22. Winter

TWENTY-TWO

WINTER

B reaking international law is surprisingly anti-climactic.

While the press thinks we’re going to Costa Rica for our honeymoon, which is where all documentation says we are to land, the reality is we landed at a small airstrip in Cuba under a different call number from the one we departed with, and took a smaller jet over to Martinique.

We flew into Forte-de-France, settling on a private airstrip, where we took the private helicopter that Hunter piloted to ferry us to our next destination: his yacht in the Caribbean.

Hunter and I exited the helicopter hand-in-hand, not letting each other go as we descended from the ship’s helipad.

Settled into the room as the sun falls past the waterline, Hunter is silent as I take time to put our bags away and start up the shower. I’m told we only have a skeleton crew on board: twenty mariners, the chef, and the captain—so we’re on our own for most things except piloting the vessel and our meals.

We’re roughing it, if one could “rough it” on a two-hundred-million-dollar super yacht.

“Come on, H,” I say softly, pulling Hunter off the bed and toward the shower. It’s a massive en suite—much larger than I’d expect for a boat—and Hunter allows me to strip him before I remove all my clothes and guide us into the shower.

The warm water must shock him a bit from his stupor, but he still doesn’t say anything. I realize that he’s avoiding my eyes.

I know what this is—where he is. The emotional onslaught of retelling the most horrifying, traumatic moments of one’s life can tax survivors in many different ways. For me, my compulsions tend to get worse, and I perseverate over little things to an unhealthy level. Usually, these effects are temporary, thanks to many years of therapy and meds.

For Hunter, however, it’s clear that he’s dissociating—withdrawing into some safe space in his brain where he doesn’t have to confront the terrors on the outside.

I get that too.

So while the water cascades over us, I bring him against my body and hug him. There’s nothing overtly sexual about the move. I just want to provide him comfort and give him a physical counterpoint to anchor him to the now.

I want to help remind his body that he’s here with me—not back on that veranda at Isla Cara.

I force myself not to tense as my brain spins over all the horrors he’s faced in his life.

I thoroughly understand now why he ran away. I understand why he tried to shield August from his father’s attention. I thought there was an edge of paranoia on his part before, but now? I can imagine the constant anxiety he must have felt over keeping August safe.

And then when his father managed to hurt me….

I squeeze him a bit tighter.

“I love you, Winter. So fucking much,” he says in a low voice. His body begins to shake in a fine tremor, and I know that he’s finally, finally crying. He didn’t shed a tear as he told me about the assault, witnessing his mother’s brutal attack, or any of the other atrocities that he experienced under the hand of Benjamin Brigham.

But here, in this shower, Hunter breaks down. And I hold him through it.

When the water starts to cool and Hunter begins to shiver, I turn the taps off and pull us into the main bathroom.

“Let’s eat some dinner,” I say, bending over to dry my legs. When I stand, I wrap my towel around my body while Hunter stands silent as a statue. Water drips off the ends of his hair, but he doesn’t even shiver from the cold.

His gaze fixes on me, and within it, there’s so much heat.

Still, I try to keep my movements efficient, and I help him dry off. I run the towel over his wet hair, moving down over his shoulders and chest.

When I lower into a crouch to dry his legs, he puts a steely hand on my shoulder. My head snaps up, and I stare transfixed as his jaw ticks. I try to ignore his erection rising near my cheek.

“What do you want me to do, H?” I whisper. The look in his gaze darkens, and when his hand tightens more on my shoulder, I let out an involuntary gasp.

At the sound, he blinks once, then again and again in rapid succession.

With an exhale, his shoulders collapse, and he lets go.

“Hey,” I say, standing. “It’s okay.” I wrap the towel around his waist.

“We need to talk some more before anything else happens, Sunbeam,” he rasps out. I offer him a smile, aiming to be reassuring.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” I say back. For the first time in several hours, I see the ghost of a smile cross his face.

“You’re amazing, you know that, right?” His words are as soft as his hand at the back of my neck. “But we need to set some boundaries.”

He’s right, of course. To redefine our relationship on new ground, we need to lay it all out on the table.

And there’s no time like the present.

Hunter tilts his head in the direction of our suite, and I follow him out of the bathroom.

