Chapter Text
Wifey's POV
Slathered in high SPF sunscreen and coconut shimmer oil, you're relaxing by the pool with a fruity, umbrella-topped drink in your hand, enjoying the peaceful stillness of a child-free afternoon. Except that's a lie and you're only daydreaming about that scenario, because in actuality, you're at the community pool in your neighborhood with all three of your daughters, who are acting as if they were not raised with manners and have never left the house before.
It's hard enough to safely keep track of three kids under the age of ten in the midst of a vast, liquidy, aquamarine deathtrap, let alone when said kids are hopped up on the sugary popsicles their mother—certainly not you—insisted on giving them earlier. She had handed each of them a red dye 40 bomb before she so conveniently slipped on her sexy sunglasses, swung her golf bag over her shoulder, kissed your lips, and then headed off to the driving range. So, yes, you're going to wring Alcina's neck when she gets home, but knowing the two of you, she will most likely enjoy your efforts. Maybe you will withhold sex altogether, but you don't intend to punish yourself for her shortcomings because your wife's comings are anything but short and you like to be regularly serviced.
"Cassandra Dimitrescu, don't you dare unbuckle that lifejacket!" you shout, using your mom powers to detect the sound of her popping loose a buckle without even needing to turn your head from where you're greasing up Daniela with sunscreen.
"But I can swim!” she insists, her voice a high, offended whine. “I do my lessons, I’m a guppy now!”
“Honey, I know, and you’re a great guppy, but it’s more about the fact that I can’t watch all three of you at once without your lifejackets on,” you try to explain as Daniela squishes up her face and fights your attempts to get her ears covered.
She’s whimpering and squirming and at this point you wish you would have just let them loose in your own backyard pool. But in an effort to reward them for their good behavior throughout the week, you had promised them a visit to the pool within your neighborhood. It’s funded and maintained by the homeowners in the community, meaning that it’s exclusively private, usually not crowded at all, and—most importantly to your daughters—it has several slides.
“If mama was here we wouldn’t have to!” Cassandra pouts, trying to cross her little arms over the bulkiness of the lifejacket she is currently lamenting.
“Well, your mother is golfing,” you huff as you test all of Daniela’s buckles and then turn her loose, only for her to run right off the edge of the pool, directly into the deep end with an excited shriek. You’re more than happy to have fearless and bold daughters, but you sometimes wish they had just a touch of hesitance.
"Stupid golf!” Cassandra mutters to herself before meandering back to the steps of the pool, apparently having given up the fight.
"Yes, stupid golf,” you agree, mimicking your daughter as you say the words under your breath.
Honestly, you’re not upset with Alcina for taking some time for herself. If anything, you’re encouraging of her going to hit golfballs at the range; she gets to relieve stress by smashing the sh*t out of something without inciting actual violence. It just so happened that her plans didn’t align with your plans today, but it’s not as if you can’t handle all of your children on your own. They are well behaved, but without two sets of parental eyes on them they do need extra boundaries.
“Mom!” Bela calls from the diving board, where she stands at the very end, wearing goggles and the neon green swim cap that she asked Alcina to buy on their last outing. You’re already assuming there will be more lessons and swim meets in the near future. “Will you rate my diving tricks!?”
The pool deck is surprisingly empty for a Saturday afternoon, but when considering most of your neighbors are double Alcina’s age, it actually makes sense. And since Bela can’t soak any geezers with her splashy dives, you give her the go-ahead with a quick thumbs up, calling back, “Go for it, baby!”
Bela will be ten years old this October, just a few short months away, and you’re definitely feeling emotional about your first born being an entire decade old. It feels like you and Alcina just brought her home from the hospital, when both of you had been a bit shellshocked over the fact that you suddenly had an infant to keep healthy and safe. But your heart is full of pride to see how Bela has grown over the years and she will always be your first baby. You’re determined to let her enjoy her childhood and to shield her from all of the added responsibilities that both you and Alcina had shouldered being eldest daughters.
With a rapid sprint down the diving board, Bela gives you an impressive show by doing something you’ve never seen her do before—a full front flip. She emerges from the water with a triumphant look on her goggly little face and you’re genuinely shocked and amused by her antics; she’s so much like Alcina, a little reserved at times, but lovingly silly in the stable comfort of her family.
“Bels! When did you learn flips!?” you ask excitedly, sitting down on the edge of the pool with your legs dipped in the refreshing water.
“I don’t know!?” she gushes, and it’s adorably obvious that she has impressed herself too. “I just wanted to try!”
“Well, you did great, it’s a perfect ten from me!” you announce, melting as Bela’s face lights even further from your praise and high score. Then, you have to turn your attention to the youngest Dimitrescu, who is now clinging to your legs as she floats in her lifejacket and attempts to lick water droplets from your shins. “Dani, please stop, that’s not polite…”
"Smooooth,” she says in her toddler voice, as she runs her hand clumsily along your calf muscle, which to be fair, better damn well be smooth after the pain of having them waxed.
Last week, she had caught you and Alcina canoodling in the kitchen, and ever since then she has been hyper-fixating on your hairless legs.
“Mmm, my darling…you’re so soft and smooth,” Alcina whispers in your ear as she subtly rocks her crotch against your ass. Both of her hands are exploring up the pleats of your tennis skirt to fondle your freshly waxed thighs while she pins you in place against the kitchen island. ”I wonder what else I might find under here that’s soft and smooth…”
One of her hands travels from the outside of your hip, over the front of your thigh, to cup your center, and you gasp when her palm slots into place. She uses just a slight pressure from her fingertips to circle your cl*t over the cover of your panties and you buck your ass back against her.
"Don’t start something you can’t finish…”
'I’ll finish you right here if that’s what I want…”
“Smooth!”
When Daniela’s voice crows from the other side of the kitchen, you both jump apart so swiftly it’s as if you’ve been electrocuted. Apparently, while you two were too caught up, Daniela had snuck in from the other side of the kitchen after her nap. You and Alcina lock eyes for a moment, silently telling each other that she wouldn’t have seen anything because she’s too small to see over the countertop, hence neither of you seeing her either.
But she must have seen enough, because she comes right over to proudly pat your legs, exclaiming, “smooth!” as she beams up at you both.
"This is your fault,” you mumble to your wife, targeting her with a glare while she just gives you a guilty smirk.
Daniela continues to behave in her very Daniela-like fashion and keeps trying to lick your legs like a tiny, parched gecko. Now it’s become a game to her and watching her little feet kick beneath the water with her excitement is making you proudly muse over the fact that you created the most precious children—if you do say so yourself.
“Are you thirsty or something!? Stop that!” you giggle, pulling your knees up like she’s a shark in the water. She laughs and laughs at you trying to get away from her, her eyes sparkling light grey in the sun and the cute crinkle of her nose looking so much like another certain someone you adore just as equally.
“You look just like your mother,” you say with loving mirth, to which Daniela squeals “mama!” in return.
Typically, Daniela is glued to Alcina’s hip, as she is obsessed with her, which of course she would be after you were the one to suffer a perineal tear while delivering her.
Reaching out, you gently place your hand under her chin and give her head an affectionate shake that makes her shriek with a belly laugh. “Yes, just like your Mama, that’s why you’re so freakin’ adorable!”
After accosting your littlest daughter with your barely restrained cute aggression (because she can’t get away yet), you get her sippy cup from the cooler to pacify her. It’s filled with CapriSun to avoid any inequality-induced tantrums, because even though she’s still small, Daniela wants to be just like her older sisters.
