Epilogue #2
As I stare down at him, I can’t wait to have my baby in my arms. We’ve discussed names, and I think we’ve landed on Emery Lillian for a girl and Sullivan Chase for a boy. While I’m hoping for a little Emery, a Sully would make me just as happy.
When I finally turn little Vincent back to his momma, I sigh and stand. “I should probably get home to my husband. He’s texting impatiently. Acting like he thinks he can knock me up twice.”
We both laugh. “Girl, go. Get some. One of us should.”
With a hug, we part, and I drive back to the home that was once Deacon’s and is now ours, and I ask him, “You coming?” as I shuck my clothes and walk up the stairs. He nearly trips over his own feet, leaving the couch and running up after me.
“How was your day?” Deacon calls from behind me.
“Vincent is perfect. Sean apologized. He’s in therapy. I don’t want to talk about Sean right now, though,” I tell him as I throw the covers back and fold them along the bottom of the bed. They only get in the way.
“Legs open, baby,” Deacon commands me, so I move the pillows and lie flat on my back, thighs parted obscenely as he covers my body with his. The sensation of his muscular, naked body pressing into mine is heady and thickens the air between us as I inhale shakily.
He traces his hands up my calves while kissing my stomach that’s carrying our child. Eventually, his hands stop on my hips, and he presses his face to my stomach.
“I hope you’re asleep for this,” Deacon tells our baby. His slow, soft kisses drift around my body and then down between my legs, kissing my pussy fully, moving his lips around my mound and upper thighs, tickling and teasing. It’s so much better when he makes me wait and beg.
Because I will beg.
After Deacon has kissed every inch of my thighs, hips, and belly, the tip of his tongue follows the path his lips had, and my legs start to close around his head as he licks down through my inner lips. I’m already ready to combust.
He pushes the top of my body back against the bed and whispers, “Be still, love. Let me taste you.”
I cry out for him as he licks me again, warmth spreading through my body as I moan with pleasure and try to stay still for him.
“You’re so delicious. Wonderful. Mine,” Deacon says with a smile. “I could eat you like this every day and not get enough.”
I feel my hips lift wantonly, and he grabs them and holds me to his mouth, pressing his tongue into me in earnest. I reach out but find nothing to hold on to except the bedsheets as he rocks his face against me, and my hips meet his movements.
“Yes!” I call out, spots appearing behind my tightly closed eyes. When Deacon begins to rub that sensitive spot at the apex of my thighs, I throw my head back and cry out. This torture is delicate but oh-so-intense, and I need more. More. I think I even whisper, “More.”
His mouth moves up to gently lap at my throbbing bud, and I fill the quiet bedroom with loud, long moans while he continues to love me with his tongue. Deacon looks up at me, and the eye contact makes me shiver.
When he adds two fingers to the delicate torture, I nearly hit the ceiling, closing my eyes to the pleasure, the world just sunlight and black spots, my body no longer in my possession as I spiral into a merciless orgasm.
I hear myself cry out for Deacon, beg for god, then scream out some broken “Yeses” as he never stops moving his tongue or fingers.
I allow myself to be taken over by Deacon Ambrose, my husband and father of my child, welcoming him into my body over and over again. He controls the pace, and me, entirely.
“Good job, love. Come again,” Deacon whispers before he sucks me into his warm mouth and lashes me with his tongue.
I press my hands to my eyes, finding them wet with tears, and then I move to grip his golden hair and tug it.
Deacon moans nearly as loudly as I do, loving all the pleasure he’s giving me, and knowing his is next.
The muscles in my whole body tighten and contort as my belly rises, and I shove closer to his mouth.
Eventually, I push Deacon onto his back and straddle his hips, reaching down to hold his length, and then I slide down onto it, taking him home into my body.
“You fit just right,” I groan, still somehow surprised by how wonderful making love with Deacon feels.
“Like a puzzle piece,” Deacon manages to say as he stills within me and lets me control the pace.
He lifts to lick one of my nipples, surrounding it with his lips as he sucks.
I lean closer to him, desperate for the attention.
He hasn’t been able to touch my breasts since I first got pregnant; they had been so sore!
Maybe the worst of that is behind me now.
I begin to rock against Deacon, finding a motion that works perfectly. He lets me control the rhythm for a while, my head thrown back as I moan continuously, more blissed out with every in-and-out motion I create with my hips.
