Harris

by Jasinda Wilder

  Before Rinna I felt at loose ends, like I didn't know what to do with myself. Roth would always have his businesses to run, because even though we have enough money that we'll never have to worry, Roth is driven to work. He has to. Sitting around doing nothing all day isn't an option for him. But he works from home, now, so I still get him to myself all day every day. It's the best of all possible worlds. Like I said, though, before Rinna, I didn't know what my purpose was, what I was meant to do. I'd always just worked to survive, one dead-end job after another. Honestly, I didn't have a particular skill or passion or talent, and that was a weird and disconcerting thing to realize about myself.

  And then I had Rinna, and my life had meaning. I'm a mother; that's my purpose in life. To love Rinna, to take care of her, to nurture and cherish and protect her--and her beautiful, incredible father, of course.

  It's not for everyone. Some people are driven to succeed, some have a talent that demands expression, and some just need to be busy, to be out there working and doing and going. Me? I'm content to be at home with my husband and daughter.

  And that, right there? Husband and daughter? That never gets old. Never.

  God, I'm really digressing, aren't I?

  Valentine's Day. Six p.m.

  I was just about to put dinner in the oven. Roth had just finished his work for the day, and Rinna was, for once, playing on the floor quietly and contentedly, lying on her back on a little play-mat that dangled toys over her face, making sweet cooing noises and batting at the toys.

  I heard a boat, in the distance, but paid it no mind. Boats passed by all the time, and we received frequent deliveries via boat. But then I heard voices, Roth's, and a female voice. One I'd heard before, but couldn't place. The voices were approaching the house so I, curious, tucked Rinna onto my hip and went out onto the beach to see who was visiting us.

  Roth was walking toward the house and I could see a boat anchored a ways out. Alexei was standing on the beach in the distance, assault rifle dangling from a strap, head constantly swivelling and scanning. Walking beside Roth was a small female figure, her features silhouetted by the setting sun. I stood curling my toes in the warm sand, Rinna tugging at a strand of my hair while Roth and the woman approached us.

  Roth saw me waiting and he lifted a hand. "Kyrie, come say hello to Ella."

  I moved toward them, finally realizing whom it was: Ella, the dressmaker, and the elder sister of Eliza, Roth's former housekeeper whom had been killed as retribution during a kidnapping attempt on me. Ella was in her fifties, short and thin and beautiful, with caramel skin and long black hair going silver near the temples.

  I leaned in to hug Ella with one arm. "Hi, Ella! So good to see you."

  I was puzzled, though. Why would Ella be here? Why would we need a dressmaker? And if we did, why wouldn't we just go see her on St. Thomas? Roth wasn't giving anything away, though.

  He led the way back inside, and took Ella on a guided tour of our home, which was situated at the center of our privately owned island. She was suitably impressed by the scope of our home, which, Roth being Roth, was immense. It wasn't a colossal, echoing monstrosity, though. It was something near thirty-thousand square feet all total, but that was spread out in a vast sprawl over the island, with all the various rooms and sections perfectly placed to have the best views, connected to each other by covered walkways--which had storm shutters that could be deployed at the touch of a button. So while the square footage of the home was immense, each room was designed to feel cozy and comfortable and elegant.

  I contained my questions until Ella scooped Rinna up in her arms and took her out onto the beach, cooing in her rhythmic island voice.

  And then I pounced. "Not that I'm not glad to see her, Roth, but why is Ella here?"

  Roth smirked. "Well, it's Valentine's Day. We haven't had any time alone together since Rinna was born, so I invited Ella over to spend the night with Rinna. You and me, love, are going on a date."

  I actually squealed. "We are? Holy shit! Where are we going? Should I change? What do I do with dinner? I was just about to put it in the oven? We have to tell Ella that Rinna can't sleep without her floppy pony, and did you show her where the formula is? I should--"

  Roth's mouth slammed down on mine, silencing me with a short, powerful kiss. "Kyrie, shush. I've got it covered."