When you turn back around from the lounge chair that all of the girls’ summer gear is gathered around, you’re somewhat startled to see a man standing along the farthest end of the fence. He hadn’t been there before, but now he stands with his arms propped up on the chainlink, a phone held in his hands that he seems to be nonchalantly perusing. You’ve never seen him around the neighborhood before and he’s not wearing swimwear, and this pings your radar. He’s not doing anything threatening, but something in your gut tells you to discreetly pick up your own phone from the side table.
You go back to your place at the side of the pool, handing Daniela her sippy cup as you sit back down on the edge. Using the grab-handle at the back of her lifejacket, you pull Daniela to float between your knees and use your legs to keep her corralled in place.
Continuing to scan the situation, your eyes move from the man to Bela to Cassandra, who is closest to where he stands.
"Hey! Come here, baby girl,” you try to prompt Cassandra, not feeling comfortable enough to say her name in front of this stranger. Blessedly, she actually listens and paddles herself closer to where you’re sitting, and as she does you see his gaze following. He happens to look up as you’re staring at him and when your eyes lock with his, even through his sunglasses, you see nothing but dark intention; he wants you to know that he is watching.
A spike of discomfort and fear wedges itself into your stomach, and suddenly you have Alcina’s contact card up on your phone with a call already connecting. You should probably be calling the police, but the country club is literally five minutes down the road and you know she can make it to you in less.
“Hello, my darling wife…” she greets cheerfully.
"Alcin—“
"What’s wrong?”
You never call her by her first name, especially not over the phone, and before you can even finish the last syllable she already knows that something is off.
"Um, well—we're all fine, but—" You're distractedly trying to tell Alcina what's happening while your attention is split in multiple ways. Attempting to not draw attention to yourself, you angle your face away from him just as Bela looks up at you, and you know she notices the gloss to your eyes. "A man just walked up and he's—"
"A man?" Alcina echoes, her voice growing cold, reacting to the fear she hears in your voice. "I'll be there in two minutes. Stay on the phone with me."
Two minutes feels like twenty as you listen to your wife's heavy breathing, the sound of the acceleration as she speeds down the road humming in the background. You know she has to be close to pulling into the parking lot, but it's still too far, as you've now come to the disgusting realization of what this man is doing—he's taking pictures of you and your daughters.
"Alcina, he's taking pictures,” you whisper, a tear welling over your lashes. Quickly you try to wipe it away, but Bela is tuned into you now; she knows that you wouldn't be this upset over nothing. She gravitates toward the edge of the pool next to you and you place your hand on her head reassuringly. Daniela is still contentedly drinking her juice, trapped between your knees, and Cassandra is obliviously (thankfully) treading water nearby.
"Pulling in now."
By the time you see the gleam of Alcina's pearl white Lexus come lurching to a stop out front, your heart is in your throat. The door is thrown open so hard that you hear it and then your wife steps out, her face hot with fury as she starts toward her target. She's still got her golf glove and visor on, with her driver clutched in her fist, and it might as well be a sword and a suit of armor for how she's just come to your rescue.
Alcina's POV
"May I help you!?"
You swear it only takes you three strides to walk across the lawn of the pool's clubhouse and then you're staring down your nose from your six-five vantage point at a man who is probably five-seven on a good day. He has the decency to look positively horrified when he turns around to find you suddenly hulking over him, a golf club held menacingly in your dominant hand. And when he makes an attempt to stumble backwards, there's nowhere for him to be except trapped between you and the chainlink fence.
"Oh! Hey, um—"
This pathetic little worm of a human attempts to speak to you in an infuriatingly casual tone, but you cut him off, raising the club between the two of you in a way that you most certainly mean to be threatening.
"Do you live in this neighborhood?" you ask while gesturing with the club, having no intention of letting him reply. "Judging by the state of you, I know you can’t afford to live here, which begs the question: why are you here?"
"I'm just—I was just, I don't know, just checking things out, I guess," he stammers.
Something about having this man who was leering at your family tell you that he was simply "checking things out" just about makes your hearing go hollow and you abruptly shove the head of your driver under his chin, making him gulp in a wickedly satisfying way.
"Jesus, what's with the hostility?" he yelps, raising his free hand as if he's innocent; his other hand still grips his phone tightly. "Let's just be cool about this," he continues, in a stupid voice that only a man can manage to use while still thinking he sounds intelligent.
"Hostility? f*cking hostility?" you roar in his face, feeling the vein in your forehead close to bursting. "Hostility is you taking pictures of my wife and daughters, you f*cking pedophile!"
"Whoa, no—that's not—"
At your accusation, he nods frantically in disagreement while trying to fumble his phone into his pocket, but in his haste it tumbles to the ground and you snatch it up before he can make a recovery. On the screen is the most recent photo, which is an image of your wife sitting on the edge of the pool with Daniela between her knees, cropped to just the curves of her hip up to the side profile of her breasts. And if that's not already enough to fuel you to blinding ire, when you slide back through the images you find a collection of photos of both Bela and Cassandra, obviously taken from another angle when they were still standing on the pool deck, grainy and over-zoomed onto their little legs and bottoms in their bathing suits.
You feel absolutely sick with rage and with no good reason to stop yourself, you throw the phone to the ground and let go of the club; you would rather do this with your bare hands. Hurtling your fist right into the man's face, you break his nose, his sunglasses, and your knuckles as the broken plastic of the lens slices open your hand. Instantly, there's blood everywhere—his blood, your blood—it's staining your golf glove at a rapid rate and your pulse is pumping so hard that it only makes it worse. In a far off place, you're almost sure you can hear your wife screaming your name, but you can't stop yourself now.
He already appears dazed as you grip a hand into the collar of his shirt, nearly lifting him off his feet before walloping him again. This hit sends him to his knees, but the next one fully lays him out. You follow him down to the ground, kneeling onto his chest with all of your weight, one foot kicked out to the grass, giving you enough leverage to keep whaling the worthless sh*t out of him.
And even though you can feel the bones in his nose crunching under your hits, he’s still too fortunate in your mind. If you were in your signature stilettos instead of golf cleats, you would take one off and lobotomize him with it. You’re right handed, so you don’t have the pleasure of using your diamond to shred his face like a block of cheese. You would consider that lucky, in his case.
In a weak attempt to divert your punches, he slaps at your face and attempts to gouge at your eyes, ripping off your own sunglasses.
“I will f*cking kill you!” you grit out, baring your clenched teeth at him, your voice so dangerously low that it almost hurts to speak. He’s digging at your face with his fingernails while you’re transitioning your hands to his throat. Clawing harder when you begin to squeeze, he jams his thumb into your eye, but those images of Cassandra and Bela are burned into your retinas and he will have to scratch them out before you even feel the pain. “I’m gonna kill you, you sick f*ck, for even—for even looking at them—“
“Alcina!”
The man’s destroyed, bloody face his starting to turn purple under your grip and his hand finally drops in surrender. There’s another hand suddenly yanking at your shoulder and it snaps you out of the daze, allowing your ringing ears to process the fact that your wife is screaming for you to stop. She is your only handler and if she doesn’t want you to kill a man right here on the lawn, then you suppose you won’t.
"Alcina! Alcina, please! Baby, stop!”
You mercifully let go and he chokes for breath, making blood splutter from his mouth. He is in a sorry state, but as you take a breath of your own, you realize that you are too. There’s a dull thump happening in your hand that matches your heartbeat and when you look down to it, there’s blood dripping down your forearm and into the grass.
Stumbling up, you leave your victim struggling to get to his feet and begin to walk away, not even sure of where you’re going until you stop at the edge of the landscaping and vomit into the decorative bushes. You’re not getting sick because of the blood or the fact that you nearly choked a man unconscious, you’re sick because you can’t believe how quickly your wife and children were publicly violated in what you thought was the safety of your own community. The guilt is already tearing you apart.
