Free Skygods (Hydraulic #2) by Sarah Latchaw Page B

Likewise, his head sank to my collarbone, resigned.
    “Not yet,” he sighed.
    I traced his hairline and softly kissed it. “Not yet. Not until I know this man again. And I need to know you, so badly. There’s something there, Samuel. Something vital you’re not letting me in on.”
    Samuel allowed himself another minute of calm before kissing my collarbone and pushing away from the wall. I discreetly reclaimed our hardhats from the ground while he did some adjusting, then tossed one to him. He caught it, flipped on the light, and gave me a guilty, toothsome grin. Ugh, he was going to be the death of me.
    “Kevin’s going to be really pissed you smudged his cave wall,” I teased.
    “Somehow, I think the wall was ruined a long time ago. I’m not terribly concerned about it right now.”
    I laughed and playfully swatted his backside. “Get moving, White Rabbit. Let’s go explore Wonderland.”
    “You know, Carroll’s rabbit hole was allegorical for the back stairs into the main hall of Christ Church. Actually, most of the story is based around people and places at Oxford.”
    “Freaking rabbits, Samuel! Quit ruining my fairy tales.”
    He chuckled and gripped my hand as we ducked into the cave. And let me tell you, Freud had nothing on this. Unlike the main part of the cave, these tunnels were much narrower. We often had to lie flat on our stomachs and army crawl through mud and grime and bat guano. I kept my head low so it wouldn’t brush against the small, phallic stalagmites calcifying on the top of the tunnel, but I only ended up banging my chin on a rock jutting up from the ground.
    Samuel’s lithe, toned shoulders pulled his body weight through the cave like he’d been born to belly crawl. My thoughts turned to our steamy moment at the cave skylight and my face flushed, not just from exertion. Though boyhood was long gone, I still knew every inch of him, every curve of muscle and joint. Yet there were moments, like now, when I felt as though a stranger crawled beside me, the very depths of him unreachable, undiscovered. Those women with whom he’d shared a piece of himself—no matter how small—grated at my narcissistic need to possess as much of him as possible. So much so, I couldn’t travel another inch without knowing what they’d been to Samuel.
    Decades later, we broke from the tunnel, spilling into the base of a sweeping cavern scattered with massive boulders Kevin called “cave balls.”
    “Could this place get any more suggestive?” Samuel muttered. I feebly chuckled, glad I wasn’t the only one with a dirty mind.
    He picked his way around an underground stream and tested each rock before easing his weight up and over. I braced a hand on my knee and grabbed his elbow, silently asking for a breather. We settled against a large, smooth boulder and situated our hardhats above us so we wouldn’t blind each other. The cold light caused the fungus around us to glow, casting a strange illumination and shadow over the cavern. Samuel pulled out a water-filled canteen and offered me a swig before taking a long drink. I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his neck as he swallowed, and another wave of lust swept over me. Did I just fantasize about sucking on his throat? I was toast.
    My mind zoned in on Samuel’s PG description of his relationship with Indigo. Raw need still quivered through my body, and I forced it down in a bid for a cool head. But how, exactly, does a woman ask her ex-husband about his post-marriage sex life?
    So Samuel, had any good boinking lately?
    I hear you’ve been enjoying a bit of the old in ’n out.
    Bumpin’ uglies is such a hideous term, don’t you think? Speaking of which…
    Only ambiguity dribbled from my mouth. “Speaking of Freudian caves, have you dated much in the past seven years?”
    He choked on his water. I patted his back and murmured apologies for the randomness. He gave me a wary eye, but gained a modicum of control.
    “Yes. And you’ve dated,