Page 38 of Caged in Desire
“Henry, can you help me please?” Katarina calls from her suite. She’s been quiet, but not avoiding me as judiciously as she was during Thanksgiving, so I’m hopeful that some girl time helped after the gala fiasco. Walking into the closet, I see bags strewn about from the shopping trip she indulged in with Margot and Sloane.
“Katarina, where are y…” I freeze mid-sentence when I see her, facing away from me on her tiptoes on a step stool, reaching for a box on a high shelf. She’s wearing clothes that I’ve never seen her in, high-waisted, cutoff jean shorts with what looks like one of my dress shirts. Her sleeves are rolled up, and the hem is tied tightly around her waist. With her braid trailing down her back and her muscular legs shown to every advantage while she stretches, she looks exquisite.
“I can’t quite reach this box,” she says, then gasps as she begins to tip over backwards. Rushing to her, I catch her bridal style with time to spare, relishing how light she is in my arms and seeing the lacy bra she’s wearing under my shirt. Before Ican react to having her in my arms again, she pops out of them to stand beside me and point.
“It’s that box. Can you get it for me, please?” she asks sweetly, and I oblige, moving the unnecessary stool out of the way to grab what she needs from the high shelf. Handing it to her, I see it contains…sex toys? All shapes and sizes. One looks like it might be a tentacle, Jesus. Before I can ask her about them, she’s in her bathroom, shutting the door with a breezy, “Thank you!”
Time for another cold shower.
“What are you doing?” I ask as my wife bends over to place her hands on her ankles, feet spread wide, and forehead almost to the floor. I came to the pool this morning to find her wearing what can barely be called a swimsuit while she pornographically presents herself to me. I swear I can see her pussy lips around the scrap of fabric.
“It’s Pilates! I’m trying to incorporate more functional movement. You know I love swimming, and I don’t plan to stop, but I want to keep my flexibility and mobility into my old age, so I’m going to diversify my fitness,” she says brightly, deepening her stretch. “I’ve been working on my splits, and I’m really close!”
Jesus Christ.
“You’re nineteen years old. I don’t think old age should be on your list of concerns.” I sigh, preparing to dive in and hoping the water will distract me from all of my blood rushing south to my dick.
She pops back up with enough momentum that I see her full breasts bounce. That top is nowhere near sturdy enough for her to swim in.
She drops down into a deep squat, pulsing and shifting her hips back and forth as if sitting on a low bouncy ball. Or my dick…
“Fair enough!” she says. “But Sloane also said having mobile hip flexors really helped her bounce back after giving birth, so I just figured it was prudent to start working on it now!”
I gawp at her for a long second before turning and diving into the pool, finding absolutely no respite from my dick or thoughts of the siren on the bank full of my baby.
Fuck me.
“Henry!”
I sprint to Katarina’s suite, her scream pulling me from sleep at two o’clock in the morning. Bursting through her door, I see her sitting in bed, pointing at the corner, terror all over her face.
“What is it, Kitten?” I move to the corner in question, ready to kill.
“A spider!” she says with a shaky voice. “A big one. I saw it scurry all the way across my ceiling and over there!”
I look thoroughly, and finding no spider, turn to reassure her that there’s nothing when I see her sleeping attire. High-waisted thong, barely there tank top, nipples poking through the thin material. All in her perfect shade of periwinkle. She’s looking at me with tears in her eyes, shining violet in the moonlight, so I press a chaste kiss to her forehead and shuffle quickly to the door to hide my immediate erection.
“No spider. You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”
Fucking hell.
“Shhh,” I hear softly as I walk into the den after coming home early from work.
Sloane must have dropped LJ off for some “Aunty Kat” time today, because my wife is rocking my nephew as he sleeps, drool visible on her shoulder.
“I just got him asleep. He was fussing,” she whispers, before looking down adoringly at the little blond Sinclair.
Rooted to the spot, I watch them rock for the next thirty minutes, Kat closing her eyes and humming, a serenity about her that resonates in my soul.
Finally, I run a hand through my hair and move from my spot, heading straight for the shower.
God. I. Am. Fucked.
“Brother, I think we have enough wood to last all winter. Even if we lived in Alaska, which we do not,” Ledger observes, sipping his cider and watching me work.
Jack agrees. “Yeah, man. Are you working to chop some for like an old lady around here, or a homeless shelter, or something? My schedule is full because your sister is pretty fucking insatiable, but I can probably find some time to help for a good cause…”
Thwack.