You’re still in a stupor of adrenaline as you march your way to the side of the clubhouse, where there’s a hose hanging coiled up on the exterior wall. Even though they’ve probably already seen it from a distance, you don’t want your daughters to see the grizzly details of your injury and all of the blood staining your hands. You’ve switched into autopilot and though it hurts like hellfire, you twist the knob and start spraying yourself off anyway.
As you’re grunting in pain, your wife comes sprinting back to you, looking pale but prepared with clean towels and a handful of most likely useless bandages and gauze. She keeps an assortment of first aid items in the girls’ pool bags and your heart clenches to know how quick she is to be at your side, especially when blood and injuries make her squeamish.
“Where is that bastard?” you growl as she coaxes you to give over your injured hand.
She keeps her head down as she starts peeling off your saturated glove, and it’s then that you realize it’s because she’s crying. “He ran,” she says, her hands shaking as much as yours while attempting to get the leather over your knuckles without hurting you. “I picked up his phone…”
“Good,” you say, your voice clipped and blunt.
That was smart of her, something you hadn’t even thought to do, but you’re reeling too much to articulate an actual conversation. And you wish you weren’t, because you want to ask her if she’s okay, if your daughters are okay. Physically, you know they’re safe, as you can see them in the distance, sitting together on a lounge chair like a litter of dejected kittens. But considering that they just witnessed their mother pummeling someone to a pulp, you can’t imagine that they’re doing well mentally.
“Oh, jesus, Alcina—oh, f*ck!” your wife curses when the glove comes away to reveal a deep, parted laceration running up between your knuckles. It’s all the way down to the meat of your hand and now she looks like she’s going to puke too.
“I’m fine, don’t look at it,” you say as you take control of the situation again; if your wife is upset, she is the only thing on your mind. Your hands are trembling so badly that you can hardly manage to do it, but somehow you fiddle open a package of the gauze and wince as you apply it to the wound.
“Wrap the towel around it,” you instruct through gritted teeth. Now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off, not only is the pain in your hand increasing, but you can feel the corner of your left eye starting to sting and swell too. “That’s good enough…”
“We have to go to the ER!” she says, her voice high and frayed with emotions. You know she’s panicked and you’re trying to keep your cool after having totally lost it.
“I know, let’s go,” you say evenly, putting your uninjured hand on her back to urge her toward the pool deck. “I’m going to get our babies.”
Her breath hitches and your conscience twinges with guilt; you feel awful for ever having taken the focus from them, but you had just been so upset knowing how they were so heinously depicted in those photos. No one was going to get away with treating children like that, especially not your children.
“I don’t want you looking through that phone…”
"It had already locked…”
"Good, it was what you would imagine, but I don’t want you to see it.”
“Okay, let’s just get you to the hospital…”
When you both cross over to where your daughters are sitting, Daniela runs to cling to her mother’s legs, while Cassandra and Bela stand staring at you, looking wide-eyed and traumatized.
You and your wife act as an equal partnership, but within your roles you know you are the designated matriarch and leader of your family dynamic. The decision you made had caused your daughters to experience something totally out of their ordinary and now it's your responsibility to coach them through the consequences of your actions. Within your household, the two of you don't even have heated discussions in front of your daughters, so seeing their mother do something so violently drastic has to be confusing for them. Maybe it hadn't been your best judgment, but you had made the choice in a moment of pure rage and you know you would choose it again.
"Mama?" Bela says softly, looking tearful as she looks up at you, a questioning expression on her face.
With your hand throbbing, you hoist Bela up to sit on your arm anyway and then you do the same to Cassandra, so that they're both hugged against your shoulders. Your wife has already scooped up Daniela and with your little brood safe in your presence, you gesture toward the car and leave everything else behind. All of that is replaceable, but your girls and your wife are not, and they are all that have ever mattered to you.
You drive left-handed to the hospital with your injured hand balled up in the towel and cradled in your lap, because you're not going to let your wife do anything but sit calmly in the passenger seat. Bela continues to catch your eyes in the rearview mirror and you feel so awful for not being able to explain yourself in the moment. There's going to be an exhausting afternoon ahead of you—including stitches for your hand—but you're not thinking of yourself, you're only thinking of how you're going to tactfully explain the ills of the world to three innocent little girls.
Wifey's POV
After several drawn out hours in the local ER, eleven stitches, and one police report later, you and Alcina are situating your girl gang in the living room with their McDonald's Happy Meals, preparing for a tough conversation.
Your nerves are a f*cking wreck and you need a good cry in the bathtub. Watching your wife get into a violent altercation after the sickening situation it followed had completely shaken you. But first and foremost, you and Alcina are mothers, and your daughters' well-being will always precede your own.
"Girls, we're going to have a talk while you eat your dinner, alright?" Alcina announces, addressing them in her gently maternal, authoritative way. You can tell that she's exhausted too and it's difficult to look at her weary, scraped up face along with the thick, white bandaging wrapped over her hand.
You two are next to each other on the couch, facing the girls where they sit lined up on the floor along the low table, eating an assortment of chicken nuggets and french fries. Daniela is clueless as you would expect a toddler to be, Cassandra seems worryingly unbothered, and Bela has become quiet and withdrawn. The responsibilities of parenthood are something you've grown used to over the years, but it's times like this when you want to selfishly bury your head in the sand and forget it ever happened.
"You know that I love all three of you very much," Alcina begins, the determined conviction strong in her voice, making a lump form in your throat almost instantly. "Your mother and I have taught you that it's not okay to fight or hurt people, and—"
"You hurt that man," Cassandra points out matter-of-factly, dipping a nugget into barbecue sauce without even looking up.
Alcina nods slowly, rolling her lips into her mouth for a second as she searches for what to say next. "You're right, Cass, I did," she agrees, sounding almost guilty. "And...it's hard for me to explain why I did that in a way that will make sense for you. I lost my temper and I'm sorry that I put you girls into an adult situation."
The two of you try to maintain a united front when it comes to teaching your daughters about the world around them, and as Bela and Cassandra have gotten older, you've both tried to separate situations into what's appropriate for them and what only concerns adults. They understand that as their parents, you and Alcina exclude them from things for their own safety and well-being. You're not going to discuss your relationship and marriage matters in front of your children, or the stresses of Alcina's high-demand career, or any number of mature topics that they simply don't need to worry about as children. And while you certainly don't blame Alcina for reacting the way she did, the occurrences of the day had well and truly trampled all over those boundaries.
"Why did you lose your temper?" Bela asks, pinning Alcina with a curious stare before turning her gaze over to you. She may not have been fully aware of what was happening at the pool when you were calling Alcina, but she was aware enough to realize that you were fearful.
"I...I, um—" Alcina starts and stops, and her commitment to being a good mother never fails to make you lovesick for her. "Honestly, Bela...my most important job is to protect you, your sisters, and your mother, and sometimes, when you lov—"
Her voice cracks as she presses her bandaged hand over her heart and you immediately take her other hand, holding it tight. Before Daniela was born, you had gently pointed out that it was okay for her to let her daughters see her being vulnerable, that is would be healthy for their own expression, and you’re proud of her for just being present. You're still at the ready to jump in for her, but she clears her throat and continues, although her voice is weak and watery, with a tremor interrupting her usually strong cadence.
"When you love someone, as much as I love all of you, sometimes it's easy to lose your temper when a bad person is doing something wrong, and that man was doing something wrong," she tries to explain, veiling the actual facts. You can tell by the rigid set of her shoulders that she isn’t sure if she’s saying the correct things, but you appreciate any and all effort she gives to helping your babies learn and grow. That in itself sets her apart from most parents, and makes her oh-so-f*cking attractive to you. “I’m not saying that what I did was right or wrong, but I got scared knowing that all of you were alone with a stranger and I made a rash decision.”
