8 years later
“Daddy!” Our eldest daughter, Tatiana, rushes down the path towards us, Karik at her heels, his tail wagging. In the trees to one side there’s the sound of clashing sticks, and I suspect our sons are playing at being knights.
“Dushenka, what is it?” I ask, using the Russian endearment for my little daughter. Well. Not so little anymore. The little one is Aurora, our youngest. She’s asleep and strapped to my chest in a baby sling, her thumb in her mouth.
We’re out for a walk in the woods, all our family, as we do at least once a week. The sun is shining through the leaves of the beech trees high above. I smile as I remember the first time Jenna and I ran through these woods together.
Like the trees themselves, Jenna has grown and developed. She runs a dog rescue now, based in Rotherhithe, London. I glance down at my wife. She is slightly softer and more curved after four children, but I love her more now than I did before. Whenever I think we’ve reached the limit of my love, there are more shoots to grow more branches.
“I want to play hide and seek, but the boys won’t stop poking each other with sticks,” Tatiana explains seriously as she skips along with us, dodging to Jenna’s side and catching her hand. Karik trots forward with her. In the prime of his dog life, he’s very patient with the puppies Jenna occasionally brings home to care for and adores all our children. But he loves Tatiana best, always next to her if he can be.
Jenna’s other hand is in mine, and when I stroke my thumb over her knuckles, my wife looks up at me and we share a knowing smile.
“Liam and Noah do have the right to do things other than play with you,” Jenna points out mildly and I squeeze her hand.
Our two boys were named by Jenna, and she said it balanced out my Russian influence that they have English-sounding names. But they’re Bratva boys through and through. Slightly bloodthirsty, even at this young age, and always the first to get muddy or chase a cat from an injured bird.
“I know.” Tatiana rolls her eyes. “But Daddy loves hide and seek too.”
“Not as much as I love chase,” I say, dipping my head to Jenna’s ear and she giggles, so I nuzzle a quick kiss into her soft blonde hair.
“Daddy, stop canoodling!” Tatiana complains, using the new word that our British nanny taught her when she saw Jenna and me kissing with perhaps a little more passion and less discretion than we should have exercised with the kids nearby.
I meet the green gaze of my serious and cross daughter. She’s so like her mother in appearance, but rather like me in temperament. Or how I was before I had Jenna to keep me buoyant.
“Sorry. No canoodling,” I say insincerely. “None. Ever.”
“I will never canoodle,” she announces grandly. “It’s yukky. And boys are yukky too.”
“But you want your brothers to play hide and seek with you, despite being yukky,” Jenna laughs.
“That’s different,” Tatiana says dismissively, and skips ahead with the excess energy of a seven-year-old.
All our kids are live wires, although Aurora is proving to be the exception, snoozing contentedly through this entire conversation and family walk. We round a corner into the part of the wood with large boulders—all of which I have fond memories of—and our two boys come charging in from the side, making demands about a game of tag, their stick-sword fighting forgotten.
“Hide and seek now,” I cut into the argument that is brewing between the three older children. “And chase later,” I promise with my eyes when Jenna nods in agreement. Pink flushes her cheeks, and it’s gratifying that I can still make my wife think of highly naughty things with only a glance.
The boys are already debating the hiding places, hopping from foot to foot.
“Aurora and I will seek first,” I offer innocently and let go of Jenna.
Jenna’s eyes widen. There was a very spicy game of hide and seek last year where I found my wife in a secluded spot while all the children were hiding obediently.
Suffice it to say that very brief encounter where she quickly came on my fingers, got us in the mood for more adult fun later, and nine months afterwards Aurora arrived. We’d been talking about having another baby, and there is always so much delight in breeding my wife. But that memory is particularly special.
I begin to count, one hand over my eyes and the other stroking my baby’s head, peeking out of the side of my eye to check that my hearing is correct with regard to which way everyone went.
Liam and Noah have gone around a boulder—I can hear them squabbling about something. Tatiana has gone into the woods to hide behind a tree, and Karik must be with her, as I can’t see him, but I heard our eldest child say his name in a hushed tone.
Jenna, after a brief hesitation, opts for some bushes.
“Coming, ready or not,” I call as I uncover my eyes and check for any curious child faces watching me.
“I can see you, Tatiana,” I say as I approach where Jenna is hiding. She’s peeking through the leaves, facing away from me, expecting me to be heading in the opposite direction.
I creep up stealthily and it isn’t until I’m almost on her that she hears a leaf rustle beneath my feet and turns as I slip my hands over her sides.
“Dimitri.” She arches back, tilting her chin to expose her neck.
“I found you,” I whisper. Careful to shield Aurora’s head, I press a kiss to the warm, exposed pulse on Jenna’s neck. My cock twitches, always so eager for her submission. “I’ll catch you later.”