  "But Rinna--"

  "Is in the best possible hands, I promise. Ella has five children of her own, and each of those five children has at least two children apiece. Ella is a grandmother to thirteen children, and she babysits them all the time."

  "Oh."

  "And yes, I've run her through Rinna's bedtime routine, showed her where the formula is, as well as the backup breast milk you pumped. She knows where the diapers and wipes are, and she has both of our phone numbers in case something comes up. But nothing will come up." He grabbed me by the hips and spun me around, gave me a gentle but insistent shove toward the docks where our boats were moored. "Now, get your sexy ass onto the baby yacht. I want as much time alone with you as I can get."

  "But where are we going? I'm not wearing anything very nice, and--"

  He kissed me again, and this time he spanked my ass hard enough to make me jump. "You're fine. We're not going anywhere where it'll matter what you're wearing." He leaned in, murmured in my ear. "In fact, where we're going, the less you wear, the better."

  I grinned broadly, heat and excitement flushing through me. "Oh. Well, in that case..." I glanced around, making sure no one was watching.

  I was wearing a loose, ankle-length skirt made of light, flowy, breathable cotton, so thin it was nearly--but not quite--sheer, and a spaghetti-strap tank top. With Roth's eyes on me, I reached up under my skirt and tugged off my panties and stepped out of them. I leaned up against Roth and kissed him, while tucking my panties into the hip pocket of his shorts.

  Roth's smile was wide, and hungry. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

  *

  What Roth, my dear, silly, out-of-touch-with-reality husband, called the "baby yacht" was in fact a totally normal-sized luxury yacht, the kind of thing you'd see tied up at any harbor anywhere in the world-- it was just that in comparison to the ocean-going mega-yacht we'd sailed the world in, it did seem a little small. Although, at a hundred and fifty feet long, I wouldn't exactly classify it as small. But when you put it up next to the Eliza, our mega-yacht, it did seem like a little baby thing.

  It's small, but blinged out to the max. Custom built as private cruiser just for Roth and me. It had so many goodies and bells and whistles it would take a week to list them all.

  We boarded the mini-yacht, which Roth had dubbed the Rinna. We had Sasha with us, piloting the yacht, but otherwise we were alone on the ship. We sat in the lounge area built into the very bow, sipping wine and nibbling on a cheese-and-cracker tray Roth had produced. Since the Rinna was meant as a short-cruise, island-hopping vessel there wasn't a big galley like we had on the big yacht . It had a small galley, just enough to keep some snacks and beverages, and a few staples so we could throw together a quick meal if we wanted to. The sun was lowering into the water, bathing everything in a golden light. I'd spent long enough down here in the Caribbean that I knew we weren't heading for any of the major ports or islands, but rather somewhere more remote. Which made sense, given Roth's innuendo-laced statement.

  It took us over an hour and half, but Sasha finally slowed the Rinna to a stop and lowered the anchor, and then let the skiff down over the side and lowered the ladder. I was intensely curious, now, since we were in the middle of nowhere, no populated islands within several nautical miles, just a little atoll with a long, wide, sandbar extending out for hundreds of yards. I let Roth help me down into the skiff, and then sat in the bow, trying to figure out what his plan was. Roth powered up the outboard motor, and then got us moving toward the atoll in the drowsing golden light of early evening.

  It didn't take long before I understood.

  Roth skirted the outside e
dge of the sandbar, following it around to the far side of the atoll from where the Rinna was anchored. He cut the motor and angled the skiff so the nose slid up onto the sandbar, and then planted an anchor deep in the sand. He hopped out into the water, which was knee-deep. He reached for me, intending to lift me out into the water.

  "I'm still wearing my dress," I pointed out.

  "Tuck the ends into the waistband."

  I lifted the hem of my dress and tucked it into the waistband, as Roth suggested, so it was short enough that it wouldn't get wet. Which meant it was just barely above my hoo-ha.

  "Is Sasha watching?" I asked.

  Roth shook his head. "No. Well, yes, but he's not watching us. He's just keeping watch. Scanning the horizon, making sure we're left alone."

  "Am I going to have to be quiet?" I asked, as Roth lifted me down into the water, which came up to mid-thigh.