Cassandra screws up her brows, still chomping down on fries, ketchup at the corners of her mouth that you normally would have already wiped away. “What’s a rash decision?” she asks.
Alcina sighs, that’s an easy enough question to answer, all things considered. “It means that I made a choice too quickly, that maybe I should have thought it through more before—“
"I was scared too," Bela suddenly interrupts and Cassandra's head swivels around to look at her sister, obviously surprised, as she is the resident tough girl of the household.
"You were scared!?" she asks, simply being an oblivious seven-year-old to her much more sensitive older sister.
"Well, mom was scared, so I was scared!" Bela shouts back, getting weepy again.
"Girls, it's okay! That's perfectly okay," you add, intervening before they have a chance to rile each other up even more. "I was scared, Bela, and it's okay that you were scared too. It's okay if you feel scared or sad or nervous—even angry—about what happened today."
Bela promptly sticks her tongue out at Cassandra, who slams her palm on the table, knocking Daniela's nuggets onto the carpet. Then, they're all screaming and crying, and honestly, you can't very well blame them. All of you are overtired and burnt out on this day, and you're quite sure that you and Alcina could use a joint cry-fest too.
"I think that's enough for tonight," Alcina says glumly, looking exhausted and defeated. The fear and adrenaline alone had to have drained her, never mind the fact that she was injured and bleeding as well. Having to have an emotionally mature conversation with kids is just another lay of difficulty.
She passes her left hand over her forehead and it hurts your heart to see the pain in her eyes. Just when you think you can't love this woman any more than you already do, she puts herself on the line for both you and your daughters, and you fall even deeper in love with her. All you crave is to care for her in return.
"Let's go upstairs, I want them with us tonight,” she tells you, giving your hand a squeeze of solidarity.
You nod your agreement, as the thought of having them in their separate bedrooms out of your sight is making you feel anxious too. The girls love to have the occasional "sleepover" in the California king that you and Alcina share—you only ever sleep right in the middle, snuggled up to each other anyway—and you hope that it will allow all of you to sleep through the night.
It takes nearly an entire Disney movie for the girls to settle and fall asleep, but soon it’s just you and Alcina lying quietly together, watching as Prince Phillip slays Maleficent’s dragon. Today, your wife had been both—your knight in a shining Lexus and your foe’s worst nightmare of a dragon. The way her steadfastness for you and the girls never wavers always impresses you, and later, once the shock has worn off and you have your bed to yourselves again, you will show her all of your love and appreciation as a woman who adores her wife.
For now though, she is due for more pain medication, and her melty icepack needs to be switched out for a colder one.
After collecting more ice from downstairs, you come back to find Alcina already drifting off to sleep. Carefully, you’re able to switch out the icepacks without waking her, readjusting the pillow beneath her hand to keep it elevated to reduce the swelling. You’re trying not to make too much noise, but the pills shifting in the bottle of ibuprofen is louder than expected and she jolts up, her eyes darting around the room.
"It’s okay, just me,” you tell her apologetically, placing your hand on her tense shoulder to soothe her. Falling back to the pillow, she takes a deep breath and sighs it out slowly.
“I feel so jumpy,” she admits, and then another thought crosses her mind. “Do you remember if I armed the security system? I’m blanking.”
"You did,” you reassure, sitting down on the edge of the bed to place three of the blue gel capsules into her waiting palm. You give her the glass of water from the bedside table and she gives you a silent nod of thanks before swallowing them. “I double-checked when I went downstairs.”
“Good—I’m sorry—thank you, is what I meant to say, darling,” she says, looking up at you, her eyes searching your own. You can see the guilt in the grey of her irises and it’s the very last emotion you want her to feel. “Have I totally ruined them?”
“I don’t think they’re ruined, but it was certainly a day they won’t soon forget,” you say gently, adding a note of humor so as not to worry your wife anymore than she is doing on her own. Holding her face, you caress your thumb along the corner of her eye where it’s slightly swollen. There’s a little nick on her brow bone where she was gouged and if you didn’t know its origin you would find it ruggedly sexy. “They’re kids, they’re resilient. Plus, they have you to guide them.”
“And you,” she says with a light smile, taking your hand from her face to kiss your palm up to the wrist.
“And me,” you agree, but your tone is flat and a bit self-deprecating. Alcina notices right away, but you wave your hand dismissively before she can question you. “I don’t want to get into it right now, you need to get some rest.”
She wears a sympathetic expression as she nods her understanding, pressing her lips even more firmly to your hand once more. “So do you,” she says, and then opens the duvet as she makes room for you beside her. "Snuggles?”
That one-word question makes you grin and as soon as you tuck yourself to her side, resting your head on her shoulder, she wraps her uninjured hand into the dip of your waist and pulls you even closer. There's always something about being in her arms that undoes you when you're already feeling fractured and soon you’re getting tearful. She senses it immediately and wiggles around a bit to lie more on her side, so she can rest her forehead against yours.
"No, keep it elevated," you lightly scold as she places her bandaged hand around you.
"I want to hold my wife," she argues back, but moves her hand to rest on the curved rise of your hip. "There, better?"
"I love you, babe," you whisper, peppering her with kisses, forgetting the stress for now and making her hum with enjoyment. In the ambient glow of the TV, she cutely scrunches her nose and it takes you back to the memory of playing with Daniela in the pool.
"I lo—mmm—love you too," she says against your lips, since you keep pressing her with your own, hardly giving her a chance to speak.
You both need a little moment of lightness and you keep kissing in a playful, unserious way. You're already being silly, so when one of the girls suddenly snorts in her sleep on the other side of the bed, it sends you both into a giggling fit. Alcina can’t get it together—probably out of pure exhaustion and punchiness—and she keeps laughing until she has to hide her face in your neck.
“Go to sleep, woman,” you whisper-laugh, bringing your fingertips up to cover her mouth, which only makes her laugh even more.
Eventually, the giggles do wear off in favor of her crashing on your shoulder, and even though she's finally asleep it still takes her body a while to fully relax. Her fingers twitch where they lay on your hip, but with you lightly rubbing her head her breaths grow deep and slow, evidencing that she was completely worn out.
Your thoughts are swirling despite your own mutual exhaustion and you're keeping yourself awake replaying the events of the day—the fear, the anxiety, the guilt you feel for your wife getting hurt. Each time you close your eyes, snippets keep coming back to you and when the TV turns itself off, you're still staring at the tray ceiling above the bed.
Under the sheet, a little hand weasels its way towards you and brushes your forearm. From the spill of dark hair, as dark as Alcina’s and your own, you can tell that it’s Cassandra lying asleep on the pillow next to you. You find her limp hand and twine your fingers with hers, smiling when she clutches on to you in her sleep.
Daniela may be the youngest and Bela the most sensitive, but Alcina and Cassandra are your biggest babies despite their bravado. Being sandwiched between the two of them, with Alcina’s eyelashes tickling your neck and Cassandra’s small hand in yours, gives you a sense of purpose and does let your mind start to quiet down. You have to remind yourself that even if the day’s events were chaotic, you’re all safely accounted for and that’s all that really matters.
The next day, in order to give your kids something healthy to focus their energy on, you visit the park as a family right after picking up the abandoned pool gear and Alcina’s golf clubs from the country club. It’s easy enough to walk them around the property of the vineyard, but the change of scenery is just added stimulus for them and you’re thankful to get out of both the house and your head.
Even though she insisted that it wasn’t necessary for you to do so, helping Alcina change the bandage on her hand had made you feel nauseous in more ways than one. All of her knuckles are bruised in the aftermath and the wiry, black sutures triggered your squeamishness. That, combined with the violent mental image of her fighting with that strange man made your mind start on an endless spiral of what-ifs. What if he had a weapon? What if your wife hadn’t arrived when she did? What if something like that happens again?
