Epilogue
HAWK
I waited just outside the door of Gemma’s studio until the light I’d installed beside it turned from red to green. Then I knocked. Gemma’s sweet voice floated to my ears, telling me to come in.
We’d set up this system so that I would know when she was in session and couldn’t be disturbed. When the light was green, it meant I could knock, but she only called for me to enter if the client gave permission.
The bell above the studio door chimed just as I stepped inside.
The low, delicate jingle barely cut through the quiet hum of soft instrumental music drifting through the space.
A warm, clean scent, mixed with hints of floral curled in the air—Gemma’s signature.
Familiar and comforting, it wrapped around me like her touch.
Sunlight slanted through the front windows, filtering through gauzy curtains and glinting off the framed prints lining the wall.
Soft, tasteful boudoir shots in black and white, angled just enough that nothing was exposed, but everything was suggested.
Confidence, power, and vulnerability created into art.
At the far end of the space, Gemma was whispering with a client as she slipped into a jacket.
The woman was glowing from the shoot, her eyes lit with a new kind of confidence.
Her smile was wide, grateful, and real. She touched Gemma’s forearm gently—almost reverently—before murmuring her thanks and heading for the door.
I stepped aside to let her pass, holding the door as I dipped my head in greeting. The woman flushed but didn’t look embarrassed—just empowered. Gemma had that effect on people. On the women she photographed. And me.
The door closed behind the client, and I turned to face my wife.
She smiled at me, all soft curves and glowing skin, her hair twisted up in a loose knot, wisps curling around her cheeks. Her fitted pink tank top hugged the gentle curve of her swollen belly, and her black leggings that made her legs look even longer.
Gemma was always fucking stunning, but here were no words to describe the perfection of my baby growing inside her.
One of her hands slid absently to her bump, rubbing the taut swell like she was checking on our little one.
I crossed the room without a word, setting my hand over hers. The movement was instinctual, as though my body couldn’t be near hers without touching. I craved contact with her, no matter how small.
“You done for the day, baby?” I asked, voice low as my thumb brushed over the thin stretch of fabric that barely separated my palm from our child.
Gemma nodded, her sinful lips curving as she leaned into my chest. “Yeah. I’m excited to work with that client again, though. She said she wants to book another session after the baby’s born and I’m back at work.”
I grinned, tucking a piece of toffee hair behind her ear. “She’s not the only one. You’re booked solid for weeks. Place is buzzing, babe.”
She rolled her eyes a little, but her cheeks flushed. “Quiet referrals and word of mouth have brought me more business than I ever realized they would. But you know I’m still picky. I don’t shoot just anyone.”
I glanced toward the back, where the reinforced steel door marked Private remained locked tight. Behind it was the vault Deviant built—secure, air-gapped, and fireproof. Nothing connected to the internet. Nothing accessible from the outside. It was basically Gemma’s own SCIF room.
“Some people think it’s overkill,” she murmured.
“No,” I said firmly, cupping her face so our eyes were locked. “It’s fucking perfect, baby. You made a fortress out of trust. You protect your clients. You’re not just giving them art and a new sense of self, you’re giving them safety.”
Gemma’s eyes softened. “They like reviewing the photos with me. I thought they’d think it was a hassle. But they say it makes them feel seen.”
I lowered my head until our foreheads touched. “You have a gift, baby. Not just the camera. You see people. And you help them see themselves.”
Her lips brushed mine, and she sighed dreamily. “Are we going home?”
“Yeah.” I gave her a lopsided grin and tucked her into my side. “I believe I received a text that you and the baby are starving.”
She gave me a mock scowl. “We are. You were supposed to feed us hours ago.”
My arm tightened around her waist, and I nuzzled her temple. “Guess I better take care of my girls.”
She melted against me, and I held her there for a long minute, breathing her in. Still couldn’t believe she was mine. That I got to wake up to her tomorrow. And every day after that.
We left the studio together, one of the Iron Shield women trailing discreetly behind to lock up and reset the security system.
After what happened, I refused to let Gemma reopen the studio unless she agreed to have a guard on-site whenever she was working. She finally relented, and I’d shown her my gratitude by giving her a foot rub and several orgasms.
Female security only though. Always. No exceptions. Not that Gemma ever asked, but I made damn sure.
The house was ten minutes away, tucked into a quiet stretch of rolling hills just past the clubhouse on the outskirts of town.
We bought it the week after our wedding, which had been impulsive and perfect.
One story, wide porches, and old oak trees that were perfect for swings and building tree houses.
The kind of place where you could breathe, put down roots, and build something special.
We kept her cottage as well, turning one room into an office so I could work from there if she was in session.
The other, we converted into a large playroom for our kids.
Once the baby was born, we planned to hire a sitter to watch our little ones at the cottage while Gemma worked, that way she could be with them between sessions.
By the time we walked into our home, the sun was dipping low, casting golden light through the wide windows and warming the honey-hued, wooden floors. Gemma kicked off her sandals by the door, and I caught her hand before she could waddle toward the kitchen.
