SELENA
Fifteen Years Later…
The house is quieter these nights.
Our oldest is away at college. The middle one is a teenager who spends most evenings in her room with headphones on.
The youngest—our surprise, the one Soren swore would be the last—finally went to bed an hour ago after three stories and two glasses of water.
The hallway night-light is the only glow left upstairs.
I am in our bedroom, standing in front of the mirror, changing into a soft sleep shirt when I feel him behind me.
Soren’s hands find my waist first, then slide higher, over the soft marks years of babies left on my skin.
He doesn’t care about the marks. He never did.
He cups my breasts through the thin fabric the same way he did when I was nineteen and terrified and leaking in secret.
They’re still sensitive. Still answer to him like they always have.
“I want it,” he says against the back of my neck, voice low and certain.
I lean back into his chest and smile. “You milk me almost every day. I thought you’d get tired of it by now.”
“Never.” He turns me around slowly. His eyes are the same mismatched blue and brown that once made my stomach drop with fear and want. Now they only make me feel claimed. “Fifteen years and you still leak for me the second I touch you. Why would I ever get tired of that?”
He lowers his head and kisses me—slow, deep, unhurried. His hands stay on my breasts, thumbs brushing the nipples until I feel the familiar warm wetness spreading through the fabric. He makes a quiet, satisfied sound when he feels it.
“The kids are still home,” I whisper.
“They’re asleep.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “And even if they’re not, they know better than to come looking for us after ten.”
I look straight into his two-toned eyes. “Fine. How could I ever say no to your beautiful eyes.”
Two-toned eyes that once made me nervous every time they landed on me, now only make me feel safe, wanted, and completely his.
He picks me up like I still weigh nothing and carries me the short distance to our bed. My legs wrap around his waist. We kiss the entire way, tongues sliding together, until he lays me down and follows.
Even after fifteen years, he still wants me the same way. And I still let him have all of me.
Later, we lie in bed in the dark, my back to his chest, his hand resting protectively over my stomach. Milk still leaks slowly onto the sheet. Neither of us moves to clean it. The quiet between us feels full and complete, the kind that only comes after years of choosing each other every single day.
I trace the edge of his wedding ring with my fingertip.
“Do you ever miss it?” I ask quietly. “The public side. The attention.”
“No.” His answer is immediate. “I had enough of being watched. I’d rather watch you.”
I smile into the pillow. “That’s very romantic for someone who used to be so cold.”
He kisses the back of my neck. “You made me soft.”
“Liar. You’re still the most possessive man I’ve ever met.”
“Only with you.” His arm tightens around me. “And I’m never going to stop.”
I fall asleep like that—safe, claimed, and still leaking for the man who once walked in on me with a broken pump and never looked away.
Before, he was my possessive stepbrother.
Now, he is my devoted husband.
My forever daddy.
My love.
And forever will be.
END
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