You’re trying to shut your brain off to the thoughts, which is certainly easier said than done, but if there's one thing your daughters excel at it's being distracting.
"Cass, let's not play with sticks," Alcina calls as she pushes the double stroller with one hand, the other bandaged one clasped with yours. Daniela is content to be a passenger princess just like you, while Cassandra and Bela tag alongside the walking path, entertaining themselves with sticks, pinecones, and other found treasures. "We're not making another trip to the ER," she mutters for only you to hear.
"Definitely not," you agree, swirling your iced matcha before taking a sip. "Dani? Ready for more, girly?"
A tiny, chocolate-smudged hand pops out from the side of the stroller, palm up, awaiting more of the chocolate croissant pieces you've been feeding her. Alcina had been concerned when Daniela refused to eat when you all had pastries for breakfast at a local coffee shop, insisting that it must be because of what she witnessed the day before, instead of the fact that she's a toddler who is stubborn on the daily. You insisted that that was not the case and quickly proved your point by bribing her with chocolatey, buttery goodness.
“I’m afraid to know what her face looks like,” Alcina sighs, taking her own iced latte from the stroller’s cup holder, sipping as she rolls her pretty eyes. She’s not wearing lashes today and you truly love to see her natural beauty.
“There are wipes in her bag,” you reassure, tearing off another piece of croissant and then holding it aloft for her to nibble from your fingers. She gives a murmur of approval as she chews and you grin to yourself; your wife is as easy to please as your toddler daughter.
“I could have gotten ‘em like this! Gah!”
Since she is reluctant to listen at times—almost all the times—Cassandra is still brandishing her stick, javelining its pointy end into some unseen enemy. She continues to flèche and parry, and just as Bela will someday have you spectating at swim meets, you’re sure that Cassandra will become your expert fencer. She has an obsession with turning everyday items into “weapons” as she calls them, and you and Alcina aren’t even sure where she got that notion.
“Cass! Stop talking about that!” Bela shrieks at her sister, before stomping further away into the dandelion-speckled grass. She plucks up one of the fuzzy, yellow flowers and carries it with her, staring angrily down at its petals.
Alcina heaves a sigh and then leaves the pushing to you (like she has three times before). “I’ll get her,” she says, and then starts off on an easy, Baywatch-style jog toward your eldest. But the stroller stays parked while you admire the curves of her hips and waist in retreat.
You probably shouldn’t be thinking as much right now, but watching your wife be supermom does it for you. There’s just something about getting to see your stoic, ice queen of a wife be soft with her children that makes you feel soft in return. It’s extremely attractive and she has taken to motherhood so gracefully that it just reaffirms why you’ve done so much baby-making with her—both with and without the intent of a pregnancy.
Alcina’s POV
“Bels! Wait up, lovebug!”
You receive a glare for using her youngish-sounding nickname, but you’ve been calling her your lovebug since she was in the womb and you’re never going to stop no matter how many times she glares at you.
As you fall into step with her, you run your hand down the length of her white-blonde braid and her shoulder is at the perfect level for you to rest your hand. She’s already above average in height for her age and you don’t doubt that she will be taller than her other miniature-sized mother within a year or two.
“Do you need some time to yourself or would you like to vent?” you ask lightly, rubbing her shoulder. “Either way, I wanted to check on you.”
“I wanna vent,” she says, shrugging off your hand so she can grip it with her own, weaving your fingers together.
You give her hand a squeeze of encouragement; if there’s one thing you know you’ve done right in your life, it’s been creating a bond of love and trust with your daughters. “Go ahead…”
“I want Cass to stop talking about what happened yesterday,” she says a bit forcefully, her tone irritated.
You knew it was coming, but it still makes you twinge with guilt, even if it was really only the fault of someone who put your family in jeopardy. “I understand,” you tell her honestly. “Mom and I will talk with her about it so she understands why you need a break.”
“But I just don’t want Cass to upset mom!” she says, and this time her voice is high and thin with emotion. And there lies the root of the problem: Bela is almost overly receptive and her bond with her mother lets her share an intuitive response to her emotions. “She was really upset yesterday at the pool and Cass won’t shut up about it!”
“Oh, my love,” you coo, stopping her to make her face you as you kneel to her level. You run your hands down her arms and take both of her hands, your heart aching as her lip trembles and her eyes fill with unshed tears. “I certainly appreciate you thinking of your mother, but she’s an adult and neither of us expect you to take on that responsibility.”
Even though your own mother was usually unavailable due to her illness and no fault of her own, it had still forced you to stumble under the heavy burden of having an absent father, a younger sister, and needs of your own. If at all possible, you’re going to do everything in your power to let Bela be free of that type of invisible burden.
“Mom and I can talk to each other about whatever she’s feeling—that’s not a problem for you to worry about,” you explain, knowing that Bela is mature enough to understand.
"’kay,” Bela whispers, biting her quivery lip. “As long as she’s okay…”
“I promise, she’s okay,” you insist, but you’re not really sure how your wife is processing, as you two haven’t had a chance to truly touch base yet. That’s something that you know will need to come later. “Plus, your mom is pretty tough…”
“Not as tough as you,” Bela says, a hint of a smile spreading over her face as she looks down at your injured hand.
“Well, no,” you agree, puffing out your chest with exaggerated pride just to hear your daughter laugh at your antics. “But look where that got me, now I’ve got a mummy hand.”
Bela wipes at her eyes with a giggle. “But you’re my favorite mummy—get it?” she says, laughing at her own silly joke.
One moment your wife is telling you she’s pregnant for the first time and the next, your first daughter is nearly ten years old, impressing you with all of her kindness and cleverness. It’s really enough to make your head spin, but you’re overjoyed to be on this journey.
“Oh, I get it, you goofy girl,” you tell Bela as you hug her until she’s giggling and groaning in your tight embrace. “Don’t tell mom, that will upset her!”
“But you’re both my favorites!”
Wifey’s POV
Later, after the girls are tucked in for the night and all of you have fallen back into the usual routine, you’re lying across the bed on your front, absentmindedly fiddling around on your phone. Alcina is rewrapping her hand after showering and you’re hoping that she is almost finished because in spite of all the weirdness of this weekend, you’re feeling the urge to be close to her.
“Ugh!” you groan as the woman you were just thinking of settles all of her weight over your back, trapping you in a bear hug.
“Hi, pretty lady,” she says, rolling herself off to lie beside you after she’s done squishing you. It’s then that you realize that she’s dropped her towel and forgone her silk robe. “Fancy meeting you here,” she continues, waggling her brows as she rests her head on her hand.
“Ah, yes, fancy meeting your wife in your bed,” you tease, leaning in to kiss her. It may be a little forward, but you deepen the kiss immediately and she yields to you in return, opening her mouth to accept the push of your tongue. You give her bottom lip a small nip with your teeth, whispering against her mouth, “are you up for having sex?”
When you’ve been in a secure marriage for as long as the two of you, it’s best to be clear and open when it comes to communicating desires.
“Do I ever say no to you?” she says with a huff of a laugh. She runs her hands up into your hair and carefully loosens it from its ponytail, letting it fall down your shoulders.
“No, but the past couple days have been difficult,” you tell her, wanting her to know that you’re considering how she might feel.
“Never too difficult to make love to my wife,” she replies. With her usual gentleness, she urges you onto your back and makes her way over you, slotting her thigh up between your legs. The sensation sparks a sudden desperation in you and the friction of grinding against her is too good to resist. "Easy, baby," she says into your ear, pressing little pecks to the outer shell. Her hand finds your hip and she holds you still in a frustrating way. "Let's take it slow tonight, let me make you mine..."
