“I’m home!” I love saying those words. I’d thought I was a nomad. Turns out I was wrong.

Olivia rushes to meet me at the door, throwing her arms around me even in my work clothes.

“Baby, I’m all dusty.” I warn her off, but she knows I love it. Her curvy little body pressed up against me is the cherry on the top of my sundae of life. And it’s even more curvy these days than usual.

“How’s your shoulder?” Worried, she tenderly reaches up and caresses the muscle underneath my short sleeve.

“Fine.” To think wrenching my shoulder on a work site a couple of days ago would give me even a minute’s pause is a laugh. But, I have to admit, it feels nice to have someone caring about me, asking after even small concerns.

“The bigger question is how are you feeling?” I reach down and press my hand to her still-flat stomach. She’s only four months along so there’s not much of a bump yet, just a sexy swell with all kinds of promise.

She beams as she answers. “Not sick at all today! I think I’m over it.”

“Thank God.” The first trimester was not an easy one. Maybe some pregnant women craved pickles. Pickles made Olivia vomit. As did onions, anything spicy, or the thought of pickles, onions, or anything spicy. We’d weathered it, though, as we had everything else thrown our way. “I’ve brought you some treats. It’s a hot one today.”

Like a kid, she grabs the paper bag out of my hand and unpacks the ice cream and popsicles. It’s in the low 90s, hot for our coastal town.

It’s been three years since we first set foot in California. For the first year we rented that top floor apartment in San Diego. Then, through the contractor I work for, I found out about a deal on a fixer-upper in a town about fifteen miles south. We bought a small and sweet little bungalow, only two beds and one bath but the lot is big enough to add on. And guess who knows how to do exactly that?

“You found pineapple!”

“Course I did.” I had to go to three stores to do it, but she doesn’t need to know that. The blissed-out smile on her face as she tears into the popsicle is reward enough. She’s eating for two now. Got to make my mamacita happy.

“Let me go take a shower and I’ll see about cooling you off a little more.” I give her another kiss and peel off my shirt as I head for the bathroom. She makes a low wolf whistle as I leave the kitchen. I stop to give her a muscle man pose, then blow her a kiss.

In the shower, I realize I’m whistling. Whistling. It’s like each month with Olivia I relax a little more. Already tightly-wound, my years as a SEAL finely-tuned every sense to danger. I was always on alert, with never even the fraction of an inch’s room for error. Even as a civilian, at first I’d chosen a dark, dangerous path, almost as if I had tunnel vision. All I wanted was out, away from society, and quick, dirty money was the only way I could see to get it.

Now, it might sound corny, but it’s good for my soul to do honest, decent work each day for my pay. I’m building homes for families to live in, raise their kids, have their friends over for barbeques.

Hell, I’ve even made peace with my years of active duty. I’m proud I served. There’s a lot wrong with our country, a lot that could be improved, but I can always say I did my part. It turned out career military wasn’t for me, but I’ve got a lot of company with that same conclusion.

Sometimes I’m still struck with the smallness of things in my current life, in a good way. Some guy will show up late on the job bitching about traffic like it’s the end of the world. It’ll make me think about the day I worked surveillance from a rooftop above a crowded marketplace. I noticed the bombs strapped to the young man’s body, but not soon enough to stop the explosion. He thinks traffic is a bad way to start a day? Everything’s relative.

Now I fix and build, creating instead of destroying, and we’ve got a baby on the way. I stand in front of the mirror, wiping a circle in the steam. Who would have thought I’d be a father? And in the good, old-fashioned way, married to the woman of my dreams, settled in a home with a decent job? Not me.

It wasn’t that my parents did such a bad job, but after my mother’s untimely death and my father’s slide into depression, my sister and I didn’t exactly live in an ideal family. Most nights we microwaved dinner for ourselves. We still had a roof over our heads and day-to-day stability, just no warmth.

But it was nothing like Olivia’s upbringing. As I towel off, I frown, thinking what she had to go through. But even that subject doesn’t get me as mad anymore. Her mom is the same and always will be, but her dad has laid low these past three years with tail between his legs. I’ll make sure he stays that way.

No shaving, I decide, rubbing my stubble. I grin, thinking of my girl. She’s the perfect mix of sweet and naughty. And she likes it a little rough.

“Where are you?” I ask, pulling on some shorts. “And why aren’t you in the bedroom?”

She giggles, but appears at the doorway, still wearing way too much clothing. By that, I mean any clothing at all.

