Epilogue #4
I’m glad she comes fast because I don’t think I can hold myself back a moment fucking longer.
A dark, primal pleasure erupts from the base of my cock in a violent explosion, and I start pumping seed.
I hold her down against me, the hot oblivion like nothing I’ve ever felt, and fuck, it’s so good to fill up my wife, to keep her soft, satisfied pussy right where I need it while I release, and it takes so long for all that pent-up cum to empty inside her, long enough that her face is in my neck when I’m finally done, and she’s humming to herself.
Purring almost, like a cat on the verge of a nap.
I stroke her back for a while like this, letting my pulse come down, feeling hers come down too.
Maybe too much, because she’s sweetly sleepy when I lift her hips and slide free.
But she doesn’t protest as I move her thong back into place and pull her skirt down.
She just yawns and starts retucking her camisole.
I reach between her legs before standing up myself, enjoying the sensation of her thong growing wet with my cum.
“Maybe don’t sit down for a while,” I say. “But keep it on. We won’t be here much longer, and I like knowing you’ve got this little reminder of me between your thighs.”
I get a Birdie smile, cheeks high and lips together. That smile often looks shy or secretive, but right now, it looks like she knows me better than anyone in the world. “I think you like knowing you’ve got your ejaculate pooled inside me on the first day I’ve stopped taking birth control.”
I give her an innocent face, but I don’t bother lying aloud.
She knows getting her pregnant has been one of my go-to fantasies over the years.
But those are just fantasies. In real life, I’ve let her take the lead on this entirely.
I’m happy to spend our lives with only the two of us; I’m happy with one kid or with four; I’m happy with anything that makes her happy.
So when she came to me and quietly explained that she’d like to go off birth control once we were married, that she felt strong enough for the possibilities and that her therapist agreed, I was all for it.
Because no matter what happens, I’ll be content.
How can I not be when I already have everything I’ve ever wanted standing in front of me?
I get up, and together we go over to the sculptures so I can kneel down and slide the high heels back onto her feet. Then I lead her into the next room, where the lights are a little brighter, so we can properly put ourselves back together.
The room is taken up by a medieval cloister imported from France, and even though there’s a white ceiling above us instead of sky and artificial lights instead of the sun, there’s something peaceful about it, something settling.
Something of the way I remember Aiden’s monastery feeling whenever we visited, like God was walking along just the other side of the cloister, trailing his fingers along the stone and watching the birds flit around the fountain.
“What’s this smile for?” Birdie inquires softly, lifting a finger to my mouth while I finish zipping up and rebuttoning my jacket.
I know what she’s asking. It’s not the smile I’d normally wear after fucking her senseless. “I was thinking that I’d like to take you to a real monastery. Walk through the cloisters with you.”
“Enemy territory,” she says and laughs, dropping her hand so I can start fixing her hair.
“Unlikely ally these days.” It would be hard to live with someone as devoted as Birdie, someone whose hands God uses as much as Birdie’s, and not feel a kind of kinship with him. We both love her infinitely; we both treasure every smile and sigh and flicker of genius.
We’re more like coworkers now. I don’t even have him on a performance improvement plan.
“Right,” Birdie says and then reaches up to check the state of her hair. “Do I look…”
“Undebauched?” I supply, looking at her.
There is a new looseness to her hair, and her cheeks and lips are still flushed.
Her suit is a little wrinkled. But it’s not like she has bite marks all over her, and I think the thong will stop any semen from trickling down her thigh.
“Well. We can say it’s from the dancing. ”
“Oh no,” she says sadly but squares her shoulders after a moment of defeat. My brave, debauched Birdie. “I guess there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“If anyone guesses, they’ll think it’s charming,” I promise.
I extend my left hand, the same hand that hid the dark, knotty burl on the Lucifer carving, the hand that made Birdie eight years ago realize there wasn’t an angel trapped inside the wood after all but something else, something worse.
Something that would only answer to her.
There’s no burl on my palm, but my wedding band might as well be that same coalesced shadow, the same sly hint that no angel is afoot. But she doesn’t hesitate to take my hand, doesn’t hold back the love in her eyes when she smiles up at me.
I’d once told her that the end of anything good in me was in her…but of course, I was entirely wrong. Of course, the opposite ended up being true.
She is the beginning of everything good, the start, my genesis. My Eden.
I kiss my bride on the lips and lead her to the courtyard, where the dawn of our paradise awaits.
“Come on, Birdie. Let’s raise some hell.”
The End.