Harris (Alpha One Security #1) (17 page)

“Am I going to have to be quiet?” I asked, as Roth lifted me down into the water, which came up to mid-thigh.

Roth smirked, eyes sparking. “He’s got earbuds in, and music cranked. He won’t hear a thing.”
 

“Good,” I said, “I’m not sure I have it in me to keep quiet any more.”
 

“You’re never quiet, love.”

I swatted at him. “I am, too.”

“You woke up Rinna the other night, and I’d even turned on a fan for cover noise.”
 

“Well…you did that thing with your finger. You know what that does to me.”
 

We were wading through the water, and Roth’s hand drifted down, under the edge of my skirt, and brushed the seam of my ass. “This thing?” He wiggled a finger against me, just so.
 

I sucked in a breath. “Yeah, that thing.” I knocked his arm away. “Don’t you dare start that. If you start that, we’ll end up fucking right here in the water, and I’m hungry. I hope you have some way to feed me all the way out here.”
 

He gestured. Just ahead of us, a dozen tiki torches had been planted in the sand in a wide circle, surrounding a square table with two chairs that had been planted right in the water. It was a high-top style table and chairs, so that when sitting down in them, the water would be just beneath the bottom of the seat, lapping against your knees as you dined. There was a single candle on the table, and a single red rose in a crystal vase. Another, smaller table had been set up a short distance away, on which were several covered dishes, two bottles of wine and a pair of wine glasses.

The sun was setting, bathing everything in a crimson-golden light, turning the water molten. A gentle, warm breeze blew, just enough to make the torches flutter and dance, and toss my hair playfully.

I took in the scene, amazed. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised by the things you manage, but I still am, every time.”
 

He shrugged, smiling at me as he guided me to my seat. “It wasn’t hard. I just arranged for this to be set up, and had Sasha let them know when we were a certain distance away so they could deliver the food and have it still be hot when we got here.”
 

He uncorked a bottle of wine first, poured me a glass, and then uncovered the dishes and brought them to the table two at a time.

Dinner, at sunset, literally in the water? Pretty damn romantic.

We sat, ate leisurely, and just…talked. Which, when you have kids, is a delightful luxury. A rarity, even. Especially when you have a baby that’s as high-maintenance as Rinna.
 

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no fireworks or a magical proposal or extravagant gifts. What could Roth possibly give me that I didn’t already have? There was nothing. The best gift he could give me was exactly this, a night out alone, a romantic setting, good food, good wine, and a chance to just enjoy the company of my husband.

I do confess, however, that I was glad when dinner was done and Roth suggested we take the last bottle of wine and our glasses and wade to the atoll itself. He’d been touching me all throughout dinner. Nothing sexual, nothing overt, just brief, teasing brushes of his hand on my hand, a thumb across my cheek, his knee glancing against mine. And now, strolling through the water, he had an arm around my waist, his hand resting on my hip.

God, I wanted more.

Not that the sex isn’t always good, but when you’re keeping an ear out for your baby, or when you know she’s only going to be asleep for another twenty or thirty minutes, it’s just the not same. I wanted him alone, all to myself, for a whole night.
 

No rush, no baby monitor, just him and me.

He’d thought of everything, of course. There was another torch planted and lit on the beach of the atoll, shedding a small circle of orange light on the sand, illuminating a blanket laid out on the sand.
 

I was excited, flushed with need, vibrating with anticipation. Just waiting, waiting, waiting for Roth to make his move.
 

I took a moment to absorb the scene: water rippling black and warm around my ankles, moon glow shed from a full moon bathing and illuminating and silver-washing all the world, torches flickering in a light breeze, flames bent sideways and dancing straight for a breath or two and then bending once more, sand white and cool and arcing off into the distance, the far small bobbing yellow-orange light of the yacht, close enough to be a familiar comfort, but far enough to afford us total privacy. And the torch gave off just enough light that Valentine could see me, that the orange glow could bathe my skin and my curves for him to enjoy, just bright enough to set the mood. The blanket was, of course, a specially made beach blanket with stakes at all four corners and slight lip around the perimeter to keep the sand away. It was made of soft blue fleecy cotton, and was large enough that Valentine could stretch out.
 

