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All of it rushes through my mind and so much love for this woman hits me that for a terrifying second I’m sure tears are springing in my eyes.
“What are you thinking about?” she whispers.
“Everything,” I say, just as quietly, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close. “How’s the little one?”
“Sleeping,” she says. “But I’m sure you know that already.”
She nods to the baby monitor sitting on the table.
“You never go anywhere without that thing.”
“No,” I agree. “But it’s not so I can keep an eye on the little man. It’s so I can hear you singing to him, your beautiful voice. How full of love you are. But it’s not love I’m interested in right now, Kelly.”
I slide my hands down her body, made curvaceous by the pregnancy, feeling the sweet mounds of her ass cheeks and then pulling her close to me, driving my manhood through the gym shorts and against her sex.
“Like I said, I’m a little—”
“Hairy,” I growl. “I know. And I couldn’t care less. I can smell the sweat on you too and that just excites me more. Do you really think that’s going to stop me? It makes me hungrier for you. Just because we’re married, it doesn’t mean I’m still not a fucking beast, Kelly. I’m just your beast now.”
She makes a whimpering sound as I tear the bathrobe at the top, revealing her breasts, large and bouncy and free with the pregnancy, her hard nipples glistening slightly.
“Milk?” I growl.
“Mm-mmm,” she says, nodding, twitching her thighs in that way that tells me she’s just as fucking horny as I am.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I growl, grinning.
I lean down and suck on my wife’s nipples, tasting her fresh milk, and past that, her womb.
And as I suck I feel with absolutely certainty that she’s going to get pregnant again soon, maybe in a month or two, and another room in our large, happy home is going to be filled with laughter and love.
I lean up, smiling at her, our gazes consuming each other.
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you more,” I tell her.
“Impossible,” she says, and then throws herself forward in her newfound confident way, mounting me and throwing her legs around me.
Goddamn, it’s sweet being a married man.
Extended Epilogue
Nine Years Later
Kelly
There is nothing like writing ‘THE END’ at the completion of a manuscript, and this sunny Californian afternoon is no different.
I take a much deserved sip of wine and lean back in my office chair, a smile spreading across my lips as I close the laptop and heave a sigh of something like relief.
My last two books have been bestsellers – anomalies in the world of popular English-lit books – and I’ve done my best to make sure that this one is, too.
But it’s not my books that my eyes stray to as I sit back in my office. It’s the picture of our family taken at the lake house in the spring, just a month and a half after Sebastian was born. I remember smiling tears of joy when they told me he was a boy.
We’d waited this time, for our fifth. For Kaleb, Jess, Harriet and Lila, we’d wanted to know the genders, but this time we’d waited and I burst into tears when my silver-fox husband leaned across and confirmed what the nurse had said.
“He’s a boy, we have another son,” he’d whispered.
But it wasn’t the fact that he was a boy that had sent me into tears of celebration. It was the simple fact of his birth, still a novelty to me after four children, that he was safe and healthy and, hopefully, would grow into a happy young man.
“You’re getting emotional,” Kane says from the doorway, a smile across his face, his new beard glittering in the midday sun drifting in through the window behind me.
“I thought you were going to tell me midday is too soon for this,” I giggle, hefting the wineglass.
Behind me, I can hear the children in the garden, their laughter rising into the air like fireflies.
And I wish I could catch every single one, save each moment, and at the same time let them go and develop and flourish.
I guess that’s the contradiction of motherhood, right?
“You deserve it,” he says. “You’ve worked like a devil on this book, Kelly. I know it’s going to do great.”
Kane is wearing a baggy World’s Greatest Dad T-shirt, the one Kaleb and Harriet got him last Father’s Day, baggy but tight enough to show off his ripped muscles and his astounding physique. When we go to the beach and my six foot seven husband peels off his shirt, I often catch woman side eyeing him, and men staring in abject jealously.
He might be fifty-two years old, but Kane Knight is a man carved of marble, desire made flesh.
