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Her latest calf had darted and spun, showing off for us, swimming beneath my legs before nudging Aslan in the chest and blowing bubbles at her mother.
It’d been one of my favourite days, and I kept twisting my left hand under the water, staring at the diamond-encrusted wave ring Aslan had given me, fearing my heart would burst from overflowing.
So lucky.
I was so damn lucky.
Four glorious weeks since Christmas.
Four wonderful weeks of sun, sand, sea, and sex, and not necessarily in that order.
Just because my parents knew about us now, and the taboo factor was no longer an aphrodisiac, didn’t mean Aslan and I had gotten any better at keeping our hands off each other.
We might not share a bedroom, but bloody hell, we made sure to get our fix in other ways. We’d become absolute deviants the moment Mum and Dad had gone away for a week, heading to Fiji for a quick romantic getaway before returning to work.
Dad had sat us down, pointed at our faces, and barked, “No sex on the table, the couches, or any other areas where we eat or hang out. Got it?”
Aslan had groaned and turned bright red with embarrassment. Silly boy had delusions that my father was naïve to what we got up to.
We were engaged.
We’re engaged.
I would never get tired of saying that.
But just because I had a ring on my finger and my parents’ approval, didn’t mean they weren’t highly aware of the kinky-fuckery we got up to when they weren’t watching.
Mum had even pulled me aside and checked I was still diligently taking my pill, giving me a hug and saying, “Out of anyone you could’ve chosen, Neri, I’m glad you chose him. I know he’ll always keep you safe and love you with every piece of his heart, but...he’s still only twenty-two and you’re only seventeen. You do not want a surprise before you’ve figured out how to get legally married and have solid careers sorted.”
I agreed with her.
Just because I’d fallen for my soulmate when I was twelve didn’t mean I wanted a child before I was thirty. I had far too much to conquer. And besides, I was too obsessed with Aslan to share him with anyone.
When I’d driven my parents to the airport with Aslan in the front seat and my parents in the back, he’d planted his hand on my thigh as if it was the most natural thing in the world to always be touching me.
I’d caught Mum and Dad sharing a look in the rear-view mirror.
And my heart had swelled to four times its size because they didn’t get angry or look at us with worry that we were too young for the depth of feelings between us. They merely kissed each other and shared a smile. A smug smile as if they were personally responsible for bringing us together and were content with their life’s work at finding their wayward daughter a suitable mate.
That wayward daughter was a terrible person because even though I loved them, I’d practically kicked them out on the curb when I’d pulled up outside the airport, giving them a hasty goodbye before driving a little too fast home and dragging my sea-wed husband inside a blissfully empty house.
We’d broken Dad’s rules within ten minutes of being back. I barely made it to the couch before Aslan flipped up my silver skirt, yanked off my bikini bottoms, and sank inside me over the arm of the very same settee where I’d snuggled in Dad’s embrace while watching The Little Mermaid for the first time.
We’d broken another rule that night after I’d returned home from picking up Italian takeaway. Aslan and I behaved and sat at the table instead of on the couch, doing our best to stop our hands from wandering.
We hadn’t even finished before my fork clattered to my plate as Aslan curled his arm around my waist, pulled me from my chair and laid me on the table where my mother usually sat.
His hands spread my thighs as he dropped to his knees, and I’d choked on a scream as his mouth found my core and his tongue speared indecently deep inside me. He’d snarled and bit, tongue-fucking me to a release with his teeth on my clit and his hands on my breasts, kneading me, pawing me, drinking down my cries before standing up, shoving down his shorts, and dragging me to the edge of the table.
With a look drowning with love, he’d stabbed inside me so savagely, so possessively, my body had tangled with my heart, feeling both adored and used, worshipped and defiled.
That first week my parents were in Fiji had passed in a blur of sex, and I had absolutely no regrets. None. Okay, maybe one. The fact that I’d probably have to buy them new furniture was a very real thing.
When they’d returned, sun-kissed and more relaxed than I’d seen in a while, they’d announced they were only back to change the tropical clothes in their suitcase for thicker cardigans and wetsuits. While away, they’d received an urgent request for data from the University of Auckland on the native orcas down in the South Island of New Zealand.
Apparently, the pod was the only orcas who ate manta rays, and it’d been proven that, thanks to their remote location and different cultures within the matriarch-commanded group, they’d come up with their own chirps, trills, and songs, morphing into an entirely different whale language compared to the orcas in Norway, Falkland Islands, and Antarctica.
The university wanted recordings of those songs to prove it.
