“I like your dad.” Jake held Meghan’s hand as they strolled along the white sand, a weak incoming tide occasionally splashing on their bare feet. “Are you okay with having our wedding down here?”
“I’m better than okay, I’m thrilled. This is one of my favorite places. I’m looking forward to us making a lot of new memories down here. See that little inlet? I used to look for hermit crabs there when I was little. Almost nobody goes there.” She led the way through a little section of mangroves to a sheltered spot dotted with small pools of tidewater. “Let’s sit awhile.”
What Jake had in mind involved more than sitting. He helped her spread the blanket he’d been carrying then checked the pathway and the view through dense mangroves.
“Worrying about company coming?” The little tease took her time removing the wrap skirt she had on over a black bikini then untied the top and put it in her bag.
Oh, yeah. He was more worried about whether he’d be able to resist making love to her—and he had no condoms with him. There was no place to carry one in his beach shorts. Maybe... He glanced at her beach bag. “Do you have any...”
“No, but I don’t care. It’s the wrong time of month for me, and even if we’re blessed, we’re getting married in less than two months. Come here and show me how much you love me.”
They lay together, a light breeze playing on their bodies. He loved the spontaneity, the lusty way she explored him, her touch playful, arousing. The idea of making her pregnant aroused him more, and when she wrestled his swim shorts down and fondled his sex, what little hesitation he’d had flew out to sea. “Ride me,” he told her, not willing to wait to make love, naked skin to naked skin, with nothing between them.
She had no inhibitions, and he loved it. Riding him like an expert, she squeezed him with her inner muscles, brushed her fingers over his suddenly sensitive chest. The diamond on her finger caught the sun’s rays, gave him a new sensation. Of possession. Of her belonging to him not just today but for always. He took her breasts in his hands, imagined them full of milk to nourish his child. Someday.
It was too damn soon, but he was coming and there wasn’t a thing he could do to hold off. He’d have pulled out, more from habits learned as a brash teenager than from any fear about becoming a biological dad nine months from now. But Meghan grasped his hips, held him to her, kneaded his buttocks while she milked him dry. Still coming in long, hard spurts, he drew her down on top of him and cradled her in his arms. He didn’t feel thirty-six, and he surprisingly felt no guilt. A wedding was only ritual words. This was his vow and hers, made under God’s own sky. Their promise to each other, as valid as the one they’d make when they signed the prenuptial covenant—the Ketubah.