by Teagan Kade
I break away and a fresh tear slides down my cheek. Archer wipes it away with his thumb. “Don’t cry now. You’re strong, remember? You’re a skydiving, cartel-kicking badass. Don’t you fucking forget it.”
I can’t stop the tears, but I smile through them. “I won’t.”
He steps aside, the agents ushering me out the door.
I see Archer there through the window doing his best to stay composed, but the glazed look in his eyes, even from this distance, betrays him. It would appear this man, this rock, might just be soft inside after all.
SIX WEEKS LATER
“Where are we going?” I ask, unable to see a damn thing with this blindfold on. I extend my hands out in front of me, Archer leading me from behind.
It doesn’t help it’s nighttime, my only clue the odd flash of neon or streaking light, which tells me, together with the noise, we’re probably somewhere near Main Beach.
We’ve only been back together a couple of weeks, the processing taking longer than expected, but now I’m here legally—at least temporarily. If I want to stay in the US, well, that’s a different question.
I was able to speak to my father, confirm he was okay. He told me he’d been moved to a new house. ‘It even has a working shower,’ he told me, ‘a fridge!’ speaking about these basic things like they were part of an elaborate Aladdin’s Cave he’d inherited. I burst into tears, of course, a blubbery, wet mess on the phone, but it was good, so good, to hear his voice.
I mentioned Archer briefly.
‘A life-what?’ my father had asked, confused.
‘He saves people,’ I replied simply, knowing whatever I could come up with would not do him justice. No, I’d need them to meet, curious as to how it would pan out. Archer told me he can charm anyone, but a protective daughter’s father, especially one of an only child? That could be a hard sell.
For now, the sense of normality has returned. The information I provided was acted on quickly, the cartel taken down in an international effort, the first of its kind. From all accounts, it worked. It helped, Lacoya was gone, the head of the snake cut off for good. Other cartels will rise to fill its place, I’m sure, but there’s no more Serpiente, no more of his personal evil tainting the world.
I was offered witness protection, but I declined knowing if Archer couldn’t keep me safe, no one could. I’ve kept my new name, even have half a wardrobe of shiny American clothes to wear, including a whole drawer full of fancy underwear for those special occasions, which are many. There is still a fear, a small shred of it that seems to stain even the best moments, but I try to keep it at bay. It might never leave, but I know with Archer by my side at least I can minimize its presence, observe it from a distance like one would a lingering squall.
“Okay, stop,” says Archer, his breath tickling the side of my neck.
It’s quieter here. I can hear the ocean, but I’ve still got no idea where we are.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“For what?” I hit back. “If I open my eyes and find we’re about to get on that damn Lucifer the skydiving plane again…”
“No, no,” he laughs, “I think you’ll like this even better.”
I’m unsure, but nod all the same.
He takes my blindfold off, undoing the knot in the back and letting it fall into his hands.
I look around, my eyes slow to adjust.
We’re in the lifeguard tower on Main Beach, the Ronald McDonald one. There are no lights on, the beach dark, all shadow ahead through the windows.
“We’ve had sex here before, remember?” I tell him, pointing. “Me, up on the desk there. You, between my legs.”
Even in the low light Archer can’t hide his smile. “Oh, I remember, but we’re not here for that. Well, maybe later…”
I can’t take it anymore. “What is going on? Tell me.”
He points through the window at the front of the tower looking down over the sand. “Watch,” he says, flicking a switch on the wall.
Immediately, spotlights on the front of the tower illuminate a wide stretch on the sand in front and below us.
An area of it’s been cordoned off and written there, in giant sandy grooves, are the last words I expected to see: Marry me?
I turn to Archer in shock, but he’s already on one knee, a box in his hand, something glinting inside from the spotlights outside.
I’m so surprised, I stammer ‘No!’ stepping back.
Archer just continues to smile. “Oh? Because I really thought you’d say ‘yes’.”
My thoughts are moving a million miles per hour. “I didn’t mean—”
He takes my hand and draws me to him. “Shh now. Let me talk.”
I nod, starting to smile myself, bubbly excitement rising up inside me.
“Winter,” he tells me, locking eyes, “I know we haven’t been together long, but I also know I can’t live without you. You’re the ocean, the air I breathe. You are everything to me, and I want you to be my wife… please.”
I want to come back with something witty, clever, but I’m so excited, so terrified this chance will slip away, I rush into his arms, bowling him over onto his back.
We kiss, Archer managing to hold the ring aside somehow.
When we break apart, he says, “I take it that’s a ‘yes’?
I reply by kissing him back, the ocean shifting outside, the sound of the nightlife a mere murmur in the air.
Finally, I allow myself to sit back on my haunches.
Rocking forward, Archer takes the opportunity to slip the ring onto my finger. I can see now it’s a simple but timeless design, a classic solitaire set in silver.
“Do you like it?” he asks, and I’m pretty sure I detect a hint of nervousness in his usual steely voice.
“Baby,” I reply, borrowing his favorite term of endearment, “I’d wear a rubber band if it came from you.”
“It was a touch more expensive than a rubber band. Let’s just say I’ll be doing plenty of overtime when they let me back in here.”
