Until the End of Time

by Nikki Winter

  He could have pushed. He could have backed her into a corner and forced her to voice whatever it was that made her shake in his arms, but decided against it. Sansone wouldn’t get it out of her here. However, after some time in a place where she had nowhere to run, he could turn the tides. So he indulged her, whispering a great deal of his plans against her temple until her breaths evened out and she stopped responding. Then he laid her out, doing just as he said he’d always wanted, and looked at her. There was just one problem. His stare wasn’t full of its typical lust or devotion. No, this time there was only concern.

  Four

  “Bienvenue sur notre belle île!”

  Sansone tried and failed to focus on the boisterous words announced by captain of the ferry steadily bustling he and Nyssa, along with several other passengers, towards the Vai’are wharf. His attention was on his wife who’d left him near their bags to go stand at the railing and turn her face towards the sun. Her oversized glasses were long gone, tucked away into one of her many pieces of luggage, and her lashes rested on her cheeks. She had her small palms pressed against the metal of the huge boat, barely moving with the speed while she practically glowed. The backdrop of light bracketed her bronzed skin perfectly, highlighting yellow undertones set off by the soft pastel color of her maxi dress.

  With the realization that she’d be spending several days away from home and her hair stylist, she’d endured hours at the salon, getting meticulous twists that roped downwards past her shoulders and stopped a few scant inches above her ass. Before their early morning trek to the airport, she’d looped them into a bun and wrapped a silken scarf around where they rooted from her scalp, keeping them in place. Had they wandered into the isles with a bit more Afro-Latin ancestry such as the Dominican Republic where they’d spent their honeymoon, she could have easily been mistaken for one of the local, stunning island girls. It was in the fluid, rhythmic movement of her hips and the dusted gold effect of her complexion.

  Nyssa was indeed a rough talking, cement stomping, city born shark. But at the heart of her, she couldn’t deny her love for this atmosphere. Hence why he’d brought her here. Vacations out of the country tended to restore whatever depleted energy they had, allowing them to rest before they were forced to return to the real world. He sensed that this time, his wife needed it more than him. Something was weighing on her. Something that she couldn’t seem to verbalize. They’d been friends long before they’d been lovers and somehow, intimacy had been lost and replaced with this driving need to play the roles appointed to them. Woman. Man. Wife. Husband. Sister. Brother. Aunt. Uncle. Mother. Father.

  Where Sansone and Nyssa had traipsed off to in the midst of obligation, he didn’t know. But he intended to find them on this trip and force them back home. The connection that had made them unstoppable for years—that extraordinary ESP exclusive to them—was blurring. He didn’t like it. She didn’t like it. They needed to fix it. He’d contemplated the solutions for hours a day as to how.

  When Nyssa suddenly grinned, those bright hazel orbs still closed to all around her as she just took in the feel of the breeze, Sansone grappled with his camera. Getting it turned on and to the right setting, he took a snapshot or four, marking the moment as the beginning of them finding their equilibrium again. She looked happy; an expression that had been fleeting for months now. He could see her visibly relaxing the closer they got to the dock and hoped that things could only get better from here.

  As if sensing his stare, she suddenly opened her eyes and looked directly at him. She raised a brow at the camera, but said nothing. His next shot was that of her lush mouth lifted on one side in a smirk that he’d come to know well over the years. She then shook her head and went back to admiring the waves.

  He stood and walked over to her, stopping at her side to press a kiss to her cheek and take another shot. The picture captured her scrunching up her nose while he smiled against her face.

  “Stai bene.”

  “I feel good,” she murmured back, absentmindedly patting his jaw. “I do believe this was one of your better ideas, Mr. Sultana.”

  He twisted his mouth as he stared down at her. “Including that thing you only let me do to you during leap years and the night after Christmas because you claim that doing it on Christmas would offend the infant carpenter?”

  Nyssa patted his face a little rougher this time. “Go away.”

  “Nooope,” Sansone drew out, wrapping an arm about her waist and squeezing her. “I flew you out, so you have to put up with me. Dem’s the rules.”

