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Jesus. Christ.
I can’t slow myself down. Can’t think straight at all. Can’t do anything except pound into her slick heat and watch her tits bounce and grit my teeth against the blood rushing in my ears. I’m a maelstrom, a whirlwind of dark urges and sensation, and when I cram a hand between us and rub at her clit, Carmen’s loud howl only chases me higher.
She comes with her ankles locked behind my back and her hands buried in my hair. With my mouth latched onto her throat and my cock driving her into the mattress.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
Carmen.
Carmen.
When she slumps back against the mattress, when I plunge deep inside her, my shaft throbbing, the pain in my stomach is sharp. I come so hard, ithurts.
For the first time in forever, the tension inside me unwinds, and I fill my girl with pulse after pulse. Claiming her. Making her mine.
My forehead is damp as I rest it on her shoulder, breathing hard, and the shadows move slowly around me. The ocean breeze rattles the open window, and my kiss-bruised lips taste like salt.
Sothisis what peace feels like. I’d wondered about that.
* * *
Five years later
She’s watching me again.
The hairs rise on the back of my neck and I stifle a smile, plucking at the strings of my guitar, working through this new melody from my boulder on the beach. It’s another song for Carmen—another tribute to my gorgeous wife—but I can’t figure out the last few notes for the life of me.
It’s fine. I’ll get it eventually. Sometime later tonight, I’ll be watching Carmen from the distance, half-hidden in the shadows, and the perfect melody will float through my brain. Until then…
I go from the beginning and clear my throat. “What do you think?”
Stumbling footsteps crunch across the damp sand, and then a pair of big eyes blink up at me.
I smile at my daughter, my heart so raw. Everything in my life—this child, this house, this beach, this work, and above all,Carmen—it’s like something from a dream.
If it is, I never want to wake.
“Da’.” She’s not quite speaking yet, but I nod in greeting.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Our daughter has Carmen’s glossy black hair, but it’s curly like mine, and her eyes are a stormy gray. She’s a sweet little jumble of both our features, and every moment with her is a gift.
“Da’.”
Okay, I can take a hint. I place my guitar gingerly down on the rock, then scoop my daughter into my arms. She’s wriggly and a bit sticky, but my heart is so full as I hold her close, bouncing her gently. “Where’s your mom?”
A wet bubble pops by my ear. Nice.
“Shall we go find her?” I’m already peering out at the sand, picking my route across the beach, but cool fingers cover my eyes and I go still.
“Not if she finds you first,” Carmen murmurs behind me.
My smile is sharp, and my chest is so light.
She always knows where I am.
My wife is such a stalker.
* * *