“Strip down right now. Do you know how hot it is outside today? Last I looked it was 92. You get yourself comfortable on the bed.” I point and look at her, stern, as I head into the kitchen for a couple supplies. The doctor is in the house.

Walking back in, she’s completely naked and stretched out across the comforter. Her hair is splayed across the pillows and I swear, if I could take a mental photograph and freeze it for all time, I would. She’s glowing in that way people say happens when you’re pregnant. It didn’t happen at first—hard to glow when you’re throwing up—but for the last few weeks she’s evened out and now? She looks like a magical creature. A magical creature that’s about to have a fantastic orgasm.

“Now, I need you to follow direction so I can properly cool you off.” I stand over her, hands on my hips. “But I’m not convinced you’re going to. So I think I need to tie you up.”

I grab two silk bands from the closet and pull them tight with a snap. As comfortable as she is with me, I see her eyes widen, her nipples tighten at the sound. She knows what’s coming, and she likes it so much.

I tie a good, fast knot and quickly have her wrists bound to each bedpost. If I’d enjoyed the sight of her naked before, the way she looks tied down has me salivating.

“Now try to stay very still as I do this.” Sitting by the side of the bed, I bring an ice cube over to her breast.

“Oh, Knox, you know I—” She struggles against her restraints, wriggling on the bed.

“Shhh.” I bring the cube down in a lazy circle around the base of her breast. They’ve gotten so big with her pregnancy, almost one of the first things that happened. She already had ample curves, but I’m loving what’s happening now. I take my time, drawing lazy circles, letting it drip slowly down her mounds then catching the droplets with my tongue.

As I apply the cube directly to her sensitive tip, she sucks in her breath, twisting beneath me. “Too cold?” I ask, then lower my mouth to her nipple, engulfing it in my heat.

“Ah!” she cries out, twisting against her wrist restraints. I know she’d like to run her fingers through my hair, sink her nails into my shoulders, and sometimes that’s fun. But this dominance play is fun, too. This way she’s going to have to work for her orgasm.

“I think you need some more cold.” I take my time, exploring every inch of her chest, up to her neck, following the trail of the ice with my tongue, awakening her body with the mixture of cold then hot, smooth then rough with my stubble and teeth.

By the time I make it down between her thighs, she’s shivering and panting, little mews escaping her pretty lips. “Please, Knox,” she pleads, knowing eventually she’ll get what she needs. But not until I decide it’s time.

“You’re so worked up,” I observe, trailing the cube along her inner thigh, placing small nips on her sensitive flesh. Her pussy is slick and ripe. “You still need me to cool you off a bit more.”

I start on her clit with the ice cube, circling it, pulsing along it while I start to slowly finger-fuck her.

“Oh, Knox!” She writhes, twisting her head to the side, pulling against her wrist ties.

“Stay still,” I warn her, stern. “Or you won’t get what you need.” Reluctantly, she complies, calming herself to lay still before me so I can do my work. “Spread, baby.” She moans and opens her thighs even wider, giving me full access.

I take a new cube and play with it, running it all over her pussy, dripping down to her ass, fucking her a bit with it in both holes. She’s quivering and tossing her head, panting and so close. All it will take is a flick and a suck and she’ll be creaming in my mouth. But I want more first.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” I bring my mouth down to her clit, blowing on it, letting her feel how close I am.

“Please, Knox, please!” She’s so wet she’s gushing, my favorite kind of honey right in front of me. I can’t wait to feast. But she has to beg first.

“You know what you need to do to get it.” I wrap my large hands around her inner thighs and push her open, holding her there, bound and spread, completely vulnerable to me.

“Please, let me cum Knox, please!”

“What do you need?”

“Lick me, suck me, please I need to cum!”

Diving in, I capture her clit and tongue it, suck it and she explodes in my mouth. I growl and lick, but I demand more. I don’t give her a moment to recover, I plunge in, tongue-fucking her, taking her right from orgasm straight into the build to another. She’s screaming, pulling at her restraints, shaking and bucking her hips up into my mouth. Just as she’s about to cum a second time, I slow down, torturing her, kissing her inner thighs, blowing on her sensitive, tender, wet pussy until I dive down yet again, letting her cum for what feels like minutes, spasming and creaming and gasping and calling out my name.