“I need you to stop being gentle and fuck me the way I need,” I demand as Deacon’s face contorts from holding back.
My words free him. He flips me over, settles between my thighs, and presses deep inside me as he kisses me, his open mouth taking, taking, taking.
He sucks my lips, then my tongue, while holding himself up on his elbows to thrust rhythmically, hard, deep.
I reach down, grab his ass, and pull him even tighter and more fully into me.
He hits a spot within me that sends me reeling over the edge, as I shriek, “Oh my god !”
“Again?” Deacon asks as he meets my eyes, which are nearly crossing with pleasure.
I lift my hips and drive him back against that spot, and he lets me fuck him for a while, as I tell him, “Again! Make me come.”
Deacon repeats the movement that made me go completely wild.
Until now, I held on to a shred of composure.
Now I cry out animalistically, grabbing his hair with one hand and his ass with the other as I encourage him to keep going.
I let my hand run up and down his back, admiring his sculpted ass as he thrusts into oblivion and makes me lose all sense of self, time, and place.
I’m sure I’m in another universe when Deacon reaches down, strokes my clit, and drives into me harder than ever before.
My broken scream echoes throughout the room, and I combust beneath Deacon as his hips shove unevenly, and he groans out, “Oh, Beck,” and empties himself deep inside of me.
I feel every quiver and contraction as he spurts into me, and I’m still desperate for more.
Deacon drives into me a few more times and sends me over the edge into another spine-tingling orgasm. He sucks my nipple into his mouth and bites down as I come, tugging my hair hard and prolonging the orgasm into something endless and intense.
“Oh! Oh! Jesus!” I thrash beneath him.
When I finally still, we lie entwined together, the sound of our heavy breathing filling up the quiet room as the afternoon turns into night. I lie on his chest, more satisfied than I can ever remember being, his ring on my finger and carrying our baby that I can’t wait to welcome to earth.
“Wanna show you something,” Deacon finally manages to say after I stop shaking. He pulls me to my feet, though my knees still shake, and he leads me down the hallway.
He’s applied the sunset to the wall of the nursery, and I notice the white, circular crib sitting in the center of the room beneath a mobile of rainbows.
The sheets are white with tiny silver boats on them, and there’s a little wooden boat on the table beside the rocker he’d already purchased for me and the baby.
A cream-colored, nautical-themed lamp sits beside the boat, featuring little ropes for handles and anchors on the lampshade in purple.
“You like the décor?” Deacon asks me as I run my fingers over the anchors.
“I love it.” My voice is thick with emotion. “Did you paint this lampshade, Deacon?”
“Yes, and Dad whittled the boat and painted it, too. See?”
I pick it up, admire the detailed little yacht, and finally read the tiny letters that say, ‘Love in the Sun.’
I smile up at Deacon from the rocker and put my feet up as I sigh in contentment.
“I can’t wait for the spring. We’ll fish off the side of the boat.
Invite our friends. Throw a big wedding for everyone to enjoy, even if I will be out to here in May.
” I put my arms out in front of my belly to demonstrate how pregnant I’d be on our wedding day.
“And then in October, we’ll welcome our little one to the world.” Deacon looks so distinctly at peace as he stares around the nursery and smiles.
He sinks to his knees and rubs my feet on the rocking ottoman, releasing a long, slow breath. “It’s a strange feeling, having everything you’ve always wanted. There’s nothing more I could ever ask for. Every wish has been fulfilled.”
Deacon fiddles with the ring on my finger. “I feel Mom here.”
“Hopefully you didn’t feel her presence a few minutes ago,” I retort as Deacon looks up at the sunset on the wall.
He shakes his head. “No, but I think she’s pleased with the name we came up with. And I suddenly feel very strongly that we’re going to have a girl. Emery Lillian. She’s smiling down on us, and I think she wants us to call our baby Lily.”
I hum low in my throat. “Lily, huh? That’s beautiful. I could be convinced."
Deacon draws me into his arms and nods against my hair. “And she likes your pink hair.” His hands tangle in my wavy locks as he pulls back and grins at me. “You’ve always been such a fucking angel, my love. We should fit you for a halo.”
“Lillian, respectfully, we love you, but you might want to tune out now,” I whisper skyward, pulling Deacon in for a long, deep kiss.
I take off running to the bedroom, and Deacon chases me. The one thing I know for sure? He’ll always catch me.