Desert Island

He bought this beachfront villa on a private island off the coast of Miami as a wedding present to both of us. It’s incredible. More bathrooms than I know what to do with.

For a honeymoon present (I didn’t even know that was a thing) he bought me my own plane—an Eclipse 550. I use it to fly us in and out. We can be in Miami in twenty-five minutes. It’s amazing. We can go out for dinner and land in our backyard.

I love this place. It’s the best of both worlds. Island living, but with every luxury known to man.

“What do you want to do this afternoon?” I ask as I line the plane up with the runway (properly this time) and lower the nose.

“I’d like to catch some dinner,” Carson says as he glances at my legs.

This crazy man can afford any food on the planet, but he still insists on heading into the ocean with the spear he made on the island and catching our dinner that way. I swear if I open the fridge and find one more huge dead fish staring at me, eyeballs and all, I’m going to freak out.

But what can I say? My man loves it.

You can take the wild man off the island, but you can’t take the island out of the wild man.

“Unless…” he says, giving me a sultry look. “You want to do something else…”

I shift on the seat, getting all wet and warm from that look. It begins to ache down there as the cockpit fills with the promise of more cock.

“Stop distracting me,” I say as I turn back to the runway, having to line the plane back up again. Shit, I’m too high.

He laughs as I pull up and have to do another loop around to get it right this time.

“Shut up,” I say, laughing too. “This is all your fault.”

This time, I’m hyper-focused and land my beloved Eclipse properly. When the wheels have finally stopped and the engine is shut down, I turn to him. All of my pent-up arousal and need comes flooding back tenfold.

“You,” I say as I yank off my headset, my pussy on fire. “In the back. Now.”

He grins as he looks me up and down, his blue eyes simmering. “Yes, Captain.”

I’m the pilot and this is my plane, which means I make the rules. In the bedroom, he’s in charge, but here, it’s all me.

We rush into the cabin and I push him down into one of the huge leather seats. He grins, his cock already rock hard in his pants. My mouth waters as I see it straining to get out.

“Get that nice hard cock out,” I command as I unzip my dress and let it fall off my body.

His eyes widen when he sees that I’m not wearing any underwear.

“Yes, my Captain,” he says as he pulls out his thick meaty cock.

He holds it straight up as I straddle his body, holding onto his big round shoulders as he guides his firm swollen head into my aching wet pussy.

We both moan as I drop my hips down, taking every thick inch of him deep inside me.

He feels so damn good. He feels like home.

No matter where we are—on a desert island, in our villa, on the beach, or in my plane, with him… it’s home.

And this home is about to heat up in the best possible way…

EPILOGUE

Carson

* * *

Eight years later…

* * *

“I can’t look!” Bridget screeches as she turns away, squeezing her eyes shut. “Tell me when she’s down.”

I smile as I watch Delia scurry up the palm tree like a chipmunk. She’s not even wearing shoes.

“Look at this one!” Delia says as she grabs the biggest coconut and knocks it off. It falls to the ground with a thud.

“I hate it when she does that!” poor Bridget says as she covers her eyes. “There’s coconut in the fridge for god’s sake!”

“We have island children, my love,” I say with a laugh as Delia climbs back down the tree as easily as if she was walking down a flight of stairs. “They don’t eat from the fridge.”

Delia comes running over with her coconut and proudly displays it to her mother who is just now opening her eyes.

“Looks good, doesn’t it, Mama?”

She’s so adorable. Six years old and she already runs the island.

“It looks delicious, baby,” Bridget says as she kisses her on the forehead. Delia drops the coconut on the ground, completely uninterested in it anymore, and runs along the shore looking for more treasures.

I look out at the break of waves in the distance where our oldest, Mason at eight years old, is surfing the waves and doing a damn fine job of it. I taught him well. He’s really cutting through the waves nicely.

Normally, I’d be out there with him, but I wanted to spend some time with my love on the sand. She’s eight months pregnant with our third child.