Page 188

“Tomorrow? It’s the middle of the afternoon. We can’t stay up here all day.”

“We can. Not sharing you.”

That’s fine with me, too.

I nestle back against him and close my eyes. “I love you.”

He’s quiet for a long moment before he replies. “You know, if I don’t always say it back, it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

My eyes flick open.

“I don’t really know how to love,” he continues, voice wistful. “But I think I’m willing to try. To learn.” He shifts my body until he can see my face, his eyes intense. “Is that enough?”

“That depends,” I say solemnly. “Will you delete those pictures?”

His mouth curls on one side, dimple appearing. “Which pictures?”

Bastard.

I huff a sigh. “You know damn well which pictures.”

“No. I won’t delete those pictures.” He positions me back where I was, and his hand cups my breast. “I need them.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Pictures of me bound and naked. Pictures of his cum leaking from my ass.

I know my face is bright red. I’m glad he can’t see it.

“Whatever for?”

“What do you think, Tink?” His thumb brushes over my nipple. “Wedding album.”

Epilogue

The End.

I type the last two words with immense satisfaction.

There’s still the editing to do, but the first draft is finished.

My debut novel, a paranormal romance with vampires, a kick-ass heroine, and a heartthrob leading man. Vampire. Whatever.

It’ll probably never be published, but Alex likes it, and that’s what matters. He demands a new chapter a day, laughs in all the right places when I read it to him, and doesn’t let me skip the sex scenes.

I tried to get it finished before he left, but didn’t quite make it. Now I can’t wait for him to get back, so I can read him the three chapters he’s missed.

A knock on my door breaks my reverie.

“Pasa, Sofía,”I call.

The door opens, and she puts her head around, accompanied by the noise of a softneh-neh. “I’m sorryto disturb you, señorita,” she says in Spanish, “but Alejandro wants you.” She has a squirming bundle in her arms, and I smile and reach out.

Sofía passes me my son. I drop the shoulder strap of my dress, and help him latch on.

We both watch him for a moment, for there’s nothing more peaceful than the sight of my baby feeding. He’s seven months old, wearing only a diaper, his wrap a thin muslin. Andalusia in September is still hot, and though the house has A/C, I don’t like to use it. The stone walls keep it cool inside.