Perfect.
 

I turned away from the setting and back to my husband, only to discover him staring at me, his gaze raking over me, taking me in. As if he didn’t see me every single day. As if he didn’t see me in the morning, with gnarly morning breath, hair a rat’s nest. As if he hadn’t seen me burgeoning with baby, waddling and feeling like a whale, emotional and prone to unpredictable outbursts of tears and craziness and manic nesting-phase obsessions. As if he didn’t know there were stretch marks on my belly, which I couldn’t get rid of no matter much how Shea butter I put on, no matter how much yoga I did; as if he didn’t see the few extra pounds I still carried, no matter how faithfully I hit the elliptical machine and the kettlebells. He was gazing at me as if he didn’t see any of that.
 

“Do you want to walk some more, love?” he asked, taking a slow step closer to me.

I closed the last few inches between us, gazed breathless and wide-eyed up at him. “No. I don’t want to walk some more.”
 

“What do you want to do, then?” He was smirking, azure eyes twinkling; he knew exactly what I wanted.

I wasn’t in a playful mood, I was in a needy mood. But I pushed the franticness down, wanting to take my time with this, wanting to enjoy every single millisecond. Roth was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a white short-sleeve button-down, barefoot, the top three buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. Casually decadent, easily perfect, deliriously delicious. I flicked open a button, pressed a soft kiss to the V of skin between the edges of his shirt. Slid open the next button, and followed the widening gap of skin with more kisses, button by button, until the garment hung open. I carved my palms over his shoulders, brushing it off to bare his upper body. And god, what an upper body it was. He wasn’t as razor-cut as he used to be, and I loved his body all the more for it. He still worked out regularly, but he was less rigorous about it, and focused more on bulk than definition, lifting weights and running several miles every day. Thicker, broader, harder slabs of muscle outlined his chest and he still had that trim waist and wicked V-cut, abs so rock-hard you could smash open coconuts against them. I tossed the shirt aside onto the sand, scouring skin and muscle with greedy hands. He stood and held me and let me touch him, let me kiss his body until I’d had my fill; or, more accurately, until I couldn’t keep my hands from exploring. I tugged open the fly of his shorts and slowly slid the zipper down, feeling him harden as I did so. I felt him harden even further as I let his shorts fall to the sand. He kicked them away, buried his big, strong hands in my hair as I sank to my knees in front of him. I pulled the elastic of his underwear away from his waist, slowly lowering them until his massive erection was bared. A step, and he was naked for me, standing bare and godlike on the sand and in the moonlight.
 

“Kyrie, you don’t have to—” he started, and then stopped as I took him into my mouth.

I ran my tongue in swirling circles over the tip, and then looked up at him. “I haven’t tasted you in—I don’t know how long,” I said, and then sank my mouth around him once more.

“God, Kyrie.”
 

“One and the same,” I joked, and then went back to tasting his cock.

I sucked and licked at him until I felt him beginning to breathe hard and struggle for control. And then I stood up and reached for the hem of my tank top.
 

Roth’s hands grabbed my wrists, stopping me. “Let me.”
 

I dropped my hands, and let him take over. Instead of peeling off my shirt first, as I’d expected, he reached around behind me and unhooked my bra, and then stripped both shirt and bra off in one move, yanking them up and off, tossing them onto the growing pile of clothes. And then it was his turn to fall to his knees in front of me, burying his face against my breasts, nuzzling, flicking, and licking, groping and caressing and squeezing. Worshipping. Paying homage. Loving.
 

I feathered eager, shaky fingers through his thick blond hair as he caressed my breasts with lips and tongue and fingers and palms, gasping at the new sensitivity of my nipples. And then he curled his fingers in the waistband of my skirt, gave it one sharp tug, and it was off. And now my fingers tightened in his hair as he drew his face down my belly, nuzzled the opening of my pussy, and drove his tongue in against me. I gasped, and clutched him closer, widened my stance, and clung to him. Gasped as he lapped at my clit, groaned when he slid two fingers into me, curling them in high, and then added a third as he began to slide them in and out of me, mimicking in miniature the grinding, penetrating friction I so badly craved.