  She snorted. “Where? On Twitter where children who should be learning how to spell are too busy arguing how much a first date should cost, while coming up with hypothetical scenarios that only happen in scripts written by Shonda Rhimes?”

  He nodded. “Yuuup.”

  “I want you to understand that with each passing day, I’m concerned about the state of your mental health.”

  “I’ve been hearing this for the last eleven or so years and yet, I have not been committed.” Grinning down at her, he waggled his brows when he asked, “Can’t do it can you? Can’t lock up the D.”

  Nyssa blinked slowly. “I wonder if I can have your passport revoked on the way back home…get you trapped in a third world territory…”

  “I love you too, sugarplum. I love you too…”

  “Well this is gorgeous. Unrealistically, insanely gorgeous.”

  “So I take it that you approve?” her husband questioned from over her shoulder as she walked further into the bungalow and eyed the expanse of space reserved just for them. It was a lagoon front pushed out into the waves. Just from where she stood in the foyer, she could hear the movement of the ocean. The sitting room itself had a huge bay window that gave a backdrop of picturesque mountain views and the incredible cerulean blue water lapping up the shore.

  “Approve? Dude, I want to lustily rub my nipples against everything in here!”

  “Er…I’d advise against that. Because, you know, bacteria.”

  With another few steps, Nyssa discovered that their bedroom had the same window along with a small pathway that led directly to the back deck. That was where she found oversized rattan furniture with comfortable, plush cushions and a ladder off to the side, edging into the South Pacific. Everything created had been done so with the thought of decadence and she couldn’t wait to strip and take up residence on that…

  “What, precisely, do you think you’re doing?” Sansone barked from behind her.

  Swinging around, she jerked up her dress and faced him with wide eyes. “Getting half naked so I can lounge around in luxury?”

  He was shaking his head before she even finished. “There shall be no lounging for you on this night I’m afraid.” Her husband clapped his hands together. “We’ve got plans.”

  Nyssa frowned. “Plans? Sunny we just withstood the torture of several hours in the air, along with an unnecessary amount of Ferry trips from island to island so we could comfortably rest here. Why, in God’s name, would I want to leave this place?”

  Walking forward, he cupped her face and made a soothing sound. “Sweet, sweet, cara. You want to leave because if you stay, you will have absolutely no peace.” Leaning forward, Sansone whispered against her mouth. “I will haunt you.”

  She slapped his hands away. “The hell, man?!”

  “This is not a trip intended for the sole purpose of lazy immorality—”

  “Immorality? Immorality?”

  “—You and I are here to remind ourselves as to why we shouldn’t take one another for granted. By ‘ourselves’ I mean you.”

  Nyssa snarled a little. “Me?! I take us for granted?”

  “I wouldn’t voice that particular opinion per se…” Sansone’s voice trailed off as he pursed his lips and stared over her shoulder, rocking back on his heels. “I lie,” he suddenly amended. “Yes, yes I would. You’ve been a bit…goal oriented as of late.”

  She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “A
nd to punish me, you’re going to make me do God knows what as penance on vacation?”

  “Wrong,” her husband responded in an imitation of Charlie Murphy as he jerked his fists in her direction. “Wrong.”

  Laughing wasn’t an option right now. She was entirely too annoyed. “Then enlighten me as to what your bright, ridiculous plan is.”

  He did a toe tapping melody with his giant feet and then spread his arms out, waving his palms in a disturbing rendition of jazz hands before answering, “Intimacy.”

  Thinking she’d heard him wrong, she tugged on her right ear and queried, “Huh?”

  “You and I are going to reestablish our intimacy,” Sansone happily informed her. “The beautiful connection of souls that has made us—as a married couple—so wonderfully unique in our union.”

  Nyssa rubbed the heels of her palms over her now closed lids. “I think I would have rather had you bring me here to tell me that you and Brian’s husband have been in the throes of an intense affair for the last several years.”

