28. Bonus Epilogue
Shanay
He starts with his mouth.
Because of course he does.
I’m pinned to the mattress, legs spread, thighs shaking, and my husband—my possessive, obsessed, mountain man husband—is between them like he’s starving.
“You always taste this good?” he mutters, tongue dragging slow over my clit. “Or is it just because I haven’t had you in… what, four hours?”
I gasp. “Mike—”
He doesn’t let me finish.
His mouth seals over me again, sucking, licking, his tongue moving in tight circles while his fingers stroke deep and filthy.
“You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?” he murmurs against my soaked skin. “Gonna let me fill you up again?”
I arch, legs trembling. “You’re insane.”
“And you love it.”
God help me, I do.
He slides two fingers in and crooks them just right.
I cry out, hips bucking.
“Yeah,” he growls. “There she is. Come on, baby. Let me feel you fall apart on my mouth.”
I do.
Hard.
Shaking. Moaning. Gone.
—-
But he’s not done.
He never is.
Mike crawls up my body, chest to chest, cock hard and heavy between us. He kisses me deep, letting me taste myself on his tongue.
Then he slides in—slow and thick, inch by inch until I’m gasping again.
“You feel that?” he rasps. “That stretch? That fullness?”
“Yes—God, yes.”
“Good. ‘Cause you’re not leaving this bed till I’m sure you’re bred.”
I shiver.
He starts to move—slow thrusts, deep and rough, his hand gripping my thigh, the other splayed wide on my belly like he’s already claiming it again.
“You’re mine,” he grits out. “This body, this pussy. Every inch. All mine.”
“Yours,” I whisper. “Always.”
And when I come again—wrung out, overwhelmed, totally his—he follows with a broken moan and a hard thrust.
Emptying himself inside me like he owns my soul.
Which he does.
—-
There’s a tiny stick on the counter.
And a tiny voice outside the bathroom door.
“Mamaaaa,” she sing-songs. “You peein’ again?”
I press my forehead to the door and exhale. “Baby, give Mama a minute.”
“You said dat five minutes ago.”
Mike’s voice joins hers. Deep. Way too calm.
“Shanay.”
I groan. “What?”
He pauses like he’s trying to pick his words carefully. “You’ve peed six times today. You cried over a buttered biscuit. And you told Clara her decaf tasted like betrayal.”
“It did.”
“So…” He taps the door lightly. “Are you gonna tell me, or should I break this door down and read the test myself?”
I glare at the little white stick.
Positive.
So very, very positive.
—-
I open the door slowly.
Our toddler is sitting cross-legged outside like she’s on a stakeout. She blinks up at me. “You okay, Mama?”
Mike’s behind her. Shirtless. Jaw tight. Hands flexing like he’s trying not to snatch the stick out of my hand.
I hand it to him.
He stares at it.
Then stares at me.
Then slowly crouches in front of our daughter and says—completely serious—“You ready to be a big sister?”
She gasps like she just won a puppy.
Then shouts, “TWO babies!” and sprints down the hall.
Mike rises.
Wraps his arms around me.
And kisses me like I just gave him the world.
Again.—-
THE END. (of this book… because we all know Mike’s not done knocking her up.)