by Ash Harlow
And now, I’m four months pregnant, twins this time, and already showing.
Reuben adores me pregnant, adores me breastfeeding, and adores me for who I am. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.
He’s embraced Granddad into our family unit, and although we’re missing a generation on the island—my mother is currently in Mongolia doing something with yaks and yurts—it feels as though between Granddad and Aurora, we span enough time, connecting with the island in a way that makes us complete.
I cannot get Orion into his shoes. He’s too quick for me and already on the track to Granddad’s cottage. In the greater scheme of things, it doesn’t matter, but I want him to get used to wearing shoes because the time will come when he’ll head over to Waitapu, our town on the mainland, and go to school.
Mostly, we’ll home-school, but he needs to socialise and understand he might be prince of his little domain, but he doesn’t own the world.
He’s an alpha child through and through, with both the confidence and the desire to lead and be fair.
It’s mid-January, mid-summer in the Southern Hemisphere. Aurora is resting with Mandy, the wife of one of the musicians who is here at the moment. She’s pregnant, too, in her first trimester where she tires easily.
She and Aurora like to take an afternoon nap together in the hammock that hangs off the massive puriri tree. It’s in the shade and gets a soft sea breeze at this time of the day.
The tide is high, the surf rolling gently. Reuben is in the studio with the band. Mandy and I took them lunch earlier, and apart from a quick acknowledgment of thanks for the food, they were totally focused on their work.
I walk to the beach and tug off my sarong, thankful for my paradise and my beautiful family. Mostly, though, thankful for the universe for sending Reuben to me.
EPILOGUE ~ REUBEN
There are no words for the way my heart dances in my chest when I see Stella. She is standing by her dotterel fence. The birds are hardly prolific, still endangered, but this season we have ten breeding pairs dotted along the coast of the five-thousand-acre the island. Ahunui has proved to be a fertile place that likes raising babies of all species.
I’ve taken a break from the studio to come and find Stella, and now I’m at the top of the dune, watching.
Her focus is not toward the dotterels, but out to sea. I take a moment to drink in the sight of my wife, knowing that she’s mine, and in this moment I imagine she waits for the press of my lips to the back of her neck.
I go through the entire motion, feel her soft skin against my mouth, inhale her scent, and brush my cheek against her hair. It carries her unique fragrance that has imprinted on me so that when I smell it, I’m immediately at peace. And horny.
Then I follow her gaze to the ocean, and count four dolphins passing across the mouth of the bay.
She’s a goddess, this woman who captivates me and calls up dolphins. Stella says they come because they sense she’s pregnant, but I believe they’d come for her anyway.
I step back to remain concealed by the massive sprawling limbs of the ancient pohutukawa that dominates the top of the dunes like an enraged monster. I love to watch her when she’s unaware I’m there.
Stella tugs at the knot in her sarong, revealing her gorgeous body covered only by a bikini. She knows how much I adore her pregnant with our babies. How I love to kiss her stomach, tracing the silvery stretchmarks she complains about, with my tongue. How grateful I am that she selflessly gives herself over to growing and nurturing our children and bringing them into the world.
She moves with perfect grace. There’s this way she enters the sea as though she’s born from it. She gives her body over to it, without struggle, and becomes one with the ocean.
I watch her stand thigh-deep, fluttering her hands against the surface of the water, making little splashes. The dolphins, which were heading across the mouth of the bay, turn and speed towards her, four dorsal fins that make me question whether I’d identified them correctly. There’s this primal fear of a dorsal fin cutting the surface of the water that puts me on edge despite Stella’s confidence.
One leaps, followed by another, and I hear Stella’s whoop of joy.
They slow as they near her, approaching one by one, rolling to their sides where they pause beside her to make the sort of eye-to-eye connection I envy. Stella dives and swims, her stroke powerful, then she turns before the face of a wave and bodysurfs to the shore.
The dolphins join her, pulling off the wave when the water becomes too shallow. Their speed and the fact that their bodies beyond the fins are submerged make them look shark-like.
Stella stands, adjusts her bikini, and hurries to the breakers to catch another wave.
Completely spellbound in my place behind the tree, I watch her surf with the dolphins as if they were old friends who dropped by. The water is so clear I can see them all in the waves, the dolphins pulling off and darting around her moments before they collide. Stella, as always, is totally confident they are aware of her presence and won’t harm her.
“I can see you there. Why don’t you join us?”
She’s surfed into the shallows again and pushes to her feet, water streaming down her body, both hands reaching for her dark hair, which she flicks over her shoulders.
My siren.
I dump my clothes at the top of the dune and run to meet her in the sea. Wrapping my arms around her, I tug at the strings of the bikini and throw them ashore.
“Reuben, someone will see us.”
“They’re all busy, but if anyone turns up, they’ll fuck right off, because I’m allowed a private skinny dip with my magnificent wife.”
I pull her out into the deeper water, and she wraps her legs around mine. The dolphins have gone, leaving Stella knowing she has me to protect her now.
“How are the babies?” I ask, stroking her belly.
“Calm. They love the sea.”
“My wife loves the sea.”
“Your wife loves her husband even more.”
My mouth finds hers. She tastes salty and sweet as I stroke her with my tongue. “Kissing you reminds me to breathe,” I tell her.
It’s true. Creativity can be a joy and a curse. Exhilarating when producing comes easily, but there’s a regular peppering of self-doubt involved, too. When my mouth is on Stella’s, I’m reminded that if I never wrote another song, never produced another piece of music, I’d still have the most perfect thing in my life.
I slip my fingers between the folds of her pussy, and she groans into my mouth. Pushing a finger inside, I find she’s hot and wet, always ready for me. My cock is hard, ready for her, too.
“I need to fuck you.” I lick her ear, nipping the lobe. Her pussy squeezes my finger.
“I need you, too.”
I open her, pressing my cock to her entrance, lowering her so that I inch in. We take our time until I’m completely inside her. We’re beyond the surf break, buoyant, fucking slowly with the rise and fall of the swell, completely at one with the ocean.
We’ve come together this way countless times, but I’ll never tire of it, or my beautiful wife, my gorgeous children and this wonderful, magical island that heals and nurtures the people who come here.
***
Thank you for reading Stella and Reuben’s story. I do hope you enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it. Ahunui, and Waitapu on the mainland, exist in my life under different names, and are places I feel immense passion for.
Who on earth is Ash?
That’s me! I’m Ash, and I live in New Zealand. (That sounded like a group therapy introduction). I love writing romance with strong female characters and Alpha males who aren’t assholes. My men are protective without being controlling. Well, apart from sex. Most of my men get a little bossy in the bedroom.
A lot of my books are set in New Zealand, and I love sharing snippets about my beautiful country with readers.
This is my rescue dog, Skipper, jumping for joy (or the ball) on h
is morning walk.
I also write in US settings. My stories are steamy right through to raunchy romance (depends on the characters), and I’ll always give you a Happily Ever After!
Time for the nuts and bolts about ARC Teams, and newsletters, and other books, and how to contact me (sitting alone every day, writing, gets a bit lonely, you know?).
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