Page 86 of Always Alchemy

‘Go Stel!’ he cries.

I’m grinning at them when my husband materialises. He too is seriously sweaty. As he approaches, he peels off his soaking t-shirt and uses it to mop his face. I’m instantly interested. Despite being super old, he is super fit, and the appearance of his gorgeously tanned, toned chest and shoulders has me salivating.

He catches my eye and smirks. I’m not exactly subtle.

‘I wasn’t rubbish,’ he tells Stel. ‘I was fine, but you, my darling, are a lot more than fine. You’re bloody amazing.’

‘Bloody,’ Nicky agrees.

Zach licks his lips as he takes in what I’m wearing. Or, more accurately, what I’m not wearing. I changed out of my wet bikini for my nap, and this little pistachio-green ERES number is an exact replica of the one I was wearing on Rafe’s terrace all those years ago.

My husband has since told me a million times just what a tidal wave of carnal fantasies that bikini unleashed for him.

And yes, just as I suspected, he fantasised about coming all over my tits that day.

Since then, Zach’s kept ERES in business with a steady stream of bikinis for his wife. We travel a lot, so they get put through their paces.

They get ejaculated on a lot, too.

Truth.

I smile seductively at him.

‘Stel,’ he says, not taking his eyes off me, ‘can you take Nickychops here inside to find Ruth?’

‘WantPaw Patrol,’ Nicky whines.

‘And you may have it,’ his father says in a gracious tone. ‘Ruth will put the TV on for you.’

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Thank fuck for Ruth.

‘Thank you, sweetie,’ I say to Stel, who flashes me a wide grin and hikes Nicky up on her hip. I love that girl so much. I love both my girls.

As our kids wander off in the direction of the house, my chivalrous husband holds out his hand. ‘Come shower with me?’

I grip it tightly as I clamber inelegantly out of the hammock.

As if he needs to ask.

One of the many amazing things about this villa is that the master suite is located away from the other bedrooms. Another is that it boasts its own private outdoor shower area. Zach and I are making it our life’s mission to shower alfresco in as many incredible locations as possible.

Bali held the top spot until this holiday, but I have a feeling Ramatuelle has beaten it.

He leads me by the hand through the house and into our bedroom, cranking open the shuttered doors to our secluded terrace and showering spot. This shower is particularly chic—unsurprisingly, given where we are. The French do house porn so well. The entire back wall and floor of the enclosure is made of the smoothest, whitest pebbles, a canopy of bougainvillea blanketing the wooden slats that run across the top.

It’s fragrant, and pretty, and private.

‘Why don’t you go stand over there, sweetheart,’ my husband says as he cranks the overhead spray on and unhooks the handheld attachment.

It’s not a question. Nor is it a request.

I lick my lips and sashay a few steps, plastering my back to the cool smoothness of the pebbled wall.

‘Nice,’ he murmurs. He makes quick work of my bikini strings with a couple of strategic tugs. Within seconds I’mnaked. Waiting. I bend a leg and lean the sole of my foot against the wall.

The heat in my husband’s eyes is literally the best thing in the world. There’s nothing that does it for me more than my quiet, understated and very British husband going fucking feral over me.

‘I can always lie down,’ I suggest innocently, and his face contorts as if he’s a man in pain as he turns on the attachment.

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