Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

Valentina stares up at me. “He’s almost done.”

“Take your time.” I mean it. I can stand here and look at them all day. “Isn’t he on solids, already?”

“Oh, yes. I still breastfeed because he needs all the natural immunity he can get. He’s really only eight months old, if you consider that he was born two months prematurely.”

She hands him back to me and adjusts her clothes.

“We’ll take my car,” she says, “because I have the car seat.”

The minx successfully bullied me into an outing without even putting up a fight.

“Do we need to stop for supplies?” I ask.

“I’ve already packed a basket. It’s in my trunk.”

I offer a hand to help her to her feet.

She drives us to the zoo, a place I used to visit often when I was little. Not much has changed in thirty-eight years. Connor is too young to appreciate the animals, but we follow the path past the monkeys and birds, walking side by side in a comfortable silence. Under the shade of a willow, she spreads out a blanket and puts Connor on his tummy, leaving plastic toy blocks within his reach.

“He’s almost sitting by himself,” she says proudly. “He’s a little behind on this milestone, but the doctor says its normal with preemies.”

She’s good with him. She makes a great mom. I shouldn’t touch her, but I can’t help brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “How is it?”

“How’s what?”

“Motherhood.”

“It’s tough, sometimes, but I’d never want it any other way.”

“I’m sorry it’s been hard for you.” I mean it with all of my soul.

She shrugs. “It’s a matter of finding a routine that works for everyone.”

“I’m sure it’s not that simple.”

“It’s not so bad. I have flexibility in my work, and I can take Connor to the office.”

“Do you enjoy your job?”

“I appreciate it. It puts a roof over our heads and food on our table. Talking about food…” She reaches for the basket. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” But not for food. Like a fool I stare into her eyes, getting lost in their murky darkness.

Don’t touch her.

Ah, fuck.

I cup her face and push her down on the blanket. It feels natural that my body should cover hers. I ache to taste her, to feel her soft lips, and smell the intoxicating perfume of her skin. Holding her eyes, I bring our mouths closer together. If she wants to back out, I’ll give her the opportunity. She closes the last hairbreadth of distance by lifting her head. When our lips touch, the same deep ache as always takes root in my chest. Instead of getting her out of my system, I’m getting more entangled in her than ever. It’s all the sweeter when this time she chose me. I didn’t kick down her door and drag her here against her will. I’m not seducing her with pleasure to look past my scars. She came to me. I kiss her like a drowning man, so thankful for her free will I can hardly breathe. All the emotions I felt when I was nothing but a cold and empty shell are because of this woman. She taught me the meaning of gratitude. I feel it now, for giving me this moment with her and Connor. There’s so much pleasure in having her consent. Not some fucked-up, manipulated version, but the real deal.

I pour my heart into the kiss, and my body responds, going hard and hot everywhere. We’re in public, but I don’t give a damn. I’m getting deliriously drunk on her and the addictive feeling of happiness.

A gurgle from Connor pulls me back to earth. Reluctantly, I break the kiss. Her face is prettily flushed.

I chuckle. “I think he approves.”

She gives me a radiant smile. “Oh, he definitely does.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For today.” For allowing me time I don’t deserve.

“You’re welcome.”

Connor starts to fuss. In less than a second, he goes from happy to crying. My protective instinct goes into overdrive. Perplexed, helpless, I fall over myself to reach him. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is he hurt? Is he ill?”

As calm as ever, Valentina takes a bottle from the diaper bag and hands it to me. “Want to feed him?”

Connor wails with a voice that would’ve lifted the roof had there been one. Pride swells my chest to the point of exploding. When I put the nipple in his mouth, he starts sucking with greedy gulps.

“Again?” I ask. “He just ate.”

She smiles at me. “He gets hungry every two hours, more or less.”

It’s like floating on a cloud. The moment feels surreal. A feeling that matches my joy at just having kissed Valentina surges through me when my son nestles deeper into my arms. He weighs nothing. His body is so small his head fits into the palm of my hand. His mouth latches firmly around the nipple, and his cheeks hollow as he makes hungry little sucking sounds. I swear there’s a groan somewhere in the mix and something keen to a growl when I lose my grip on the bottle and break the suction. A deep laugh rumbles in my chest. I cuddle him closer, holding him to my heart.