  “Brian’s husband isn’t my type,” he quipped. “The thighs and calves aren’t proportionate. I’ve tried to overlook it considering his previous profession, but I find myself afraid that one day he’ll tip over like a beetle and won’t be able to regain footing.”

  No. No laughing. Annoyance. Annoyance was key. “Sansone…”

  “We’ve lost our footing, cara,”—he rubbed the pad of his thumb beneath her mouth—“it’s time to get it back.”

  She lightly stamped her feet like a toddler who’d been told no to candy for breakfast. “Can’t we just do that thing I only let you do during leap years and after Christmas, before taking a nap?”

  Sansone clicked his tongue against his teeth. “As tempting as that particular offer sounds…no.” His palm came down on her hip. “Shower. Get dressed in something comfortable and easy to move in.”

  Stopping his retreat, Nyssa pressed a quick kiss to his mouth and softly admitted, “What you’re doing…most men wouldn’t. Most men are clueless until someone sends a fairly expensive vase sailing towards their head.”

  His expression was typically haughty. “How many times do we have to learn that I’m not most men? I’m superior. Lord of all. Ruler of everything the light touches. King of—”

  She covered his lips with her palm. “I try to say thank you and you just ruin it. You ruin it every time.”

  He lifted her hand and nipped it. “I love you too, sugarplum. I love you too…”

  ***

  Watching her mouth was torment. Something he’d come to know well. It was amazing that he hadn’t fallen to the floor on his knees, offering himself as tribute when they’d first met. Temptation in flesh, Nyssa was. Made all the more appealing because she embraced the wanton creation of herself. She didn’t pretend to know otherwise. She didn’t deny her beauty like so many others had the tendency to do in false modesty. Arrogant? Not in this sense. Comfortable in her power? Sure. Which was why the next few days would be hell on Earth. Taking talks of babies from the equation left the man and the woman, and no matter what he’d told Luciano, Sansone wanted to lay her down on the nearest hard surface at almost every opportunity given. He simply couldn’t help himself. It was a part of what made them…them. Wanting that back is what had brought them here. Pleasure had been the repetitive motive in touching her over the years. He intended to make her remember that.

  She’d asked about punishment earlier in the day, her expression full of exasperation. Punishment was too harsh of a word. He didn’t want to alienate her, but he did want her totally aware of what life was like in a constant state of arousal with nothing to slate the pulse of lust. They’d lived that way once before; unable to move around the elephant in the room. Having to face everything as friends and nothing else. Days and nights spent in companionable silence all the while wondering what would happen if they just gave in.

  Today’s outing had been a lovely taste of that. He’d nudged her down to the docks where they’d found a small luxury boat waiting along with fishing supplies. Ignoring Nyssa’s immediate, “Oh, absolutely not,” Sansone had simply lifted her with one arm, the supplies in the other and got them situated on the vessel. He’d pushed them off and out into Opunohu Bay, laughing at how she’d leaned over into the bucket of fish bait for a peek, only to pull back with her face slightly green.

  When they’d gotten to a reasonably lovely spot, he’d pulled out a bucket cap, pushed it down over her loose twists and kissed her nose. She still wore a frown but it faded as she noticed the beauty of the reef and the different schools of fish swimming about. Once he’d told her about the whale watching they would do and their visit to the Moorea Dolphin center, excitement pushed aside her previous annoyance. After a while they’d sat next to each other in the quiet, feeling the boat rock as their lines were tugged periodically. Parrotfish were caught and kept along with bonito while triggerfish and jacks were thrown back. At her raised brow, he told her that their catches would be for dinner along with things he’d already had ordered and delivered to the bungalow. The boat trip was over too soon for his tastes. The quiet of being out in the bay with nothing but their thoughts had been soothing.

  Their arrival back at the bungalow had been met with a chest designed to hold both cool and warm items. It was full of their favorite wines, makings for a Tahitian influenced meal and dessert. From there Sansone had stripped off his shirt, donned himself with an apron and sat his wife onto a nearby countertop so she could assist when needed. He didn’t miss the way her gaze followed him about the moderately sized kitchen.

