Epilogue
Damian
"Ithought we were meeting Becky Plude to talk about acquiring her gallery." I looked around the bar at the Bellagio and saw no sign of the owner of the chic Las Vegas gallery we wanted to acquire.
Duncan shrugged. "She's on her way."
"I thought we were late. She's later," I complained. I was the big kahuna in this equation, not fucking Becky Plude with her tiny ass gallery.
"Just order a fucking drink and stop being ornery," Duncan growled and checked his phone.
"What's got your panties in a twist?" I asked as I waved to the bartender.
"Your wife is driving me up the wall?"
The bartender came to me. "A Glenlivet."
"Make that two," Duncan snapped.
"What did Em do?" I asked. We’d now been married for almost a year and a half. Life had never been more frustrating or better. I loved my wife. Absolutely. I also wanted to wring her neck every time she questioned how I spent our money on us.
If I had to hear the question, 'how much did that cost?' one more time, I was likely to put a hole in the wall of the loft, which was made of solid concrete. That was the level of my frustration.
Ah, I kid. I loved arguing with Em. I loved the fights. I loved the makeup sex. I loved her.
"Your wife’s a pain in my ass," Duncan grumbled.
I had barely taken a sip of my drink when Duncan's phone buzzed again, and he sighed. "She's here."
I looked around. "Where?"
"Upstairs in a suite. She'll see you there."
"Me? I thought we were both going to this meeting."
"Just fucking go, alright."
"She's late and I'm not running to her like a little bitch, so I'm going to finish my—"
"There's no meeting. Your wife is in the suite you first fucked in waiting to surprise you. So, go already before she sends me the forty eighth text in one fucking day.”
I heard what he said and let it digest. "Emilia actually paid for a suite at the Bellagio?" My wife was stingy when it came to luxuries.
"No, she made me pay, said I owed her. How the fuck long am I going to be owing her for not telling her that you lied to her about why you married her?"
I finished my drink in one go and rose, feeling damn good.
"That's between you and her."
He pulled out a keycard and dropped it in front of me. "Go, fuck your wife, have a nice night. Whatever."
"Duncan, we're in Vegas, I'm sure you can find an escort to keep you busy."
Duncan ran a hand through his hair. "Haven’t been fucking escorts for the past couple of months."
I looked at him suspiciously, "Have you fallen in love or something?"
"Not all of us are pussies like you. I think I have a problem and…. Go the fuck away and let me drink in peace."
Duncan was usually in a bad mood, but this was extra bad. But I also knew he wasn't ready to talk. He'd already revealed too much.
I was whistling by the time I got to the suite. I stood outside for a long moment and put my game face on. I was supposed to be surprised by my wife and boy would I deliver in spades.
I opened the door and walked in. "Becky? You in here, doll?"
Silence.
The suite was lovely. A gorgeous bedroom with a view of the city bedrooms, a very large living room, a rooftop deck with a pool and a hot tub.
"Becky?" I pretended to check the rooftop deck and then walked around the kitchen.
I then pretended to make a phone call as I opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of champagne, and found two glasses. "Doll, I'm in the suite. Where are you? I'm waiting in bed. Now hurry up and sit on my cock."
I took my time walking into the bedroom.
"Really? You want me to believe you're having any affair with a woman named Becky?" Emilia demanded.
She sat on the edge of the bed, wearing black satin lingerie. The bra lifted her tits up. The panties were small. The stockings came all the way to her thigh and the naked skin above the lace and below her panties was sexy as hell. She wore black heels with red soles.
"You went shopping," I filled the glasses with champagne. I handed her a glass and stepped back to watch her as I took a sip of the golden bubbles.
"I charged it to the room," she said sweetly.
"That Duncan is paying for."
She grimaced. "He can't keep a secret, can he?"
"Doesn't have the patience," I agreed.
"Now, baby why don't you slide up the bed and spread your thighs for me? Don't worry about being too vulgar."
She did as I asked and leaned against the headboard. Her legs parted and my dick that was already hard managed to swell some more. My wife was a wet dream wrapped in lacy lingerie.
She took a sip of the champagne and then whispered, "Oops," as she spilled some over herself, the liquid flowing down her cleavage to her stomach and then her panties.
I left my glass of champagne on the bedside table and leaned down to kiss Emilia.
"You taste like Dom Perignon, darling."
"Very expensive," she agreed on a giggle.
I licked down her body and when I got to her panties I pulled them down. Once I removed them, I picked up my glass of champagne and drank some more.
Our sex life had only gotten hotter in the past months. We played a lot. She made my life fun. My life used to be all about work and being an Archer; but now it was about living. I took vacations. I slept in. I didn't work late or on weekends. I went on walks and hikes with Em and Moana. I went bicycling across the Golden Gate Bridge. I had greasy Chinese food in a hole in the wall in China Town. I lived with my gorgeous wife on the wrong end of Market Street. My life was unrecognizable and better for it.
We cooked and threw dinner parties—and not one of them were catered. We invited only friends and family we wanted to spend time with. In the past I would go out with Bianca and meet people I couldn't stand in the name of networking. I left that for the workplace. In our private space, we only socialized with those we loved and cared about.
Bianca and Maeve were unhappy as hell with how their lives had changed. Pissing off Marcela Archer came at a price. Mom, who unabashedly confessed to being a bitch, badmouthed their salon so business was down, and they'd had to close two of their locations. Emilia told Mom to cut it out.
"When they go low, we go high, Marcela."
"Fuck that. When they go low, I crush them under my heel."
So, my mother wasn't going to win soft-hearted woman of the year ever even if she were the only woman on the planet.
I groaned as I looked at Em's wet pussy. I dripped cold bubbly on her stomach, and she shivered. I spread her sex wide and took her swollen clit into my mouth. I used my teeth and fingers to caress, stroke, hurt, and arouse her.
She always got so wild with excitement, especially when I didn't let her come. But not this time, she exploded as soon as I bit her clit.
I jerkily removed my clothes. Naked, I crawled atop her and looked at her tits, my cock nestled against her soft wet core.
I took one nipple in my mouth. She was smiling wide.
"You wanna tell me something, Em." I turned my attention to the other nipple. My fingers were between her legs. She was wet and tonight I knew I would make her squirt. She was extra sensitive.
"Yeah, Damian, I do."
I pushed into her then and she screamed, began to pulse. Not an orgasm; more like a mini eruption.
"You're going off like a rocket, baby. Are you telling me that we're going to have some special fun for the next several months?"
She'd gone off contraception a couple of months ago and every time we made love, we were both aware that she could get pregnant. The special night she planned for us, bringing us back to where it all began—the way her body was primed and her tits were bigger, I had no doubt. I had knocked up my wife.
"Harder, Damian," she muttered, her hands griping my ass, her fingers digging in. "Or," her eyes opened, they were filled with mischief, "should I call you Daddy?"
I laughed then. I couldn't help it. Emilia made me happy. Her sense of humor meant that even on the hardest days when everything seemed dark, she brightened our lives.
"Not in bed, baby, I'm going to lose my erection. That shit ain't my kink."
"What is?" Her hips surged against mine and I felt my orgasm begin to build in my balls.
"You are, Emilia. You are my one and only kink," I vowed as I spilled into her.