  Roth smirked, eyes sparking. "He's got earbuds in, and music cranked. He won't hear a thing."

  "Good," I said, "I'm not sure I have it in me to keep quiet any more."

  "You're never quiet, love."

  I swatted at him. "I am, too."

  "You woke up Rinna the other night, and I'd even turned on a fan for cover noise."

  "Well...you did that thing with your finger. You know what that does to me."

  We were wading through the water, and Roth's hand drifted down, under the edge of my skirt, and brushed the seam of my ass. "This thing?" He wiggled a finger against me, just so.

  I sucked in a breath. "Yeah, that thing." I knocked his arm away. "Don't you dare start that. If you start that, we'll end up fucking right here in the water, and I'm hungry. I hope you have some way to feed me all the way out here."

  He gestured. Just ahead of us, a dozen tiki torches had been planted in the sand in a wide circle, surrounding a square table with two chairs that had been planted right in the water. It was a high-top style table and chairs, so that when sitting down in them, the water would be just beneath the bottom of the seat, lapping against your knees as you dined. There was a single candle on the table, and a single red rose in a crystal vase. Another, smaller table had been set up a short distance away, on which were several covered dishes, two bottles of wine and a pair of wine glasses.

  The sun was setting, bathing everything in a crimson-golden light, turning the water molten. A gentle, warm breeze blew, just enough to make the torches flutter and dance, and toss my hair playfully.

  I took in the scene, amazed. "I know I shouldn't be surprised by the things you manage, but I still am, every time."

  He shrugged, smiling at me as he guided me to my seat. "It wasn't hard. I just arranged for this to be set up, and had Sasha let them know when we were a certain distance away so they could deliver the food and have it still be hot when we got here."

  He uncorked a bottle of wine first, poured me a glass, and then uncovered the dishes and brought them to the table two at a time.

  Dinner, at sunset, literally in the water? Pretty damn romantic.

  We sat, ate leisurely, and just...talked. Which, when you have kids, is a delightful luxury. A rarity, even. Especially when you have a baby that's as high-maintenance as Rinna.

  It wasn't dramatic. There were no fireworks or a magical proposal or extravagant gifts. What could Roth possibly give me that I didn't already have? There was nothing. The best gift he could give me was exactly this, a night out alone, a romantic setting, good food, good wine, and a chance to just enjoy the company of my husband.

  I do confess, however, that I was glad when dinner was done and Roth suggested we take the last bottle of wine and our glasses and wade to the atoll itself. He'd been touching me all throughout dinner. Nothing sexual, nothing overt, just brief, teasing brushes of his hand on my hand, a thumb across my cheek, his knee glancing against mine. And now, strolling through the water, he had an arm around my waist, his hand resting on my hip.

  God, I wanted more.

  Not that the sex isn't always good, but when you're keeping an ear out for your baby, or when you know she's only going to be asleep for another twenty or thirty minutes, it's just the not same. I wanted him alone, all to myself, for a whole night.

  No rush, no baby monitor, just him and me.

  He'd thought of everything, of course. There was another torch planted and lit on the beach of the atoll, shedding a small circle of orange light on the sand, illuminating a blanket laid out on the sand.

  I was excited, flushed with need, vibrating with anticipation. Just waiting, waiting, waiting for Roth to make his move.

  I took a moment to absorb the scene: water rippling black and warm around my ankles, moon glow shed from a full moon bathing and illuminating and silver-washing all the world, torches flickering in a light breeze, flames bent sideways and dancing straight for a breath or two and then bending once more, sand white and cool and arcing off into the distance, the far small bobbing yellow-orange light of the yacht, close enough to be a familiar comfort, but far enough to afford us total privacy. And the torch gave off just enough light that Valentine could see me, that the orange glow could bathe my skin and my curves for him to enjoy, just bright enough to set the mood. The blanket was, of course, a specially made beach blanket with stakes at all four corners and slight lip around the perimeter to keep the sand away. It was made of soft blue fleecy cotton, and was large enough that Valentine could stretch out.