“It’s beautiful. You are beautiful.”
We hold each other, simply sit there on the floor of the tower listening to our breathing, taking in the new world that’s just been created between us, and I know, just know, it’s going to be incredible.
Archer pulls back. “You think I should tell Robbie to come in now?”
“Robbie?” I ask.
“Yeah, I left him outside on security detail. Had to make sure no one disturbed our masterwork down there.”
I smile, allowing my hand to snake between us and find Archer’s hardness. It responds instantly, jerking against my fingers, eager, no doubt, to make this union official.
“Why don’t we let him wait a little bit longer?” I suggest.
EPILOGUE
ARCHER
ONE YEAR LATER
“I can’t believe it’s taken us a whole year to have our honeymoon,” I say, reclining in the sand.
Feeling sorry for us, the lifeguards pooled together a pretty impressive wedding gift, though life always got in the way of letting us actually spend the money in question and get away. But, finally, here we are—the beautiful Westin Lagunamar in Cancun.
I know it’s more luxurious than anything Winter’s seen before, people waiting on us hand and foot, though Winter’s been fairly ‘hands on’ herself, so to speak. I’m just thankful the wing we’re in has been quiet, because we are definitely not.
It’s almost sunset, the sun peeking out from the clouds on the horizon, everything around us flaxen and gold.
We didn’t really believe a fellow hotel guest when they told us they knew of a secluded beach, especially not around somewhere so built up as Cancun, but an hour on a dodgy bus later, half an hour of walking, and here we are. It’s not exactly secluded, given the walking trails on the cliff above, but we haven’t seen a soul since we got here.
It’s been bliss. Even the water was more temperate than it should be, and this time I don’t have to
save anyone, keep up a constant state of vigilance. I’m free to enjoy it with the woman I love, my wife.
I think back to our wedding. We had it on Main Beach, naturally, one of the prettier towers done up in ribbon and silk, a small group of bare-footed friends watching on.
I stood there at the altar, more of a paddleboard shoved into the sand, and thought of Liam for a moment, wishing he was there, but when I saw Winter, bright and white and so damn pretty the whole picture was a postcard, I only thought one thing.
You are one lucky son of a bitch.
It was the greatest day of my life—great Cuban food, salsa, Bar None putting on a kick-ass spread. Cocktails flowed, questionable choices were made, but it all worked.
“Shouldn’t we be getting back to the resort before it gets too dark?” Winter questions.
“I don’t care,” I reply, moving to pull aside the top of her bikini bottom. “I need you.”
We kiss, the breeze cooling on our bodies as they melt together. Her bare chest presses against me, nipples hard in the open air.
A wave rushes over our feet, the bubbly foam tickling our toes. Winter laughs, free and unrestrained. None of that fear remains from when I first found her on the beach so many moons ago.
I kiss her neck, moving to the soft mounds of her breasts. She reaches down and hooks the crotch of her bikini, shifting her lips to my ear. “I want you inside me,” she whispers, her voice mixing with the ocean and breeze until they’re indecipherable from one another.
I push her leg aside and shift against her. When I enter her, she gasps, her mouth forming a perfect oval before me, her toes curling against the sand.
I ease out and run forward again into the wet, warmth of her sex. She moans and I swallow it with a kiss, drawing back to watch the way the sensation shifts inside the opal cages of her eyes.
The water rises and falls around us, pulled forward and swept back as I move inside her. I never tire of this, of the way her body welcomes me.
Another wave rushes in around us, high enough to tease my thighs.
Hand on my side, Winter breaks the kiss and leans forward to look at the ocean. “I can’t tell if the tide’s going in or coming out.”
I ease myself back and run forward right into the hot depths of her pussy. “Oh, it’s definitely going in,” I reply, letting her adjust to my size.
I thrust harder, ramping up the speed and depth of my strokes until she’s mewing and moaning beneath me caught between the sand and the hard plane of my body above.
I wait until I see the red in her cheeks growing, feel the way her body blooms in need.
“Oh, God,” she moans. “Yes, yes.”
But I can’t let her come—not yet.
I draw away and pull her up, flipping her onto her hands and knees in the wet sand. She stretches forward with her arms against the side of her head, her swinging breasts kissing the water that rushes between us.
She laughs as we start to sink in the sand. “We’re not going to be washed away, are we?”
“Not on my watch,” I reply, plunging into her again.
I brace a hand on her hip, the other on the small of her back, and stroke again, hitting her G-spot just right.
She groans against the sand, moving to thrust back against me while the wind whistles and the oceans rears up again, everything in motion—organic.
The surf swells around my ankles, but I press on, filling her over and over until her cries are loud enough to drown out the ocean itself.
Winter looks back as I pound into her, her back arching and adjusting the angle of entry yet again, the velvety walls of her sex closing in around my cock.
I grit my teeth, staving off my own release.
Ahead of us, the cliffs rise like rocky onlookers, a goat trail running up the side anyone could use. If they were to stand on top of the cliffs we’d be exposed, the next viral hit soon forgotten. It adds a delicious thrill to the encounter, knowing our heated act here could be uncovered at any moment.
