After Their Vows

‘Okay, let’s go,’ he announced.

The water was glorious, all warm and silkily soapy. Angie lay in it, feeling like an exotic siren being pampered by her loving slave.

‘If this bump grows any bigger we will have to install a deeper bath,’ Roque complained as he stroked the flat of his hand over her tightly swollen abdomen.

‘You love this bump,’ Angie murmured lazily. ‘You love getting into this bath with me.’

Water sloshed as he shifted his position and came to stretch out at her side, his long, lean bronze-skinned body the perfect contrast to Angie’s pearly white slenderness—not including the bump.

‘It works for us, my voluptuous one,’ he teased her, stroking his fingers around the soapy globe of one lush breast. ‘When I am ready, I can slide inside you with the minimum of effort required on your part—and don’t you just love it when I do?’

The roaming hand slid lower, meandering away from her breast so he could replace his fingers there with his mouth. Angie stirred on a sensuous murmur of pleasure. The roaming fingers dipped between her thighs, sending her eyelashes fluttering upwards and her head turning on its waterproof pillow.

‘Kiss me,’ she begged.

Her handsome slave complied. Her arms lifted up, then fell again around his neck, and he made the kiss mimic the sensuous action of his caressing fingers.

It was all so gloriously beautiful she murmured, ‘Love you,’ against his lips.

‘Show me,’ he encouraged, and she did show him. She wasn’t so restricted by her advanced pregnancy that she could not indulge him as much as he was indulging her.

The first few months had meant weeks of restraint and carefully controlled anxiety, until sh

e’d finally accepted that she was not going to miscarry this precious baby as she had their first child. These last few months had been filled with the most wonderful moments of pure happiness and exquisite lovemaking, with days filled with planning for their baby, and nights filled with perfect passion offered by the man who loved her more than she’d ever dared believe was possible.

She loved to feel his senses quicken for her. She loved to see the burning heat of his desire for her blaze in his eyes. She loved it when he came over her, as he was doing now, and made that first slow drive with his hips that joined them. She loved to see the fierce depth of his desire for her strip everything but his love for her from his beautiful face.

Reaching up, she touched his lips with her fingers, and smiled tenderly when he kissed them. Then she wasn’t smiling—she was drowning, in him, and in what he could make her feel.

Later they lay together in their bed, with the winter moonlight tracing a path across the windows. Angie felt her baby give her a pummelling kick, and smiled when Roque soothed his son with a stroke of his hand.

‘To think,’ she said, ‘we almost lost all of this.’

It didn’t seem possible they had come so close to the brink.

‘A esperança é a última que morre, ‘ Roque murmured.

‘You’ve said that before.’ Angie turned to look at him. ‘What does it mean?’

One of those impassive smiles she found difficult to read passed across his face. ‘Hope is the last one to die,’ he translated.

He had never lost faith.

‘Oh, Roque, come and look at this,’ Angie called softly.

She was leaning on their balcony rail, looking down on the pool terrace below. Feeling the stroke of his hands as they claimed her waist, Angie indicated with her head to the sunny terrace, where her brother Alex sat on a sun lounger with their son sitting within the protective circle of his strong tanned legs.

Alex was reading out loud from one of his course books, while six-month old Luis listened, his attention fixed on his uncle’s face and the melodious resonance of his voice.

‘Do you think we have produced a genius?’ Roque posed dryly.

‘They get on like a house on fire.’ Angie smiled. ‘My handsome grown-up brother and my beautiful son.’

‘I am feeling left out again,’ her handsome husband murmured.

‘Oh, dear.’ She turned around to look at him. ‘Three—I have three demanding men to deal with,’ she sighed.

‘And you love it.’ Roque had no sympathy. ‘Your beautiful son had you to himself all morning. Your handsome brother had you to himself all afternoon. When is it my turn?’