Epilogue - Scarlett
One year later…
“He’s so strong,” he says as he bounces our baby son in his arms. I stroke over my baby’s rosy cheek and see Anton’s little finger going a shade of red, with Caleb's tiny finger wrapped around it.
He’s nearly three months old now, and we’re at Jade and Max’s house. They’re having a party for their second daughter, Belle. She turned one-year-old today.
“It’s all your fault, beautiful girl,” I say to my gorgeous niece, Ella. She is nearly four now and smiling in my arms. While Jade runs around and keeps her guests happy.
“You shouldn’t be lifting anything,” Anton growls in my ear.
I probably shouldn’t be.
It seems my body was ready to get pregnant the moment Anton and I started making love again after having Caleb. Because I’m six weeks pregnant with our second child.
Ella wants to go down the moment she sees the candles flicker with flames. “Let’s get some cake.”
Her little legs run to the table her mum is at.
Anton puts his arm around my shoulder, and I rest my head on his chest.
“We’ll go home soon,” he says. “You need to rest.”
He is so careful with everything about the baby. Though he isn’t so careful when he has me in bed.
Later that day, after breastfeeding Caleb, which is exhausting, because he latches onto my breast like a tick on a cow, never letting go. It gets so bad that sometimes I have to bottle-feed him, just for relief.
Anton loves those days.
The days he can feed him and not see me grimace with pain. And to be honest, I love watching those beautiful, tender moments he has with his son.
“I’m going to change him and put him to bed,” he says, taking a sleeping baby from my arms.
He fell asleep while feeding. I press my hand against the mattress to stand, trying not to wake him. But Anton takes him from my hands and carries him to his crib in the next room. Changing him before he gently lowers him inside his crib, then he switches on the baby monitor.
Finally, we can sleep.
Not that Anton is thinking of sleeping. He gives me a wicked grin as he closes the door and saunters to me.
Before I know it, his hand is on the back of my neck and he’s pulling me to him and crashing our lips together in a passionate kiss.
As his tongue dances with mine, his free hand reaches into my panties, cupping my pussy. He kisses my neck, along to my ear, kissing the spot underneath he knows I love, and whispers, “Can I taste you?”
I rub my hand over his hard cock, unzipping his jeans and taking out the rock hard dick, and I stroke over the silky length. “Only if I can taste you.”
He growls, dragging my clothes off until I am sitting on the bed in only my lacy white panties and matching bra.
I laugh as I dart to the back of the bed. My finger slips inside my panties and between my lips. The wetness is building, of course. That’s what he does to me.
I take my finger out and suck on it, giving him my innocent look. “Mmm.”
“That’s mine,” he growls, pushing his jeans off and throwing his clothes in a pile on the floor.
He crawls up the bed, taking hold of my ankles and dragging me underneath him. And pulling my underwear off, with no care that he might damage them.
He buys me that much lingerie. He no longer cares.
My husband is nearly thirty-six years old now, but he is still as horny as a teenager that is about to be laid for the first time.
He pushes my thighs apart, inhaling my scent as he parts me with his thumbs. His tongue licks along my slit. The sounds he makes are obscene.
He crawls past me and sits with his back to the headboard, patting his lap. “Ride me.”
“I was going to suck you.”
“I need to be inside you.”
I climb on top of him, straddling my thighs either side of his. This position does something to me I cannot comprehend.
He holds his hard cock, sliding the crown over my wetness, pressing it against my clit, before slipping the tip of his cock into my wet folds. He leaves it there for a moment.
This is our thing. He likes to tease me, just leaving it to rub gently inside me as he kisses me, waiting for me to need more.
He rubs my tender nipple with his thumb as our mouths clash and our tongues dance a tango, fast and slow.
The moment my pussy tightens around the tip. The moment I’m already falling into the abyss, he grabs my hips and holds me still. Fucking up into me and making me scream.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls. Anton is not normally one for swearing, but sometimes he can’t contain it. It slips out.
He holds me tight, sliding in and out of my wetness.
“Let me move,” I gasp. Desperate to dance on his cock. He grabs my ass, letting me move. Anton is obsessive and possessive, whether it is in the bed or outside.
I suppose we started off in a non-conventional way. And the age-gap is something we know people still whisper about.
But this is our life. And we have no regrets. I love him and he loves me. It's unconditional love. A perfect, sweet love, and I wouldn’t change a thing.
I want to have this feeling every day. The love I feel for him. The need. Because he is everything, our child, future children are everything. I cannot wish for anything more.
“I love you, Angel.”
I smile as the waves of my climax build, widen my thighs, and push myself forward. The effect on my clit is immediate. It rubs against his pelvis bone and the sparks of the electricity storm are about to explode. “I love you, too.”
I need to say it now. Before I can no longer speak. My orgasm is coming. His cock pulses inside me and I know he is close, too. He likes me to come first. It turns him on just knowing he does this to me.
Our chests are pressed together as his hand skates down my body, over my belly. He smiles at me as his hand lowers more and he presses his thumb on my clit and that is all I need.
“Anton,” I scream.
“Yes.” He thrusts deep, groaning as my pussy pulses around his cock. He is coming as hard as I am. Another spurt of cum releases into my pussy, and I rock on his cock for more. Wanting everything he can give me.
There’s a beautiful silence between us as he holds my tired head close to his chest before he says. “You’re insatiable, but you need some sleep. And you’re going to do it with me inside you, my angel,” he says, pushing my hair off my sweaty head and kissing my lips.
My eyes are heavy with tiredness. I should shower, but this is where I want to be, joined with him.
He reaches to the drawer at his side, pulls it open and pulls out mistletoe, wiggles it over our heads. “Kiss me.”
I smile, press my lips against his before pulling back and looking at my husband–a man who I love with all my heart, and whisper, “Your one day, turned into one week and now we’re forever.”
He smiles. “I knew we weren’t going to be only for one day.”
I suspect I did, too.
The End.