  “You’re objectifying my flesh,” he complained, moving away from her after giving her a spoonful of dirty crab rice that he intended to stuff into the already descaled, beheaded and marinated fillets before they were broiled.

  Nyssa smiled against the rim of her wine glass. “You’ve got all your assets on display, nipples playing peek-a-boo from behind that apron while you prepare tropical delights and get me slightly drunk. Yes, I am totally objectifying you with my eyes and if you step closer, I’ll probably slide my hand up the leg of your shorts and tell you that you obviously wore them to get my attention.”

  Snorting, he turned his focus to simmering prawns in coconut milk and a curry paste from the local market. “I feel so unsafe.”

  “One more of these,”—she waved her goblet around—“and I can’t be accountable for my actions. I may stay awake long enough for you to witness the best six minutes of my sexual career after dinner.”

  Sansone smirked, deciding not to answer that. There was a reason he was getting her good and plied. There would be no sex. Well, at least not in the traditional sense. Oh he’d leave her screaming down the sturdy wooden walls of their temporary vacation home, but he’d do nothing else until she begged. Knowing his wife, he predicted the likelihood of that happening so soon to be very, very slim.

  However, with most things, he would be as tactical and as patient as he’d been for the eight years that he couldn’t have her.

  The fish was flakey and well cooked within minutes, as was the rest of their meal. Sansone piled a platter high with the food, grabbed the wine and marched everything towards the back deck. He sat them under the shade and swatted Nyssa’s hand away when she reached out for a fork.

  “Er…dude? I want to eat. It can be the food or it can be your still beating heart, choose.”

  “Quiet down, Lilliputian,”—he teased with a smile, taking hold of the fork—“you’re going to eat.”

  Nyssa’s eyes widened slightly in question when he brought the utensil to her mouth, but she said nothing. A few seconds passed before a low, lustful sound rumbled from her throat. He felt an immediate answer in his groin.

  “Planning to give me this same treatment when I eventually get fat enough that every step is announced by a tuba player because of your more than likely oversized offspring?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “I need you to do something for me, cara.”
r />   “I am so afraid to ask what.”

  Turning her way, Sansone leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands. “For the next seven days, I don’t want to think about pregnancy.” She went to withdraw, but he held her there. “No, listen to me. There are few things I want more than to watch your ankles swell to the size of grapefruits while probably being replaced with a comfortable body pillow because I’m too lumpy and smell funny.”

  Her lips twitched and he knew he’d gotten through. “But I want my wife back. I want to enjoy this week, really enjoy it. And to do that, we have to be selfish enough to forget about what we left at home and think about what’s here.” He pressed a kiss between her brows. “You and me. That’s all. No more and no less. Can you do that?”

  She went completely silent for so long that he was afraid she’d say no. But then her head dipped into a nod and he could breathe again.

  Five

  “We’re going to play a game,” her husband announced, standing over her with a scarf in one hand and a plate full of what looked to be chocolate covered fruit in the other.

  Nyssa sat aside the jar of coconut oil she’d been dutifully applying to her skin and shot him a look from beneath her lashes. “Is this as dirty as it looks?”

  He sat at the end of the canopied bed with his strong thighs incased in dark boxer briefs brushing hers. The smile he sent her was absolutely immoral in its promise. “Volete scoprire?”

  Did he really have to ask? Next to her with the crisp scent of the ocean following him, mingling with his favorite soap. His unusually clinical shower with her had left his hair damp and curling. It needed to be clipped, having grown enough to fall into his eyes again. Sansone brushed it away after placing the tray down and she watched the play of muscles in his arm. He had so few scars that his deeply tanned, olive skin tone could almost be described as perfect; save the artwork looping up from his wrist and stopping just beneath his collarbone. A collection of Italian idioms and a scripted piece consisting of, “Io l'ho, ma uno Delilah” meaning, “I have but one Delilah.” It was a play on words as his name was the Italian rendition of Samson. The phrase circled a series of Nyssa’s lip prints. He’d had her put on lipstick and press a kiss to paper so his artist could stencil the design onto his skin.