"That sounds nice," you sigh with a smile, craning your neck to the side to invite more attention from her mouth. As much as you love to be taken rough and passionately, Alcina's methods of slow seduction never fail to get you satisfyingly worked up. "What do you have in mind?"
For a moment, she just breathes in your ear while pushing the length of her body down to yours. "I want you to get undressed and turn over for me," she instructs, and then much to your dismay, she gets up from the bed. "I'll take care of the rest."
It takes but a few seconds for you to do as she asks, as you're only wearing panties and one of her oversized t-shirts. The shirt you shrug over your head and toss aside, and then you hook your thumbs into the panties and slip them down your thighs. You use the stretchy material to slingshot them in her direction and they go shooting over her shoulder to land on the rug.
She gives you a grin and you can't help but to mirror the expression, watching with interest as she opens the bench at the foot of the bed, where all of your sex toys are stored. You're curious to know what she has planned, but there's one thing you know she will always bring out if given the opportunity and when she throws a tangle of black leather and buckles onto the bed, you're proven correct.
When she takes out a bottle of lavender scented massage oil it makes you giggle incredulously. "A one-handed massage?"
"You of all people should know what I can accomplish with one hand," she shoots back, kneeling onto the bed with the last of her loot—her favorite thick, purple dild* and lube.
Together, you get her strapped into the harness, her situating the toy in the ring and you adjusting the tension of the buckles. It's a sweet moment of bonding that's going to lead to something that's a little more naughty than sweet, but it does feel nice to exercise some restraint and let the anticipation build.
“Lie down,” she says softly, guiding you to face away from her, running her hand from your tailbone up to the nape of your neck. The force she applies is tender yet purposeful, but when you stay on your knees and drop your face to the bed, she urges your hips lower. “All the way down…”
Truthfully, being able to just lie here feels nice and the addition of the aromatic lavender oil being smoothed around by her warm hand is f*cking heavenly. But what’s even better is her straddling your thighs and nestling the shaft of the strap between your asscheeks, so as she massages, your only thoughts are of how close she is to filling you while having no urgency to do so. It’s enough to drive you crazy when you’re trying to be patient.
“Is that firm enough?” she quizzes, using the hard ridge of her knuckles to glide along the muscles beside your spine. It feels so good that your eyes are rolling back in your head even though they’re closed and you’re just now realizing how badly you needed this attention. “Do you want it harder?”
“I want something harder,” you mumble into the duvet, arching your hips.
“Patience, my little minx,” she says as she works into the area next to your shoulder blades, where there always seems to be knots of tension. They would have only been exacerbated by yesterday’s odd events and you’re silently grateful for her care. “As you said, we’ve had a stressful weekend and I want to spend time with you, we could use the reconnection.”
The angle is awkward, but you bring your hand up from the bed and twist it behind your back, wiggling your fingers, searching for her. She leans down to meet you—the toy pressing hard into your ass, your c*nt clenching—and you feel it as your fingertips brush her face. Playfully, she kisses the pad of each finger until she reaches your pinky, which she holds between her teeth and then kisses as well. It’s a heady mix of both light and lustful and your pulse begins to quicken.
You can’t hold back your giggling as she continues to nuzzle her nose into your palm, making you ticklish with her touch. She ghosts a few more pecks to the sensitive inner side of your wrist and then places your hand alongside you again, intent on pampering you more.
With everything you both maintain on a day-to-day basis—your children, the winery, the household, your own individual pursuits—sometimes it’s easy to forget these small moments of tenderness between you two. And whether it’s a planned situation or impromptu like tonight, these times always make you reflect on the selfless, unconditional love you have for one another. It’s not without effort, but even the difficulties are more easily soothed with the strong foundation you’ve built.
Alcina massages you until you’re drowsy and lax, using the point of her elbow in place of her injured hand. She tries not to put all of her weight behind it, but you grunt and groan as she makes your back pop in several places, and it has you both laughing.
Eventually, she sits back on your thighs and places a hand on either of your hips, the texture of her bandage brushing your skin on the right side. You know where she’s—finally—going with this and you let yourself go even more slack against the bed, breathing deep.
She kneads the fullness of it in her palms as she starts up a slow rhythm of thrusting between your ass, squeezing your cheeks around the shaft.
“Are you ready for me?” she asks, and you’re already so turned on that you’re aching around your entrance. One of her hands leaves you and you feel a zip run through your cl*t when you hear the snap of the lube bottle opening.
“I was ready twenty minutes ago,” you breathe out, thoroughly distracted by how good her teasing feels.
A generous drizzle of lube suddenly drips into your ass, followed by her pressing down on the shaft with her hand, the heightened sensation of her slipping against your asshole and c*nt making you moan. There’s a squelching sound from what you can only assume is her fisting the co*ck, and then she’s using the head to gently prod into your entrance. She doesn’t even give you enough to grip though, just keeps nudging you open and then retreating until your grasping at the duvet.
When she turns on the bullet vibrator that’s snugged up to both her and the base of the toy, she gives a little hiss of delight and her breathing stutters endearingly. She may be on top of you, getting ready to mount you in all of her dominance, but you hold the power over her right between your legs.
“I’m glad you were in the mood,” she says, her voice having dropped. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed this—needed you—until I had you under me.”
You’re fluttering wildly around the barest inch of the tip, ready to take it all for her, but she only leaves you whining when she pulls back again. With a hand on your shoulder, she repeats this motion until your humping the bed, the slippery strings of your arousal leaking from the seam of your c*nt onto the duvet below. And when she finally drives herself home with an insanity-inducing slowness, you nearly shout out your aggravation, but then she settles over your back, stealing all the breath from your lungs.
Her own breath is warm as she pants into your neck, covering you with light, affectionate kisses. “I know it’s probably f*cked up and toxic of me,” she says as she starts to give you deep, smooth thrusts. “But I just have this overwhelming urge to claim what’s mine…”
“f*ck,” you whimper, the feeling of being physically subdued and guided into submission completely intoxicating you. Right now you would let her do anything. “I want that too.”
Her knees are on either side of yours, bracketing you into her embrace, but instead of giving you the aggressive treatment of f*cking you into the mattress, she makes love to your body in the tenderest way. She gives you time to relax around the stretch and your g-spot receives consistent stimulation as she rolls her hips, keeping the toy buried nearly to the base.
“How’s that feel?” she asks, your bodies having fallen into sync with each other.
"Just right,” you whisper back, moving your hand up to where hers is braced on the bed, twining your fingers together as best as you can around the bandaging. “I need you to touch me though…”
“Shh…I’ve got you, love, just relax,” she says as she works a hand beneath you, finding the slick mess between your thighs. A groan escapes her when she starts to play in it, gliding her fingertips around just for the indulgence. “This—all wet and warm for me,” she continues, deliberately stroking your cl*t for emphasis. “Makes me f*cking insane.”
At this point, you’re too far gone for her dirty talk. All you want to do is hump her fingers and let your brain go fuzzy for a while, which is exactly what you do, whimpering as she works. She is content to say enough for the both of you as she keeps whispering sweet nothings in your ear, and when that’s no longer enough, she urges you to turn your head so she’s able to take your mouth as well.
“You're going to come first,” she whispers with her lips smashed to yours, her hand holding your jaw. This leaves her lying heavily over you, making the sensation of being told when you're going to come that much more intense. "But tell me when you’re close, don’t come until I say…”
“Now—I'm close now,” you pant, feeling yourself beginning to peak, but trying to keep yourself under control for her. Her thrusts have stayed surprisingly slow and measured, but as you gasp those words she takes to ramming her hips against your ass, losing control of her own determination to take her time.