  Perfect.

  I turned away from the setting and back to my husband, only to discover him staring at me, his gaze raking over me, taking me in. As if he didn't see me every single day. As if he didn't see me in the morning, with gnarly morning breath, hair a rat's nest. As if he hadn't seen me burgeoning with baby, waddling and feeling like a whale, emotional and prone to unpredictable outbursts of tears and craziness and manic nesting-phase obsessions. As if he didn't know there were stretch marks on my belly, which I couldn't get rid of no matter much how Shea butter I put on, no matter how much yoga I did; as if he didn't see the few extra pounds I still carried, no matter how faithfully I hit the elliptical machine and the kettlebells. He was gazing at me as if he didn't see any of that.

  "Do you want to walk some more, love?" he asked, taking a slow step closer to me.

  I closed the last few inches between us, gazed breathless and wide-eyed up at him. "No. I don't want to walk some more."

  "What do you want to do, then?" He was smirking, azure eyes twinkling; he knew exactly what I wanted.

  I wasn't in a playful mood, I was in a needy mood. But I pushed the franticness down, wanting to take my time with this, wanting to enjoy every single millisecond. Roth was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a white short-sleeve button-down, barefoot, the top three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. Casually decadent, easily perfect, deliriously delicious. I flicked open a button, pressed a soft kiss to the V of skin between the edges of his shirt. Slid open the next button, and followed the widening gap of skin with more kisses, button by button, until the garment hung open. I carved my palms over his shoulders, brushing it off to bare his upper body. And god, what an upper body it was. He wasn't as razor-cut as he used to be, and I loved his body all the more for it. He still worked out regularly, but he was less rigorous about it, and focused more on bulk than definition, lifting weights and running several miles every day. Thicker, broader, harder slabs of muscle outlined his chest and he still had that trim waist and wicked V-cut, abs so rock-hard you could smash open coconuts against them. I tossed the shirt aside onto the sand, scouring skin and muscle with greedy hands. He stood and held me and let me touch him, let me kiss his body until I'd had my fill; or, more accurately, until I couldn't keep my hands from exploring. I tugged open the fly of his shorts and slowly slid the zipper down, feeling him harden as I did so. I felt him harden even further as I let his shorts fall to the sand. He kicked them away, buried his big, strong hands in my hair as I sank to my knees in front of him. I pulled the elastic of his underwear away from his waist, slowly lowering them un
til his massive erection was bared. A step, and he was naked for me, standing bare and godlike on the sand and in the moonlight.

  "Kyrie, you don't have to--" he started, and then stopped as I took him into my mouth.

  I ran my tongue in swirling circles over the tip, and then looked up at him. "I haven't tasted you in--I don't know how long," I said, and then sank my mouth around him once more.

  "God, Kyrie."

  "One and the same," I joked, and then went back to tasting his cock.

  I sucked and licked at him until I felt him beginning to breathe hard and struggle for control. And then I stood up and reached for the hem of my tank top.

  Roth's hands grabbed my wrists, stopping me. "Let me."

  I dropped my hands, and let him take over. Instead of peeling off my shirt first, as I'd expected, he reached around behind me and unhooked my bra, and then stripped both shirt and bra off in one move, yanking them up and off, tossing them onto the growing pile of clothes. And then it was his turn to fall to his knees in front of me, burying his face against my breasts, nuzzling, flicking, and licking, groping and caressing and squeezing. Worshipping. Paying homage. Loving.

  I feathered eager, shaky fingers through his thick blond hair as he caressed my breasts with lips and tongue and fingers and palms, gasping at the new sensitivity of my nipples. And then he curled his fingers in the waistband of my skirt, gave it one sharp tug, and it was off. And now my fingers tightened in his hair as he drew his face down my belly, nuzzled the opening of my pussy, and drove his tongue in against me. I gasped, and clutched him closer, widened my stance, and clung to him. Gasped as he lapped at my clit, groaned when he slid two fingers into me, curling them in high, and then added a third as he began to slide them in and out of me, mimicking in miniature the grinding, penetrating friction I so badly craved.