She’s a vision. And I need a taste. I hook my hands under the backs of her knees and spread her, opening her up to me, and I lower to my stomach, immune to the cold when there’s a fire blazing within licking distance.
I lock my mouth around her completely, closing my eyes and absorbing the salty freshness of her flesh. Her cry is broken. My moan is primal.
“Danny,” she whispers, writhing in the sand, twisting and turning her body. “Oh, God.”
I push the tip of my tongue past her entrance and lick through her slowly, feeling her clit twitch in my mouth. She convulses violently, forcing me to lay an arm across her stomach to hold her down. Her hands land in my hair, pushing me to her, gripping, circling, grains of sand feeling rough against my scalp. I pull back, drinking in air ravenously, setting my stare on her glistening flesh. Her clit is visibly twitching. Her lips are swollen. The muscles just past her entrance rolling. I dip and place a tender peck on her, so softly, but she still yelps to the black sky, trying to force my head down for more. I shake her hold off, sending her hands plummeting to the sand, grabbing at the millions of grains to hold.
“I want to see this.” I go in and lick again, spiking a strangled yell. And again. Another yell, a jack of her body. And again.
“Danny!”
I smirk salaciously, running my tongue across my lips, lapping up her essence as I push two fingers inside. I watch her head thrash, feeling her internal muscles trying to drag me deeper inside. I’ve tortured her enough. And myself. I get some weight behind me and drive deep, and her soft walls welcome me home. A few licks, a hard suck, a light bite, and a precise swirl bends her, breaks her, and she comes all over my mouth on a desolate murmur of my name before going limp, her chest heaving.
I kiss every inch of her skin, easing her down, mesmerized by her body, by the sounds she’s making, until she relaxes, sinking into the sand. Crawling up her body, I settle my weight, framing her head with my forearms. Her eyes are closed. “Open,” I breathe, knowing what I’m going to see. Her lashes flutter, she inhales, and she looks up at me.
Tears.
“We’re going to be okay.” I kiss her between her eyebrows. “Do you hear me, Rose?” I have to make her believe it, otherwise we’ll be fighting constantly. I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I’m going to be looking over my shoulder constantly again. I don’t need to be on my guard, watchful of my wife’s tidy palm. Because that’s how she’s operated since she fell in love with the man who kidnapped her. When she feels threatened, when she fears something will threaten us, she naturally slips into fight mode. Frustration and fear are the fuel. I’ve always taken a backward pleasure from being on the receiving end of her physical lash outs. I’m the only man in this world who can anger her.
I’m the only man in this world who can love her.
Therefore, I’m the only man in this world who can hurt her.
Because true pain only comes from loving someone. It’s a lesson we’ve both learned, and we both live by.
She’s my beginning.
And she will be my end.
The silence is palpable on the drive from the airfield to my mansion in Miami. I’ve held Rose’s hand forcefully the entire journey as I’ve stared out of the window, feeling edgier the closer we get. I didn’t feel like this a few weeks ago when I returned after the bombshell call from Brad that brought my peaceful life in St. Lucia to an abrupt end. But now? I’m tense, and I know Rose can feel it because she keeps unsuccessfully trying to release her hand from mine. And there’s why I feel different this time.
Rose.
On my last visit, she was in St. Lucia, miles away, being guarded. It became very obvious very quickly that keeping her there, out of harm’s way, wasn’t a long-term solution. Not when we have no fucking idea who we’re dealing with, what exactly they know, and how we’re going to handle it. So she stays with me. She’s not happy about being here, and I’m not happy that I’ve been forced to bring her. So we’re equally pissed off about the situation. Rose, naturally, more than me. I can’t help but feel like life is going to be too fucking stressful for more reasons than one. My wife’s temper is brutal. Unlucky for me, I’m the only poor fucker in this world who can spike that temper.
I’m the only man who can hurt her.
I glance across the car, finding her eyes nailed to the guy in the passenger seat. Nolan. He’s Brad’s new accessory. A good kid, by all accounts. I’m yet to find out. I crane my head to see what she’s looking at when her eyes fall to his legs. A machine gun is spread across his thighs.