"Hold off for me," she says, kissing your neck one last time before raising herself up onto her elbow. The hand at your jaw slides down to become a collar around your throat and soon she's choking you as she f*cks you. You struggle for the breath and blood flow she's restricting, and even though you're right on the knife edge of it, you certainly don't come. This obviously pleases and empowers her, as she grunts and nuzzles her face against yours, making all kinds of satisfied sounds.
"That's a good girl, being so patient," she growls into your ear, her fingers swirling a fast pattern over your cl*t. "Show me how badly you want it and I'll let you come."
Since you can't verbalize it, you buck your hips back to match her thrusts, until you're clashing into each other, until she's so deep it nearly aches. You don't know how else to show her how badly you need her, but you've always shared an unspoken bond when it comes to your bodies. And just as the haze of org*sm and her grip on your throat is making your vision even fuzzier, she abruptly lets go.
"Come."
The flood of new oxygen pitches you over the edge and then you're howling, so much so that she clamps her hand over your mouth and you keep screaming into her palm. In the thick of your climax, you hear her panted laughter as she tries to keep you quiet; your home has decent sound-proofing, but you've been known to test its limits.
"Holy f*ck..." you gasp after she deems it safe enough to unmuzzle you, feeling as if all of your bones have somehow liquified.
"Can I keep going?" Alcina practically moans, her voice sounding strained. As she struggles to keep her strokes gentle for you, she's almost trembling, grappling with the urge to chase her own org*sm. "I can do something else if it's too much, but you feel so f*cking good," she admits, and just knowing that she gets so much pleasure from you makes you want to submit.
"Keep going," you rasp to her, "use me..."
That is the green light she needed and with a snarl she begins to ride you with reckless abandon, and since you've already come, she's free to wrap her arms under your waist and chest to hold you close.
Your wife is a giving lover through and through, but you truly wish that she would be selfish with you more often. Listening to her ragged breathing as she uses you for her own gain is the highest form of eroticism, and you would stay in this position for hours just to be witness to her coming undone.
You’re so wet that it’s puddling beneath you, but that just makes it easier for her to keep pace, gliding into you with a chorus of wet, lewd sounds. She works herself into a fever pitch, until each thrust is accompanied by a sharp cry of ecstasy.
"I love you," she starts whimpering between kissing your neck again, her lips quivering against your skin. They can hardly be considered kisses at this point though; she’s just trying to keep herself quiet by forcing her mouth and forehead into you, and it’s as precious as is it arousing. When she gets emotional and sweet during sex it never fails to make you melt. "I love you so f*cking much."
Totally focused on herself, just like you want her to be, she comes with a violent shudder, her hips giving weak, joggy thrusts as she collapses on top of you, completely spent. Her damp cheek sticks to your shoulder blade, her face turned into the nape of your neck while she tries to calm her breathing. She’s still squeezing you so tight around the torso that it feels as if you’re wrapped in tentacles, but you know she’s content from the little mewls she’s giving as she nuzzles you, and that’s what is most important to you.
“Feelin’ good, baby?” you purr, bouncing your ass as much as you can under her weight.
She growls as she sinks her teeth into your shoulder, then soothes the sting with her tongue. “Good?” she muses, her fingertips flexing into your ribs. “Your c*nt is f*cking transcendent.”
This, of course, makes you erupt with laughter, as only your wife would think of something so outlandish to compliment the way you simply laid there and took her co*ck. But it is nice though, when she so often reiterates all of her appreciation for your willingness.
It’s difficult to describe out loud without sounding ridiculous or self-devaluing, but you feel as if this is your purpose—to be with her, to serve her, to give her a space where she can be soft. This woman worships the ground you walk on, would do anything for you—yesterday as proof—and it just feels natural to want to give to her in return.
“Well, she did give you three gorgeous kids, so I am inclined to agree,” you tease back.
Chuckling to herself, she rolls off your back to lie beside you, spread out under the cool draft of the ceiling fan. You’re both drenched in sweat from being practically glued together and it seems that her earlier shower was in vain.
“God, you’re so sexy when you’re under me…”
Pushing yourself up onto all fours, you crawl over to straddle her waist, tossing your hair to one side as you do. “Under you, on top of you…you just really like me, don’t you?” you flirt, holding her shoulders and rolling your hips, sliding your center over the strap.
“I certainly do,” she says, surging up faster than expected for still being short of breath, pulling you to sit fully in her lap. The sticky toy is pinned between your bellies, but she holds it by the base, wordlessly conveying her intentions. So you ease yourself down onto it again, giving into her, as you always do.
“I’m glad I could be of use to you,” you whisper, holding her face to look into her blown pupils. “And I love you too.”
Reaching out, she tangles her fingers in the loose waves of your dark hair and drags your mouths together. You make out in a lazy, unhurried way, with your ankles locked behind her back and her hands cradling your waist. You both rock your hips against each other until it’s almost tantric, not with the intention to org*sm again, just to find the little ruptures of pleasure as you move as one. Now, it’s not so much about the sex as it is being close with your wife.
You’re not sure when you start getting emotional, but the concern starts to register on Alcina’s face as she pulls back to look at you. “My darling, what’s wrong?” she asks, gently placing her right hand to your cheek. The sensation of the bandage against your skin makes your stomach turn and something gives inside of you.
“Yesterday was so awful,” you say, your voice breaking as you place your hand over hers, feeling the scratchy texture of the wrap covering the gauze.
“Yes, it was…” she agrees, leaving her statement open for you to continue, her eyes full of sympathy.
You bite your lips, rolling them between between your teeth; you’re not sure if you want to divulge your negative thoughts, but you know that Alcina will listen.
“I feel like a bad mom, like I can’t take care of them on my own and you got hurt because of it,” you admit, and her expression instantly turns to one of solemn disbelief. “I just had this feeling, I guess, and I was trying not to freak out any more than I already was…it just seemed like the right thing to do, to call you.”
“What you did was perfect,” she tells you with conviction, nodding in order to make you believe it as well. "You called me for support, as you should. That doesn't take away from your capabilities as a mother—you're a phenomenal mother. Don't doubt yourself, my love."
"Thank you..." you reply a bit bashfully, "I guess it just shook me up..."
"That's understandable," she says as she pulls you even further into her embrace, holding your cheeks tenderly. "And you are not responsible for my actions. My hand will heal and hopefully with the police having that phone, they will be able to take proper actions."
"I hope so..."
She smooths your hair away from face, most likely just for the excuse of being able to give you more affectionate touches and then she looks into yours eyes with such sincerity that your throat closes.
"You know that this is all I want in life, don't you? To be here for you, make you happy, keep you safe," she says as your eyes well up. "When I took those vows on our wedding day, I gave myself to you...I've found my purpose in you and our daughters. I'm yours and I will do whatever it takes to stay yours."
"Even beating the sh*t out of creeps?"
"Whatever it takes."
You sniffle a little, almost laughing at yourself as you touch the pad of your finger to the corner of your eyes, attempting to quell the tears. "Jesus, I wasn't expecting a whole speech," you joke, trying to lighten the mood once more. "I do have to admit, it was pretty f*cking sexy having you protect us so...vigorously."
"Oh? So, you like when I'm vigorous, huh?" she says, her voice full of suavity and pompousness. Her hands find your waist again and she flips you onto your back so swiftly that it leaves you laughing breathlessly.
"I do," you agree with a smirk, relaxing your arms above your head to give her more room to kiss and suck at your neck and breasts. "But I feel bad getting off on your injury."
"That's not what you're doing," she says, moving to hold your biceps, pinning your arms down to the bed. "You're responding naturally to the sense of security, of having such a strong, dominant, vigorous mate. How could a woman resist?"