I allow myself only a few moments to ogle the muscles as they flex in his back, and then I hurry to dress myself in a light jumper. Dusk has fallen since we entered the room, so I layer on a light sweater in case it’s chilly on the deck.

Once Hunter finishes pulling his shirt over his head and donning his cargo pants, an outrageously casual look for him, he turns to me.

He looks better. I wouldn’t say “back to normal,” because so much guilt marred his version of “normal.” But he looks better. Lighter than before.

I smile at him.

Grabbing my hand, Hunter says, “Can I please hold you?”

There’s so much vulnerability in the ask that I don’t even consider denying him. I crawl on top of the bedspread and pat the side next to me. He joins me a second later, pulling me into his chest. He sighs and I do the same.

I’m so happy to stay like this forever, with the waves rocking us up and down so gently from our spot in the sea, but Hunter wants to talk, so I want to do that too.

“Boundaries, huh?” I say, running my index finger along the seam of his collar. “The professional in me automatically agrees with you. The human side of me is grimacing a little bit at my behavior over the past few weeks.”

I sit up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, Hunter. I pushed you way beyond what you were ready for, and it wasn’t right.”

Hunter shrugs. “Maybe so. But it was what I needed. What we needed,” he says, lacing our fingers together.

I purse my lips, twisting them to the side as I contemplate his words.

“Staying away from you these last few weeks has been pure hell, Winter. I never, ever want to do that again. We’ve gone over my behavior before—when I get scared, I get controlling. And when I get controlling, I go cold.”

I make a face. “You get controlling?” I ask.

He gives me a light eyeroll. “Okay, so I get more controlling. I guess.”

I fall back onto him, balancing my weight on my hip to avoid my stomach and placing my chin on my hands where I rest on his chest.

“So what’s the solution?” I ask.

He blows out a breath as he looks at the expensive ceiling tile. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. I’m figuring this all out as I go along,” he says. “But I think I need to figure out how to push through and let other people help.”

I make an affirming sound. “In Dialectical Behavior Therapy, there’s this tool called ‘Opposite Action.’ As you can probably guess, it’s basically when you do the opposite of whatever your big emotions tell you to do.”

His eyes crinkle in the corners as he looks at me, listening.

“So for example, if you feel like storming off and not talking to me for two weeks?—”

He grimaces. “I’m sorry, Sunbeam,” he interjects. I pop up to kiss his cheek.

“I won’t say it’s okay because it wasn’t, but I’ll say, I understand. Anyway, back to Opposite Action. If you feel like storming off and going ghost, instead you’ll make a conscious effort to do the opposite. Which, in this case, might be pulling your girlfriend into your bedroom and talking it out with her.”

“Wife,” he says.

“Huh?”

“You said girlfriend. You’re my wife. Get used to saying it, Sunbeam. Because I’m gonna tell everyone I see that I’m your husband.”

I smile wide this time. “Sorry. Your wife,” I say and bring my hand out to admire the ring.

“Do you really like it?” he says with caution, grabbing my outstretched hand and tilting to reflect the overhead lighting. My wedding ring sparkles as it catches the light.

“I so, so do, Hunter.” I feel his hum of contentment against my cheek where it rests on his chest.

“Okay, so let’s think of another example.” I continue to look at the ring but then Hunter distracts me when he begins to rub circles on the back of my hand with his thumb. “Let’s say you’re so angry or overwhelmed or fill-in-the-blank that you want to hit something. Instead of doing that, you might go hug someone. Like me!” I say, turning to face him again.

He’s frozen, and a strange, shocked look washes over him.

Oh. Oh.

“I-I mean,” I start to say.

“Winter, did you really mean it when you said that you liked what happened in the shower?” His voice is a low rasp; his eyes are a bit unfocused. Sensing him going off the deep end a bit, I sit up and straddle him, grabbing him by his face.

“Hunter, please hear me and hear me clearly,” I say. I pause, waiting for his eyes to make contact with mine.

“I loved the breathplay,” I say. I bring my lips closer to his, but he winces.

“See, calling it ‘play’ isn’t right, Winter. There was nothing playful about it.”

“Okay, H,” I say, sitting up straight and crossing my arms. “Would you have killed me?”

He jerks, putting his hands on my hips. “ What? ”

“Would. You. Have. Killed. Me?”

“No!” he yells, and the sound is loud in the cabin.

