He looks down at me and his eyes turn from happy to yearning. “We did it.”
“We did.”
I don’t turn away as Gavin leans down, takes the back of my head in his hands, and presses his mouth to mine. No, I don’t turn away. Instead, I stand on my tiptoes and invite his kiss.
A conflagration ignites inside me, and I whimper against his mouth. His hands tighten in my hair, tugging on my scalp, and he groans in response. I open my mouth to him and he plunges in, tangling his tongue with mine, licking my lips, thrusting in and out. He tastes sweet, like oranges and honeyed tea. I press into him and feel his length hardening. He groans again and then nibbles at my lower lip, kissing me and tasting me.
I dig my nails into him and run my tongue over his lip, the one I’ve been dreaming about tasting for the past twenty-nine days.
He makes a desperate sound and then grasps my hips, lifts me up, and wraps my legs around his middle so that I’m situated right on his length. Exactly where I need to be. He lets out a curse word as I rub myself along him.
I’m in jeans. He’s in jeans. Why are we still in jeans?
He breaks free from my mouth. “I want to love you so much. Let me love you.”
I start to nod, then a bit of lucidity penetrates. We can’t. I can’t.
I shake my head and then cut off a moan as I slide down his hard length.
“I can’t.”
His breath comes out uneven.
“Hell.” He rubs his hands down his face. “You’re still waiting? I’m not remembering, Jamie. It’s not happening.” He looks at me with frustration stamped on his face and in the way he’s holding himself. “If you’re scared that I won’t want you after I remember, it’s not a possibility, not even a remote possibility.”
I nod, my lip quivering as I fight the tears pressing at the back of my eyes.
He gives me an intent look. “You know, I was thinking, why do we only have three kids? We should have another. Maybe two more. I hate that I don’t remember the kids being born, learning to walk. I want to experience that again. Wouldn’t you like that? We should have another.”
Oh.
Oh no.
I…I want that too, and I know that it’s never, ever going to happen.
“What? What’s wrong? Three is fine. Three is great. We don’t have to.”
My limbs start to shake and I swallow down the glass shards of fear and self-loathing scraping at my throat. “No. It’s not…I can’t…I…I have something I have to tell you.”
My heart pounds furiously.
At my words, he frowns and his brow furrows. “Did something happen? Can we not have any more kids?”
“No. That’s not it. I…” I can’t say it.
Gavin takes a step back, his face solemn. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?”
I shake my head. It’s nearly impossible to speak past the pain in my throat and the yelling in my brain. It’s screaming, don’t tell him, you don’t have to tell him, you can keep going like this forever! He’s happy, the kids are happy, you’re happy. You can have kids, a marriage, you can have everything. You don’t ever have to tell him.
But I do.
I do have to.
And if not now, then when?
Every time is a terrible time to break the news.
But I can’t, like I said before, I can’t be intimate with him under a lie, and we can’t keep going like this without being intimate. Clearly.