Page 59 of Body Check

“I don’t want kids,” I say immediately, and I’m surprised to find it’s true.

For years, I was ambivalent. It helped that my ex-wife was firmly in the child-free mindset. All the power to her, but I thought I might want a kid one day.

But now… I don’t think I do. And a kid isn’t something you can be kind of sure about. You have to be certain. They have to be wanted. And I… don’t want that life.

I wouldn’t have a problem if my hypothetical child was queer or disabled or thought differently than me. Having a child isn’t like going to Build-A-Bear; you can’t pick out their attributes ahead of time. They’ll have their own personality. And what if their personality doesn’t jibe with mine? What if they’re an extrovert? I can barely deal with the social demands of being captain.; I couldn’t manage being “on” all the time. I need my downtime to decompress.

And from what I’ve seen, there is very, very little downtime when you have a kid. I love my nieces and nephews, but a little time with them goes a long way. My favorite part of visiting them is leaving again.

“I don’t want kids,” I say again, this time just above a whisper. Letting out a choked off laugh, I look at Amelia like, I’m seeing her for the first time. “I don’t want kids.”

“Great. You don’t want kids,” she says.

“Do you want kids?”

“That’s none of your business.” Her tone is light, but the tension in her shoulders tells me there’s more to the story.

“Amelia.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t talk about this with you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s blurry.” She snaps off her gloves. “You’re here on my table. I can’t talk to you about my personal life, when I have to be professional. The lines are getting fuzzy, and I can’t do fuzzy. I need crystal clear boundaries.”

Navigating to a seated position, I’m almost at eye level with her.

“It’s me. We’re the only ones here. You can talk to me.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

Reaching for her, I grab her hand, pulling her into the V between my legs. My hands settle on her hips, light enough that she can break free, if she wants to.

I don’t want her to.

“We can’t,” she breathes.

“Can’t what?”

“This is a bad idea.”

“What is?”

Amelia fists my T-shirt, pulling me to her and crashing our mouths together. Her lips are soft and yielding beneath mine, and as I lick into her mouth, something settles deep in my chest. Like something clicking into place. I didn’t realize I was missing it until now, but holy fuck, does it feel good.

Cupping the back of her neck, the heel of my hand rests against the side of her throat. She shivers, but doesn’t break the kiss. I slide my hand down until I’m cupping her throat instead. I don’t exert pressure or try to choke her. That isn’t my kink.

She moans into the kiss, her own hand mirroring the position on my throat. A heady dose of want courses through me, my cock pulsing in my athletic shorts. It’s a vulnerable position, her hand on my throat. She could crush me. Choke me. She could do anything she wanted. She could destroy me.

I huff a laugh. She could destroy me even without her hand on my throat. She already owns me.

She pulls back, a furrow between her brows. “Something funny?”

Shaking my head, I reach for her again, but she steps out of my arms. “Just a thought.”

“No,” she finally says.

“No?” I lost track of what we were talking about.