“Yes,” Winter moans, drawing out the ‘S’, her head falling back down between her arms, hair falling to the sand.
I wonder if she’s looking between her legs, can see my cock as it runs deep into her body. The thought brings me to the edge, all the willpower I have required to stop myself from losing control.
But that’s what she does to me. My life used to be so ordered, so predictable, but Winter came in like a whirlwind and upended it in the best way possible. I don’t know where I’d be without her.
The sun’s setting, the water and sand growing colder with every passing moment.
I can feel the heat leaving my shoulder blades, can imagine the bright orb of the sun slowly bobbing below the horizon. Overhead, the sky burns pink and orange, a fiery blanket above.
I’m tied to the ocean, can sense a large wave rising up behind us. It smashes into me from behind, washing over us. Winter shakes with the chill of it, gasping aloud as the sand slips away around her knees.
I thrust harder and harder, angling myself for maximum sensation, the two of us continuing our slow descent into the sand. The surf crashes over us again, Winter’s hair whipping over her back as she lifts her head.
I know we won’t be able to stay here, but I also know how close she is to release.
I shutter my eyes and take her with all the energy I can muster, gripping her hips tight. My breathing hitches in anticipation, her moaning rising to a sharp crescendo. A wave hammers me from behind and I’m thrust to the very end of her, to the molten core of her sex.
It undoes me. I tense, unable to hold back any longer. With a groan I thrust into her a final time and let go.
It sends her over the edge. She stiffens, shivering before falling into a violent series of convulsions that grip and release my cock in quick succession.
I don’t know how long we stay locked there in ecstasy, slowly letting our orgasms ebb away.
A rogue wave knocks me back into reality and I pull out, helping Winter up and out of the surf, running up the sand until we both collapse on firmer ground laughing and struggling to breathe.
We watch the burning sky together, our fingers locked. Winter’s swimsuit is still bunched up around her waist, her nipples a hot red in the fading light, the tips of a poker that’s been sitting in the fire too long.
I know I’m getting hard again, and I know she can see it.
Her free hand reaches over, stroking me softly, almost an afterthought.
I turn to her with a half-smile. “So eager.”
She grips me a little tighter. “And you aren’t?”
I have to laugh at that. “You know me. The mere mention of sex has me at full mast.”
“Sex on the beach, though… That’s something you don’t do every day.”
I reach over and touch her lips lightly, trace them out with the pad of a finger. My only reply is to roll us over and kiss her again, my lips crashing down on hers hard while the world grows cold around us.
She lets a soft moan escape her mouth as I bite down on her lower lip, pulling back and letting it free.
“What now?” she asks, her voice strained with desire.
“Now, my love,” I reply, “we dance.”
She places a finger on my lips, holding me away. “There is one thing I forgot to mention.”
“What’s that?” I ask, already eager to be inside her again.
“I haven’t been taking my birth control.”
We’ve been discussing this. I smile, the thought of having a child with this woman, the love of my life, more than my heart can take. “Even better.”
WINTER
FOUR YEARS LATER
“Got you!” I shout, rolling another snowball in my mitten and aiming it into the distance where Archer and our three-year-old Willow are hiding, giggling away in some big snowy conspiracy.
“Watch out, Mommy!” comes Willow’s tiny voice.
I see her stand and fling a snowball. It goes wide, Archer pulling her back t
o safety and the two of them continuing to laugh and plot.
I take a moment to look around. I never thought I’d ever see the snow, but here we are, in the Australian High Country, flakes of snow falling slowly from the sky like time itself is playing catch-up. Yes, Australia has snow. Who knew? It’s incredibly beautiful, made more so by the company I’m sharing it with.
“How about his one, Mommy?” Wren, the second of our triplets, hands me a snowball, though it’s more of a square than a ball. “Thank you, honey,” I smile.
“What about mine?” squeaks Weslee to my right, the third of our three. “I take her snowball, almost as big as her head, cradling the collection to the ground and pulling the girls close. “Now, let’s get Daddy and Willow good, shall we?”
It’s on—the great snowball fight the girls have been talking about all week. Yes, we are over three-hundred miles from Sydney, from home, but Archer’s always coming up with random trips like this, whisking us away into the middle of the night to the extraordinary natural gems this country has to offer.
It took a lot for Archer to pull strings and get us over here, especially considering we are still in witness protection, so to speak. Generally, sending a witness overseas is a no-no because they tend to stick out like a sore thumb in the homogeneity of the population, but Australia’s so multicultural it hardly matters.
Besides, I’d already testified, the cartel had already been broken down and disbanded, more cartels no doubt fighting over the territory. I was assured the danger had passed, that we could lead normal lives, but I don’t think I’d ever really feel safe in the US anymore.
Most people in witness protection aren’t angels. They’re criminals the American government wants to keep close tabs on, but not me, not Archer, so we were given some slack—even if Archer did need to tug on every string he had. The sheer volume of information I provided was enough to buy me leeway with the authorities, however, and that’s what did it.
Through a friend, Archer managed to find himself a lifeguard position at Sydney’s famous Bondi Beach. After that it was a simple case of packing up and shipping ourselves over—not that I had much to pack.
