months into our new arrangement.Oh, that’s right. I was fighting against rushing into any commitment.
“What makes you ask that?” I roll over to my side so I’m facing him, and he places his hand on my hip, moving his fingers soothingly against my skin.
“Well, we do spend a lot of time performing the act that creates them, so…” He bounces a shoulder and smiles, and even though I’ve been the recipient of his magnetic smiles for months now, it still makes my belly flip.
“We do,” I say, placing my hand against his chest and playing with the tiny twirls of chest hair that dust across his steely pecs. “Which is why I have a birth control device fitted. That way we won’t have any mishaps.”
“You’d consider a kid we made a mishap?”
Lifting my eyes to his, I roll my lips together, nerves fluttering about in my chest now. It’s not that I don’t want children. Hell, if you could guarantee me a happy marriage that wouldn’t end in divorce and turn that kid into a transient being that floats between two houses, getting constantly introduced to one parent’s new girlfriends, while the other does little to veil the contempt she holds over her ex-husband’s—your father’s—philandering ways, then I’d be on board. But as the record stands, I’ve already proven my inability to maintain a healthy relationship with a spouse, so for the sake of everyone involved, I just don’t think bringing a child into an uncertain situation is the greatest idea. It’s not about me.
“An unintended pregnancy is definitely a mishap, but I would never call a child a mistake.”
“But you don’t want one?”
Pulling my hand back, I wiggle slightly on the bed, tucking them against my chest as I try to come up with an appropriate response. One that doesn’t have me coming off as a heartless and selfish woman, because that’s not where my intentions are. But that’s not easy to articulate. Especially when you’re a woman of a certain age and people start expecting you produce the next generation, like you’re some sort of surname factory bred to strengthen the family name.
“It’s not that I don’t want to be a mother. I genuinely do. I just don’t think it’s fair to bring a child into an uncertain situation.”
“You think I’d skimp on parenting duties?”
I shake my head. “No. I think you’d be a wonderful father. But as a daughter of divorce and a woman with two failed marriages in her past, I just don’t want to put my own child through custody changes and loyalty tests and…” I let out a sigh. “I just think kids need stability, and I’m not willing to have one unless I can be sure I can provide that.”
He studies me for a long time before he lets out his breath and nods. “OK,” he says finally, before rolling on his back.
“OK?”
He turns his head to look at me. “Yeah. I’m saying that I get where you’re coming from.”
“Are you mad?”
He frowns. “Why would I be mad? I asked a question and you answered honestly.”
“I suppose that depends on what your answer to that same question would be.”
With his hand on his chest, I watch the rise and fall of his body as he looks up at the ceiling before turning back to me and answering. “I’d say yes.”
“Does it change things for you that I didn’t give you the same answer?”
“No,” he says simply. “I think I’d be surprised if you did, considering your stance on relationships in general.”