“Okay, now that that’s settled. Let me tell you something: the feeling I got when you had your hand around my throat was…” I search for the right word. There are so many that fit the definition. “It was ecstasy. I felt high, like I was floating. I think that—I feel that?—”

I chew on my lip, but I don’t look away from Hunter.

“Keep going, Sunbeam. No secrets. No unspoken thoughts that need to come out between us,” he says, his face serious.

I rally myself.

“Pain and sex as a concept is complicated for me. It shouldn’t be—in fact, pain and sex should never be in the same sentence for me after what Adam did. But, with you, it’s different. I don’t think it would be like that for anyone else or with anyone else, but with you?”

I bring a hand to my heart and another to my stomach, schooling myself to breathe as deeply as my growing belly allows into the space between my skin and my palms.

“With you, I loved it. I think because I know how much you love me. I know how much you don’t want to harm me. You don’t want me damaged. You want me whole. You want me to be happy and safe and loved and cared for. And I want those same things for you. I trust you not to destroy me, Hunter Brigham. There are enough people in the world who want that honor, but I’ll never expect that with you.”

Hunter doesn’t move from his position beneath me.

“I loved it so much, Hunter, because I saw all of you. The real you. That isn’t to say that I want you broken. I don’t. But you trusted me to see you—to know you—and I’ll honor that responsibility for as long as I live.”

We’re silent and I could catalog all the different sounds on the yacht if I cared to. But then Hunter sits up and crushes me to his chest in a fierce hug.

And we just breathe. Inhale. Exhale. All in sync.

Hunter and I…we just are.

When a loud, friendly beep rings in our room followed by the Chief Stewardess’ announcement that we have half an hour until dinner, Hunter and I pull back from each other, but it’s like there’s an invisible string connecting us.

“You know you’re never getting rid of me now, right? You’re stuck with me, babe.” He chucks me under the chin, grinning. It’s like the real Hunter is back. Well, not back. Here, for the first time ever in his life.

He looks and feels…free.

“I don’t want to. So lucky me,” I reply.

He acknowledges my statement with a gentle kiss.

“We still have to have a very unsexy talk about sex, baby,” he says into my flesh, pressing kisses across my cheek and down my neck.

“Uh-huh,” I say, trying not to moan. I’m in the second trimester now, and just like the doctor told me, I have the energy of three women.

And the sex drive.

I’m fucking horny right now.

“Yep,” Hunter says when I start to subtly rock against him. He slides me off his lap and places me on the bed across from him.

I try not to pout.

“Okay, H,” I say, puffing out a breath. “Have at it.”

He smiles and pulls the fallen strap of my sundress up to my shoulder.

“Do you know your limits when it comes to sex?” he asks.

And because I’m still uncomfortable talking about sex, I blush.

“I…haven’t given it much thought,” I reply. When I start to bite on my fingernail, he gently pulls my hand away from my mouth.

“Well, now is the time to think about it,” he says, sitting up straighter. His back is on the headboard, and he crosses his ankles, oh, so nonchalant.

Whereas I am very much chalant.

“Let’s do this,” he says. “How about I present a topic and you tell me a yes, no, or maybe.”

“Okay, sounds simple enough. Let’s do it,” I say, crossing my legs.

“First up, penetrative sex—penis in vagina,” he says. Both of my eyebrows go up and I look down at my round abdomen.

“Um, H? I hate to break it to you, but….”

He laughs, and it’s rich in a novel way. It makes me smile, my heart tumbling a bit as I take in his amusement.

“Yes, I am aware, baby.” He kisses my hand. “But it’s important to re-establish all boundaries. So I’m starting from the top before we go down the path of deviance.”

Deviance? Suddenly, I get nervous. What if there’s something that Hunter wants to do that I absolutely can’t do? What if?—

“You’re starting to spin,” Hunter says, cutting off my internal diatribe. I shake my head, giving myself a reset.

“I’m good. Okay, peen in vagina. I’m way cool with that. Next?”

After a pause where Hunter assesses me, he says, “Okay, so anal. What are your limits there?”

I hum, thinking. I’m so surprised that I love anal. Even thinking that feels so dirty, but I know that’s deep conditioning talking.

“I actually really like anal,” I mutter.

“What was that?” Hunter replies with a chuckle.

“I really like anal!” I say much louder, “Jeez, happy now?” I fold my arms over my chest in a protective posture and look away.

