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Calm. I see it in Brad all the way from here as I watch from the decking of our villa. Both of them on their knees. It’s apt. For all of us.
On our knees.
At the mercy of these women.
Reclined in the chair, my daughter asleep on my bare chest, her cheek squished, I relax and relish the sounds of the waves lapping the shore, my hand covering her back entirely. I watch the sun, anticipating another half hour before it touches this spot. She’ll be awake by then. Two hours between one and three, guaranteed. It’s amazing how much you can get done in two hours when you’re against the clock. And fit in some intimate time too. Essential.
Not today, though.
Beau’s gone to the salon with Rose for the first time since Georgie was born nearly five months ago. “So it’s just me and you,” I whisper, looking down at the back of her head, stroking over the silky dark blonde wisps of hair.
This was the end goal. Me, my girls, the sun shining on us. Through a sunhat and UV protective swimsuits for Georgie and sunblock for Beau, naturally. But we couldn’t leave Miami until we knew the others were going to be okay. Now they’re fine. We’re all more than fine. All here. All happy.
Brad’s just got to get Pearl through this final recovery period, and we’re all here for them. Always.
I started this journey searching for the people responsible for the death of my family.
Ironically, I found myself another family.
A beautifully damaged, fucked-up family.
I smile to myself, exhaling my contentment, hearing the front door open.
I let my head drop, looking inside the villa, hearing her. Sensing her. She’s back sooner than I thought. “Mummy’s home,” I whisper, lips resting on the top of Georgie’s head as she sleepy sighs. I brace myself, waiting, and when Beau appears in the doorway, I lose my breath. Not because her hair looks amazing, but because . . . my Beau. Ripped denim shorts, flip-flops, a cropped tank, her hair freshly done but still wild.
Peace.
And I want her.
She takes us both in, her palm on the jamb, smiling. “Afternoon.”
I smile, jerking my head for her to come, my eyes following her light until she’s perched on my knee, eyes on Georgie, stroking her silky hair too. “Has she been okay?”
“Perfect,” I whisper. “We went for a dip.”
“In the ocean?”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Just our toes. Then we went to the supermarket, stopped by to see Zinnea and Quinton, then came home for some lunch and our nap.” I reach for Beau’s hair and feel, glad it doesn’t look too different from the hair I love. “Looks lovely.”
She wrinkles her nose and pushes a hand through my hair, leaning in as much as she can without disturbing Georgie. My heart begins to thud. “More,” I whisper, making her fist the strands and kiss me, another shot of life hitting me deeply. “I calculate we have approximately twenty-eight minutes,” I mumble.
She smiles against my lips before pulling away and getting up. She checks our daughter, turns, and saunters away, pulling her tank up over her head as she goes. My heart and my dick kick, and it feels wholly inappropriate with Georgie in my arms, so I lift carefully, eyes on her, and carry her through to her bedroom, laying her down, holding my breath, easing up, hands held high. I grab her monitor and creep backward, tiptoeing out of her room.
I only breathe out when I walk into our bedroom. Then quickly lose my breath again when I find Beau on the bed, gloriously naked, her legs spread, knees up, her pussy visibly dripping.
Lord, have mercy on my depraved soul.
I push my shorts down, licking my lips, and pace over, placing the monitor on the nightstand before kneeling on the end of the bed.
“What’s my name?” I whisper.
“Mine,” she growls, hooking an arm around my neck and hauling me down onto her mouth.
And I smile against her lips, lifting my hips to let myself fall into place, and sink into her deeply on an inhale, cursing under my breath, the pleasure infinite. “My God, woman.”
“Twenty-five minutes,” she gasps, taking me all the way, tensing.
