Epilogue
Logan
After I showed Cordelia the home movie we made of Domonic’s disgusting last rights, something in her changed. There’s a spring in her step that wasn’t there before. She’s lighter on her toes, bouncing around with this newfound devil-may-care attitude.
I wish I’d been more forceful about getting her to watch the video years ago. If I knew it would have this effect, I would have been.
As she stands before me in her cherry red bikini with pants that barely cover one arse cheek, let alone two, my cock tents in my swim shorts.
Side on, she glances back at me, her head tilted just enough to catch a glimpse of the coy smile on her pouty lips, eyes glittering like the turquoise sea behind her.
We’re on our honeymoon–only two years late, but t’s been worth every second to finally get some alone time with my wife.
Obviously, I adore our son. Jaxon is the light in my life I never knew I needed.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s like a mini hurricane most of the time and keeps me on my toes more than my pretty wife ever could.
But I wouldn’t have it any other way. In the quiet moments when he’s cuddled up between us on the sofa, or when I’m reading him a bedtime story, that's when I feel the strongest connection. It’s not the grand gestures, it’s his head resting against my chest, his small hand curled around my finger, the warmth of his breath on my cheek.
Unconditional love.
I swallow, tracing the seductive curves of Cordelia’s body all the way to that peachy arse. That round, spankable surface of flesh. It’s a bloody good job this island in the Maldives is relatively secluded, or I’d be snapping people’s legs for putting eyes on her.
Since encouraging my little wife to eat properly at home- i.e.
, I cook, she eats, or there’s trouble- she’s gained a few pounds here and there.
She hated it at first and hated me for a short time, but I think she’s finally starting to accept it.
Finally becoming confident in her own skin.
With the extra weight, her arse is gloriously fuller and coupled with that golden tan—absolute perfection. I can’t wait to bite it later.
Speaking of which, she’s got her index finger slotted between her lips, biting down on the red fingernail, seductively. The whole holiday she’s done nothing but tease me. Not that I’m complaining, it means I get to discipline her over and over.
I dip my chin, eyes darkening, dick pulsating. “You’ve burnt your back, vixen. What did I tell you about going in the sea without reapplying sunscreen?”
She blinks and rolls her eyes. Rolls her fucking eyes at me.
Like the sassy little goddess, she is. I cock a dark brow at her, swiping the bottle from the floor and stride over.
She takes a small step backwards, stumbling before righting herself.
I watch the mixture of fear and excitement sweep over her features as I approach.
“Turn around.”
She does as she’s told. Spinning on her heel and disrupting the soft golden sand beneath our feet.
The cold splash of sunscreen makes her flinch, but the moment my palms find her muscles, she melts under my firm fingertips.
Once I’m done, I can’t resist slapping her bottom with a force hard enough to leave a fading handprint.
She hisses, sucking in a breath through her teeth, but turns back to face me.
Our gazes drop to my left bicep. Earlier, whilst I slept in peaceful bliss on the sun lounger, she pressed one of those cheap kids transfer tattoos onto my skin.
A pink glittery dolphin.
An ode to the night our boy was conceived, apparently. When I decided to inform her of the wicked activities the friendly mammals engage in. It’s surprising she remembers anything past the copious amounts of alcohol she consumed.
When our eyes meet again, I raise a brow at her. She responds with a toothy grin that makes me want to throw her down in the sand and ravage her like a wildman.
“Come swim with me?”
“Wait until that soak’s in,” I tell her.
She pouts. That fucking pout will be the death of me. My hands drop to her shoulders once more. “C’mon. We’re going to get you a drink. Got to keep you hydrated.”
Cordelia grumbles something about me being a ‘fun sponge’ but I brush it off and march her down to the restaurant.
She slips away to grab a table out on the decking, and I fetch a tray of drinks from the bar.
When I return, she’s standing at the water’s edge gazing out across the horizon.
Her golden locks swept up by the gentle sea breeze, taking on a life of its own.
Fucking beautiful.
The drinks get plonked on the table, and I swipe my phone from my pocket to snap a photo before the moment’s gone forever. Jamming my fingers between my lips, I produce a wolf whistle loud enough to get her attention, and sure enough she comes running like a good girl.
Cordelia perches on the stool opposite and reaches for her pina colada, but I’m faster. I draw the cocktail towards my chest and slide the glass of water under her nose. She glances down and scoffs. And even though the sound is filled with mockery, coming from her it’s cute.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Water first,” I say, projecting my voice, giving it that authoritative edge she oh so craves.
She seizes the glass in one hand, long fingers strangling it, and downs the whole thing in one.
Her other hand gets thrust in front of her, where she flips me off in a deliberately slow motion.
My eyes darken as I take a sip of my own cocktail, before placing it back on the table. I tap the glass rhythmically.
“Show me that finger again, vixen, and I’ll make you wish you never had one,” I warn. “Ready for that swim?”
We spend the rest of the afternoon in and out of the pool, slurping more cocktails and enjoying each other's company. Sometimes that consists of chatting, other times it’s just the simple act of being content to lay beside each other.