“Hey,” he says, his voice much softer.

I look at him again.

“It’s okay to enjoy sex. All kinds of sex.” He rubs my knee. “Especially between us. Nothing we do together is wrong. Okay?”

I focus on the sensation of his hand on my crease of my leg, breathing in the truth of his words.

“Nothing you and I do is wrong,” I repeat.

He’s silent for slow moments as he rubs my skin in perfect circles.

“Okay, so anal in general is a go. Which is perfect because I’m an ass man. At least when it comes to your ass.”

I blush, and I’m sure that I look like a Black Ronald McDonald with how hot my face feels.

“Let’s talk a little more about pain. So I know you like it when I slap your pussy. I’ve felt it,” he says, giving me a very serious look. I start to envision Hunter smacking my pussy, and I make a strange noise in my throat, a combination of a moan and a whimper.

“Focus, Winter,” he says, humored.

“Right,” I reply, but my body undermines my words when a violent shiver travels down my spine.

“So spanking, where can I do it, when can I do it, and for how long?”

I hum again, forcing myself to swallow the spit that’s pooled in my mouth. “Okay so I don’t really like to be hit. My pussy is an outlier, I guess,” I say, ready to combust for several different reasons. “But my ass is okay too. Anywhere else, I don’t think I’d like. And only with your hand. Using any other tools feels like Roots. ”

“Jesus Christ, Sunbeam,” he says, his eyebrows slamming down in an appalled stare.

“What? I mean, tell me it doesn’t feel weird to whip your Black wife?”

Hunter chokes. “Not going to even go there. But yes, I agree, it’s off the table.”

I put my hands out to my sides, like there you have it.

“Oral?” Hunter asks, his voice a bit hoarse now at this point.

“Yes, pleeeeease,” I drawl, and Hunter’s face transforms, heat flaring in his eyes.

“Later,” he promises. “Any limits there?”

I pretend to think about it. “Nope,” I say, emphasizing the “p.” “I find that I really love to gag on your cock, and if you want to eat me out until I come on your face, I will never object.”

I shrug.

Hunter’s return expression is downright devilish. A quick glance at his pants lets me know he’s hard and fucking hell, I need him inside me.

“Anything else that’s a particular yes or a particular no?” He rasps out. I bite my lip and walk my fingers up his leg, aiming for his cock.

“I need to be awake when we’re having sex, so no somno stuff.”

Hunter nods.

“I don’t want to share you with anyone else, nor do I want to be shared.”

He makes a dark noise, and a glance at his face confirms his feelings on that topic.

“I want nothing to do with pee or scat,” I say.

“Definitely not my thing,” he replies.

“And I guess we don’t have to worry about this for another four and a half months, but, um…I’ll leave it up to you what we do during that time of the month,” I rush out.

But when Hunter makes a look that is absolutely primal, I’m quick to add, “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it!”

Hunter makes a rumbling sound deep in his chest and resumes rubbing his hand up and down my leg, getting closer and closer to where I really want him.

“This is all good to know, Sunbeam. I really only have two limits,” he says. His gaze flicks away from me, and he says, “I don’t do butt stuff. Receiving.”

I’m quiet. I understand why it would be off-limits for him. It doesn’t warrant picking apart, and I can tell he doesn’t want to dive into it.

“And the second limit?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath. “The second thing is that I won’t leave bruises or marks on you.” He looks back at me. “Seeing that handprint on your neck had me wanting to jump off a building. I’m serious, Winter. Even if you ask me to, I won’t do anything like that to that extent ever again. Hard limit.”

I put my hand over my heart and the other over my lips to prevent any words from spilling out. I didn’t love the sight of the bruises either, but I don’t hate him because they happened. But we hadn’t done what we’re doing now—talking about this stuff—so of course it feels huge and like a violation.

“You got it, H. Hard limit.”

He nods. After a beat, his face brightens. “All right. Enough talking about sex. Get over here and climb on my dick, Sunbeam.”

He lifts, pushing his pants past his hips. His cock springs out of his slacks, and I start to drool again, completely overwhelmed by all the possibilities of giving and receiving pleasure with Hunter Brigham.

“Yes, Sir,” I say. I don’t waste time. I lift my skirt, slide my panties to the side, and sink onto my husband’s hardness.