He worked me into a frenzy, suckled my clit and worked his fingers in and out and licked and flicked until I was humping his face unashamedly, holding him against me and rocking into his mouth until I came…and came and came.

I felt my knees give out as the climax rocketed through me, and Roth was there to catch me. He lay me down on the blanket, cradled my face in his palms and kissed me as if this was our first time together, kissed me with all the fervor and tenderness of a brand-new lover.

Good thing I was laying down already, or I would have fallen down from the intensity of that kiss.

I had to break the kiss so I could suck in a whimper as he slid into me, burying himself home inside me. He held himself motionless, our hips crushed against each other, his breath coming in gusting drafts, brows lowered, eyes fixed on mine. There was no looking away, now. No blinking, no breathing. Only him and me, only the sizzling connection between us, the fire that never seemed to die, but only ever grew hotter and hotter.
 

I squeezed around him as hard as I could; thankful for all the Kegels I’d been doing when his eyes widened and his hips gyrated as if by impulse, instinct. I ground my hips against his, lifted my feet and hooked them around his waist, held onto his shoulders and took control of our movements. I set a slow-burning pace, lifting up to drive him deep, lowering to let him glide almost out. He planted his fists in the sand on either side of me and let me have the control for a while, just watched us, just stared at me, his chest heaving as he kept himself reigned in tight.
 

And then, when he could cede control to me no longer, he reared back and tucked my heels against his shoulders. Leaned in between my thighs, lifting up on his knees, and pushed deep, thrusting hard, now. No more slow. He took me, then, drove against me until I was writhing and helpless in his grip, feeling him thicken as he neared his release even as I reached my own.

I held back, though, wanting to wait for him. I was so close, teetering on the edge. Watching him move, watching sweat dot his skin and slide through the crevices of his muscles, watching his trim, hard hips pivot and flex and drive. His eyes fluttered as his thrusts stuttered, and then he leaned over me, letting my heels drape over his shoulders, kissing me as he came. His release seared into me, blasting any hold I had on my own climax.

I clung to him through my orgasm, bit his lip and snaked my hands in his hair and demanded more kisses, ground my hips against his and milked our releases, both of us gasping and grunting and groaning and whispering
I love you
and murmuring each other’s names and the kind of sweet silly nothings that are drawn out of you in the heat of passion.

When were finished, both of us spent, he collapsed to the blanket and drew me against his chest.
 

We spent long minutes in silence, staring up at the scintillating wash of stars overhead, his heart beating under my ear, the breeze cooling the sweat on our skin.
 

At some point in the night, Roth drew me on top of him and I rode him like the powerful stallion he was, rode him until I was screaming his name into the Caribbean wind.
 

We dozed in each other’s arms, drowsed and snuggled and kissed lazily, murmured of idle things.

With dawn sprinkling pinks and grays on the horizon, I lifted up on my elbow and stared down at the man I’d come to love so much I’d lost track of where I ended and he began—a cliché I was only now beginning to truly fathom.
 

“I think we just made baby number two,” I said.

He toyed with the fall of my hair. “It will be a boy, this time.”
 

“You’re calling it already?”

He nodded, a sleepy, contented smile on his handsome features. “I can feel it, the way I felt it with Rinna.”
 

“You know what I feel?”
 

“What’s that, love?”

I reached between our bodies, found him ready. “I’m feeling you inside me once more before we go home.”
 

He rolled on top of me, pierced me, and kissed me through my gasp as he filled me. “Only once more?”
 

I laughed. “How long can Ella stay?”
 

He didn’t answer, because his mouth was on mine and his hands were seeking my skin in the dawn haze.
 

I didn’t demand an answer, because I was too busy being loved senseless by Valentine Roth.