"Well, when you say it like that..."
"Shh, let me show you just how vigorous I can be for you..."
Two weeks later, it's a brilliantly bright summer day. You're slathered in high SPF sunscreen and coconut shimmer oil, relaxing by the pool with a fruity, umbrella-topped drink in your hand, enjoying the peacefulness of having your wife entertain the kids. It's reality this time and Alcina has promised you at least an hour of not being splashed or squirt-gunned, and you're more than willing to take her up on the offer.
Alcina stands in the pool, the water barely up to her thighs in the shallow end, looking so goddamn delicious in her burgundy bikini, throwing a foam football to Cassandra and Daniela like the deep laceration to her hand never even happened. A home care nurse had come to the house just a few days before to remove the sutures and while you and Bela went off to the living room, looking a little green around the gills, Cassandra had sat with Alcina at the kitchen island, watching with morbid fascination as the tiny black stitches were plucked out.
"Time out!"
No sooner has Alcina called the words when you're distracted by her thrusting herself up onto the side of the pool to hoist herself out. Water beads down the definition of her shoulders and the set of her arms forces her breasts together in a way that makes you lower your sunglasses for a better eyeful.
"What are you looking at?" she asks knowingly, catching you in the act as she goes to the cooler, your eyes following the rivulets running down between her cleavage.
With an impish little smirk, you slide your sunglasses back up your nose. "Who, me? Oh, I'm just checking out the foxy, neighborhood milf playing with her adorable kids. God, her wife is so lucky."
She gives you a flirty wink and then cracks open a cold, dewy can of coconut water and somehow makes that look sexy too. You assume she's making a drink for herself, but as she finishes it off with rum and a splash of pineapple juice, you realize she's refilling your co*cktail. The last adornment is a pink paper umbrella, the ones she had insisted on packing just because she knew you wanted them, and then she presses the fresh drink into your hand.
"You looked thirsty, wouldn't want you getting too hot out here," she says, letting her eyes rove over your own bikini clad curves. Placing her hands on the armrests of your lounge chair, she leans down, stopping just short of your lips. "Although, I don't think the drink will be enough to cool you off..."
When you catch her in a sudden kiss, it throws off her balance and then she's kneeling onto the chair over you, making you squeal against her mouth as cold droplets hit your skin.
"The drinks, the compliments—you're so extra," you tease, arching up for another kiss. Her lips are still damp from being in the pool and you don't even mind the bleachy, chlorine taste.
"But if that's what you like, then it's just enough," she insists, smiling down at you as she touches your jaw.
"Don't do this to me here," you warn, already feeling yourself responding to your wife's playful advances.
"I'm going to do it to you later," she says under her breath, "this is just—"
"Ugh, stop kissing!"
"Yeah! The time out is over!"
"Yes, I'd say your hour is up as well!" Alcina announces, abruptly siding with Bela and Cassandra's jeering.
There's not even enough time to call for a compromise, as you're suddenly being scooped up out of the chair and carried kicking and screaming to the deep end, where you're unceremoniously dumped into the pool by your loving wife. You surface just as she surfaces too, slicking her hair back and wearing the biggest, cheesiest grin. She's so f*cking attractive when she's being playful that it nearly makes your chest ache and as much as you want to harass her, you just can't bring yourself to do anything but smile right back at her. Plus, your daughters are laughing hysterically, and you're just happy to know that their summer memories won't be totally eclipsed by one chaotic situation.
"I'm gonna get you back for that," you say dramatically, splashing at her. You lunge as she wipes the water from her eyes, wrapping your legs around her waist and clinging to her shoulders. She's tall enough to touch in the deep end, and even though it's much easier for her to do in the water, you still find her strength ridiculously attractive.
Beneath the surface, she takes advantage of the obscurity and holds you up by gripping a handful of your ass. "This doesn't feel like payback," she laughs wolfishly.
"Behave yourself!" you gasp, just as Daniela comes paddling toward you two in her lifejacket, struggling forward like an awkward turtle.
With a quick reach of her arm, Alcina sweeps Daniela over to her, holding the buoyant toddler to her chest. “Are you having fun in the pool, my littlest darling?” she asks, her voice an animated coo.
“Yah!” Daniela squeals happily, her funny, scrunched up grin taking over her whole face. When it’s wet, her reddish auburn hair shows much darker and you can’t resist reaching out to smooth your fingers through the strands. Excitedly, she slaps at the water’s surface, giggling as she splashes you.
“Get mama! Get her, Dani!” you goad, deciding to use your youngest daughter to get even with your wife; she can’t very well retaliate against an innocent two-year-old. You flick water into Alcina’s chest, cackling with delight as Daniela mimes you, much to her mother’s exaggerated dismay.
Alcina abandons you to tread water beside her as she takes Daniela under the arms and lifts her up, giving her a jiggle. “What do you think you’re doing, huh?” she teases, dunking her kicking legs back into the water, repeating the action until Daniela is absolutely shrieking with that infectious baby joy.
After the girls have run you through every swimming-related activity they can think of—Marco Polo, a cannonball competition, fetching the weighted diving batons you throw for them—you really shouldn’t be surprised to find yourself sitting on Alcina’s shoulders for a game of chicken.
She grips your thighs to keep you steady while you cup your left hand beneath her chin for balance. With your right, you totally obliterate Cassandra, toppling both her and Bela into the water since they could hardly stay upright on their own anyway. You and Alcina laugh so hard at them floundering that you nearly fall off her shoulders as well.
"That’s not fair!” Cassandra whines, trying to recover from going under. “Mama is too tall!”
“Maybe you’re too short,” Bela says, seeming entertained by the fact that her younger sister got dunked, trying to conceal her grin. You two share a quick glance and your eldest daughter’s smile only grows, making your heart warm with her happiness. As a mother, it’s all you strive to achieve.
Placing you down to sit on the edge of the pool, Alcina sinks deeper so that her back rests against the wall. She runs her hands up and down your calves, as your legs are still over her shoulders. Giving you an affectionate squeeze, she turns to place a kiss on your thigh as she continues to watch the girls play. It’s all so adorably domestic, this life you’ve created together, and soon you’re hugging her head and leaning over to repeatedly kiss her temple.
“Not quite your favorite way to have your legs over my shoulders, is it?” she says quietly, for just the two of you.
“It’s close,” you whisper in her ear, guiding her head all the way back so that she has to look up at you, wearing her pretty smile on her lips. You kiss her forehead, her nose, and then her mouth, enjoying this soft moment of having her completely at your will.
Daniela comes interrupting again, having grown tired of her sisters’ grown up games; her expression is one of an exhausted toddler still trying to keep up after missing her afternoon nap. Alcina scoops her into a hug, guiding her cheek against the curve of her breast, which is always a surefire way to put the tiny redhead to sleep.
You help the cause by lightly scratching her scalp and as Daniela starts to drift off in her mother’s cozy embrace, she absentmindedly fiddles her hand over your calf.
“Smooth?” she giggles, her fingertips playing over the stubble on your legs.
Alcina nearly blows a raspberry trying to contain her laughter and you’re rolling your eyes, because yes your wax is grown out and no you hadn’t shaved this morning.
“We call that prickly, Daniela,” Alcina needlessly announces.
“Pricky!” Daniela shouts excitedly, giggling like a little fiend as her much bigger, taller, grey-eyed twin laughs right along with her. You’re just huffing your annoyance; the nerve of these two to be so difficult yet so endearing.
“This pool does seem to lead to some prickly situations, one might say,” Alcina continues, finding her own joke hilarious.
“I’m canceling my next waxing appointment,” you threaten.
"As if that will keep me away from you…”
Things may not always be perfect, but with Alcina by your side you can get through any situation—even the prickly ones.
