Eager Housewife: a smutty free-use romance (Filthy Scottish Kingpins Book 2)

Epilogue

9 years later

I’m in my home office on the phone to my chief financial officer when there’s a roar of young voices and three children fall into my office, scrapping like street urchins and yelling, “Death to the dragon”.

Or something? I think.

“I’ll call you back.”

I sigh as I put the phone down and regard my offspring brawling on the floor. These three are our eldest. Skye is eight, Rory seven, Lainey is six. Our youngest is just two, and I have a pang of longing for my sticky little toddler and her precious milky scent.

“Dad, they aren’t playing fair!” Skye complains, looking up from the pile of red and auburn-haired children.

“What’s the problem?” I ask.

They all start babbling at once.

“I’m the princess,” declares Rory.

“No, I’m the princess!” says Lainey. “You’re the dragon!”

“I thought we were all dragons this time?” Skye looks very put out.

Mafia disputes have nothing on siblings.

“You all seem to have swords. Are you all knights?” I suggest, nodding to the rulers they’re brandishing.

Skye gives me a withering look. “Dragons can have swords, Daddy.”

“Dragons have opposable thumbs in this game?” They all blink at me, bemused and affronted by my attempt to impose logic on their fantasy game.

“This.” I waggle my thumb. “You need it to pick up things. If you look at the dog, you’ll see he can’t do that.”

Skye tilts her head curiously, and considers. “Our dragons have opposable claws.”

“Good. Glad we cleared that up.” Now if we could just ascertain why my children feel it’s fine to bring their game into my office mid-morning on a Tuesday, we’d be all set. But that’s not really a question. The reason is me.

They like turning up at odd times to see me.

Weird. But no accounting for taste.

I wanted more kids, I asked Blythe for kids, and I adore every creature Blythe brings to our house. Even that dog she rescued when we agreed six was enough babies. We said five children, but she was so beautiful pregnant, I bred her with one extra.

Thankfully, we have grandchildren too, after Ainsley found her happiness in the US on her trip. I wasn’t impressed by her choice at first. In fact, I was downright murderous. But she was very certain, and who am I to stand in the way of love, even if it’s taboo…

I guess I’m too indulgent of all my children. I’ve never set limits for them. The change from working out of the house mainly to setting up an office at home was right after Skye was born, and so they’ve barely known times when I’m not available to listen to their problems. They’re welcome to interrupt me anytime, because as important as my work is, my children and grandchildren are more essential. Them and my wife. I’m still rather obsessed with Blythe.

A recollection from last night flickers. Blythe, under me. We don’t have as much time and space for free use as before the kids arrived, but we find and make opportunities. Stolen moments at night, or when the children are with their nanny. I still pull Blythe into the bathroom for a quickie or follow her into the garage and lock it behind me for time alone.

The kids regroup after their mini-brawl, seemingly agreeing they are all dragons now. Or dragon riders? I’m not entirely sure, or certain if I contributed to this decision. Rory and Lainey run off, flapping their “wings” and I settle back to resume my phone call.

“Oh, Dad, Mum says lunch is ready,” Skye says as she looks after her brother and sister.

I jerk my head up. “What?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to bring you a message,” she says with a nod, as though I should have known. “Lunch is ready.”

I choke a laugh. “But it’s only…”

A check of my watch reveals, no it is not mid-morning. It is after twelve.

Smiling, I follow my motley wee dragon crew into the kitchen. The scent of garlic and cream is wafting in the air. Blythe is wearing a frilly apron with a little flower pattern and has just settled our youngest into a highchair. My wife is so gorgeous. After nine years together, she’s more beautiful in my eyes than ever. She looks up and sees me, her face brightening into a smile. It’s only a few hours since we were together in bed, her coming as I licked her out. But nevertheless, she’s pleased to see me. She lights up.

My heart expands and I’m at her side in a moment, sweeping my hand into her hair and drowning—again—in her blue eyes. Or maybe it’s soaring through the sky.

“Hello, wife,” I murmur before I take her mouth in a kiss. Around us the kids complain that they think their parents are behaving unacceptably.

I don’t care. I kiss Blythe in front of them all, frequently, because they’re a product of our love, and should know that love is nothing to be ashamed of. Ever. Plus, they should see that affection between a couple is normal.

Blythe presses close to me, and where the kids can’t see, I skim my hand over her arse. Familiar lust mixes with satisfaction. No knickers.

My wife never wears knickers.

The kids have given up waiting and grumbling and are tucking into their lunch by the time I break our kiss.

And as Blythe meets my gaze, her lips tilt upwards in a private little smirk between the two of us. Because she knows there will be more of that kiss for us later.

“Mine,” I whisper, low enough the kids won’t hear. “Mine.”

My free use housewife. Forever.

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