Finally satisfied, I lick and kiss and sit back to survey my work. She’s collapsed on the bed, flushed and pink all over, a huge, blissed-out smile on her face. I untie her wrists, making sure she’s unmarked. The silk is smooth and we’re practiced enough with restraints that we know how to do it just right. Her skin is milky smooth, barely even any more pink than the rest of her.

“You’re the best dessert I’ve ever tasted.” I make my way up to lie next to her and she rolls to rest her head on my chest. With my hand on her back, I can feel her heart pounding.

“They say you’re supposed to exercise while pregnant,” she says, breathless. “I think that counts as my cardio today.”

“And your stretching,” I add, caressing her thighs.

“Yeah, it was like a power yoga class.”

“Absolutely,” I agree, holding her close.

I never thought I’d be free of the darkness that dwelled within me. But with Olivia, she opens a door, letting sunlight into my darkest corners. She might think I saved her life, but it was mine that got saved that day back on a dark, cold November night in Chicago. Rescuing her saved me.

OLIVIA

Humming, I slice up a watermelon for the beach. We’ve gotten a little more high-tech in our three years living down on this jewel of a coastline, but the concept is the same. A few nights a week, every week, we pack a picnic and head down to the beach to watch the sunset.

We’ve accumulated a bit of gear to go along with it. A cooler, that came quick, plus a surprisingly comfy folding chair. I do mean it when I say just a chair. Knox found a two-person model that easily accommodates the two of us.

“Easier to carry one chair down to the beach,” he said, winking at me, the first time he showed it to me. But once we were at the beach, toasting to the sunset, my legs tossed over his as he caressed my bare thighs he admitted, “Plus, hard to do this in two chairs.” He’d leaned over and kissed me until I had to agree, one chair’s better than two.

I add an extra bag of chips, salt and vinegar, and another stick of the peppered salami Knox loves. We also have a little folding table to set it all out on. Make fun of our gear if you want. We’ll laugh right along with you. We’re that relaxed and happy.

“Looks amazing.” Knox comes up behind me and kisses my neck. His hands find their way to my stomach, as they always do now that I’m pregnant. It makes me smile.

“Carrie called.” I zip up the soft, insulated case with the beers and add them into the cooler. “She and Rick are free Saturday.”

“Perfect.” I bet he’s already planning what he’s going to smoke in his Big Green Egg. His sister, Carrie, and her husband, Rick, moved from Chicago about a year and a half ago. They fell in love with the area when they came out for our wedding, and now they live only twenty minutes away, fifteen without traffic. Knox and Rick have a friendly competition going over their smokers.

Their two-year-old boy, Toby, knows no wall he doesn’t want to climb, no shrub he doesn’t want to attack, no stick he doesn’t make into a gun. “He’s just like you were!” Carrie insisted to Knox the last time we hung out and she had to wrestle Toby down from a high tree branch. Knox, four years older, declared it impossible that Carrie could remember him as a kid, but I could see it being true. I could definitely picture a little Knox practicing for his future adventures.

“What do you think our baby will be like?” he asks as we head out the door. We now live a whole ten blocks from the ocean, and some days we walk it but since I’m pregnant Knox insists on driving me everywhere. I think if he could hoist me, The Mother of His Child, onto a golden chariot and carry me above ground he might do it. It’s over the top, but I have to admit, I love it.

“He might be just like Toby,” I muse, recalling how two weeks ago he clogged our toilet by launching multiple “ships” made of orange peels into the bowl.

“I hope she’s just like you,” he disagrees. “And then I will lock her in a chamber until she’s 25.”

“Good plan,” I laugh, deciding I’ll leave that battle until later, if ever.

We set up on the beach, the breeze cooling things off finally after an unusually hot day for our coastal town. I eat and then eat some more. Mama’s hangry.

“You could open up your own place with to-go picnics,” Knox muses out loud. Ever since I got my associate’s degree in June, we’ve been having fun cooking up career plans for me. “People could order online, pick it up to head down to the beach.”

It strikes me all at once, what a perfect idea that is. I’ve been waiting tables for years now. I know how restaurants work, and I sure as hell know how to pack a mean picnic. “Do you think there’d be enough interest?”

“You could open it as a breakfast and lunch spot, plus the to-go picnic option.”

We spend the next hour floating ideas, dreaming big, envisioning what the restaurant could look like, where it might be located. With his arm wrapped around my shoulders and the waves cascading along the sand, it feels like all those dreams are coming real everywhere around me. The sun streaks the sky in hues of pink and gold, casting everything in a warm, rosy glow. Our future is wide open.