Me, with my headphones blasting rock music into my ears, and her, with her nose in a book.
Our arms dangling by our sides, meeting in the middle, fingers interlocked like we’re holding the earth's plates together with a simple gesture.
Dinner is an intriguing affair, and the one time I’m reminded the island isn’t just for us.
The restaurants are full to bursting, mostly with couples getting lost in each other's eyes. My wife? Not so much. She’s made it her fucking mission to taunt me using every method possible.
Chasing those rosy lips with her tongue after she’s sipped her cocktail, tugging down the already lower than low neckline of her little black dress, revealing a view so tempting I can’t possibly keep my wandering eyes away.
And the most recent. Rubbing her silky-smooth calf up and down my leg, whilst uttering suggestive noises between mouthfuls of her ravioli.
At this rate we won’t get to dessert.
I heave a strained breath, hand snaking under the table to wrap around the imposing limb. And with a sharp tug, I dislodge her bottom from the chair. Her breath hitches, eyes flying wide open, an involuntary whimper whooshing from her lungs.
I level her with a dark gaze, my unoccupied hand propping up my chin.
“It’s cute. What you’re trying to do,” I close my eyes for a moment, ignoring the heat flooding to the end of my cock like a damn torpedo.
“But what’s to stop me taking you right here?
” Her dilated pupils shift from side to side.
She attempts to wriggle back up the chair, but my grip is firm, steadfast. “All I need to do is pull a little harder, and you’ll be floundering in the sand.
Spread eagle and helpless. For me to do exactly as I please. ”
Her throat quivers as she swallows, and I’ve got no chance keeping the smug smirk off my face. With a jerk I drop her leg and say, “we’re done here.”
And with that I stand, turn quickly enough that the rest of the diners don’t get an eyeful of the bulge in my jeans, and walk back across the beach to our water bungalow.
It stands on wooden stilts above the sea.
Basked in the glow of the full moon, and the many lanterns lining the bridge, interconnecting the neighbouring buildings.
Inside there’s a large stretch of glass integrated into the floorboards. You can see straight down to the body of water below. My little vixen has been wary about stepping on it ever since we arrived, but I’m going to fuck her over it before our time here is up.
Standing outside the entrance, my foot tapping the wood, I listen for her approach.
The wooden panels creak beneath her light feet.
She’s dawdling. On purpose. My jaw clenches.
I exhale a deep breath. And when she’s close enough, I grab her.
The yelp that slips from her lips when I pin her back against the wall sends a hit of dopamine straight to my brain.
My forearm rests above her head, whilst my other hand keeps her hostage, fingers splayed over the smooth wood.
“Last chance, vixen. Relinquish this control you think you have.”
The words are a warning, filled with promises much darker. Cordelia peers up at me, chin still dipped into her chest, those thick lashes casting haunting shadows across her face. Her blue eyes twinkle, alight with a certain devilry and those rosy lips break out into a coy smile when she laughs.
Right in my fucking face.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, one side curving into a feral smile. My eyes flash. And I strike.
Fingers coiling around her throat, I propel her backwards through the open door.
The back of her legs hit the edge of the bed, and she drops with an unceremonious flop onto her arse.
I release her, and she scrambles up the bed until her back collides with the headboard.
Snickering to myself, I stalk to the open door, twist the key and pocket it.
She watches with keen curiosity as I rummage through my suitcase.
My fingers make contact with the cold hard plastic, and with an arrogance that she’s only got herself to blame for, I dangle the device on my finger. Her smug smile vanishes. Replaced with a wide-eyed look of terror. She swallows, eyeballing the ring gag I’m so boldly presenting to her.
It’s pretty big, and she’s only got a small jaw. But Clarke advised me to go bigger, otherwise I’d never fit in the hole. Or worse, get it stuck.
I take a menacing step closer to the foot of the bed, and she tries to shrink further away, only to realise she can’t.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” I raise my eyebrows, watching the panic flash across her eyes.
“Easy way. You be a good little submissive, let me strap this on and fuck your face,” I lick my lips.
“Or the hard way. You misbehave. Make me chase you around the bungalow, manhandle you and then I fuck your face anyway. Choice is yours.”
My little wife’s eyes flit between me and the contraption in my hand, as if she’s contemplating the best option. Neither one gets her out of the punishment. And judging by the first time I made her swallow my load, she’s not the biggest fan. I force out an impatient cough.
“That Irish wanker was right about one thing, my love. You do suit a gag,” I say conversationally. “What’ll it be?”
My hard gaze pins her in place, but my words seem to have lit fire to a renewed spike of defiance. She lifts her chin. Smiles. And sticks her middle finger up.
Good. Fucking. Girl.
Then she leaps off the bed and runs. For a second I’m rooted to the spot, revelling in the guarantee of what’s to come.
Then I make chase. Because that’s what my defiant little vixen wants. To be at the mercy of my dominance. To feel subjugated. Helpless. And I’m only too happy to oblige.
Because she is and always will be mine.
My. Fucking. Wife.
Now. Forever. Eternity
The End.