He fucking pushed me into the pool.
I come out, spluttering and cursing. And laughing. “What the fuck, Xander?”
I reach the edge, blinking, looking for him.
He snakes his hands around me from behind. He’s right there with me. Both of us dressed and soaked. His body envelopes me, the solid muscles so decadent against me.
“I’m thirty,” he says, nibbling on my ear.
“Stop it,” I say, while tilting my head to give him access, his lips trailing my wet skin. “Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Stop telling yourself lies then. If you want children, we’re fucking having children. You and me.”
Goosebumps sprout on my skin at his words, or maybe it’s his lips. Or his hand reaching into my waistband. Or the water. All at once.
“What are you talking about? This marriage is fake.”
Xander moves his hand to my chin and forces me to look at him. “Is it, though?”
“Why are you not sleeping?” I turn, snuggling closer to Xander’s warm, naked body.
He kisses my crown. “Sleep, Coraline.”
His voice is veiled with something… Worry?
I lift my chin, adjusting to the dimness. Moonlight illuminates his shadowy figure. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to tell you something,” he whispers.
I lift to my elbows, willing my brain to wake up. “Okay.”
He rakes his fingers through my hair and pulls me in for a kiss.
It’s like he needs the intimacy to get through the conversation. Or he wants to solidify how not fake we are.
But something is weighing him down, and I can feel the burden of it in my tightened stomach and constricted chest.
“We don’t have to have children,” I blurt out, picking up the unfinished conversation from the pool.
He chuckles, pulling me closer to him. “Yeah, we kind of derailed that conversation.”
Another lingering kiss.
I feel this one deep in the darkest crevices of my soul. It triggers my cynical mind. He’s stalling. Whatever he wants to tell me, he believes I won’t like it.
But I feared the children conversation, and it ended up in… well, two orgasms and probably a health-code violation that would require a change of water in the pool.
Without speaking about it, we didn’t use a condom. As if that preceding conversation clarified everything.
It didn’t.
But hasn’t it been like that with us? We feel more than talk. We fight those feelings—well, I do—and end up surrendering anyway.
“You’re right.” He pushes to sit, leaning against the pillows. “We should finish one conversation before we dive into the next one.”
I pivot to sit beside him, cross-legged, covering myself with the silky sheet. “I’ve been single for too long, and I kind of put the idea of children to the side. I never planned on a serious relationship, and my financial situation didn’t leave any room for being a single parent.”
He reaches for my hand, but then changes his mind. “But you would no longer be a single parent. Or in financial need.”