“Sit. You look tired.”
She arched a brow. “I’m pregnant. I always look tired.”
“Still hot as hell,” I mumbled, kissing the side of her neck. “But that’s not the point. Go sit down. I’m making dinner.”
She laughed as I herded her toward the eating nook and gently eased her into a chair. Then I moved around the kitchen fixing our meal while she chatted to me about her day and plans for tomorrow.
Once I’d grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and added garlic butter to the noodles, I plated everything and took it to the table. Then I went back for two glasses of sparkling cider, her favorite.
“Dinner is served, my love.”
“You’re perfect,” she sighed as she took her first bite of the savory chicken.
I winked. “Only for you.”
We ate slowly, talking and laughing. By the time we finished our meal, her feet were in my lap, my fingers rubbing small circles into her arches. She sighed and leaned back, one hand rubbing her belly. “If this is how you treat me when I’m pregnant, I might just seduce you every chance I get.”
“Won’t hear an argument from me,” I said with a smirk.
“To being seduced?” she asked cheekily.
“Or to having lots of babies.”
Gemma melted and pulled her feet down so she could come sit in my lap. Then she kissed me sweetly, but it quickly heated up.
I shot to my feet and carried her into our bedroom, ignoring her weak protests as she half-heartedly swatted my shoulder. “You’re going to throw out your back.”
“Gonna throw out my sanity if I don’t get you naked in the next five minutes.”
She giggled, but her breath caught when I set her down gently on the edge of the counter in our bathroom and started running water in the tub. Then I lit the candles she liked to use during her baths.
Steam curled into the air as I added her favorite oil to the water—something floral and sweet. When I turned back, she was already undressing. I joined her, stripping off my shirt, then helping her into the warm water before slipping in behind her.
Her back met my chest, and she sighed, her head lolling to one side as I gathered her hair in my fist and kissed the nape of her neck.
The water cradled us, the candlelight flickering across our damp skin. I ran my hands over the soft swell of her belly, cupped her tits, and kissed her shoulders.
She moaned, and I grasped her hips and gently lifted her, fitting the head of my cock at her entrance. Slowly, I brought her down and slipped inside her.
I gently rocked my hips up, my hands gliding up her sides and back around to fit my palms over her breasts.
“Mouth,” I growled quietly.
She obediently turned her head so I could seal my lips over hers.
One of my hands slipped down between her legs, while the other plucked and twisted her hard nipples.
When I dipped a finger between her folds, she cried out.
Her pussy clenched around my shaft like a fucking vise.
She started undulating, riding my cock, reaching for her pleasure.
“That’s it, baby,” I urged. “Ride me. Oh, fuck!”
She clenched again, squeezing me so hard I nearly lost it.
I pushed her legs open wider with a palm on each thigh, then I used my index fingers to part her pussy lips and tease her center. My digits swirled around, coming close to her clit but not touching it.
“Callum,” she whined, raising her arms and locking them around my neck. “Please.”
“What do you want, baby?”
“Touch me,” she moaned as she moved against me with more speed.
“I am touching you,” I murmured with a wicked grin as I continued to tease her quivering pussy. I swiped the pad of my finger once over her clit, and she cried out as a shudder wracked her body.
“Please,” she begged. “Please. I need to come.”
“Then fuck me harder, baby. Ride my cock. That’s it. Yes! Fuck!”
Water sloshed over the edges of the tub as we moved with more urgency, climbing toward the pinnacle of bliss.
But the water was slowing us down, so I wrapped my arms around her thighs and kept her plastered against me, my shaft still buried in her heat while I pushed to my feet.
Then I carefully stepped out of the tub and into our shower.
I was never more grateful for the panel I’d originally thought was ridiculous when we bought the house.
In seconds, I chose a temperature and hit a button that would release the water when it reached it.
The warm spray splashed onto us as I sat on the bench and moved my hands to Gemma’s lush hips.
Holding her in a firm grip, I moved her up and down on my shaft as I pumped up into her.
“Fucking love these hips, baby. Wide and open, so perfect for having my babies.”
Gemma moaned and bounced on my cock, taking me hard and deep every time. “Callum! Oh, yes! Yes!”
My palms covered her big tits, and I squeezed them as I lightly bit her neck. “Love these. Big and fat. Can’t wait until they are dripping with milk. Fuck! Thinking of sucking on these leaking nipples…fuck, baby. I can’t wait. Fuck! Yes! Oh, fuck!”
“Yes! Callum! Harder!”
She bore down on me, and I practically saw stars.
I wasn’t gonna last much longer, so I pressed my finger over her clit and rubbed.
Then when she was right at the edge, I pinched and sent her flying.
She screamed my name, and her pussy rippled around my cock, massaging it, milking until I roared her name and exploded inside her.
Afterward, we lazily washed under the hot spray, then I took her to our bed and made slow, sweet love to her. I worshipped her body from head to toe before we climaxed together.
She curled onto her side, facing me, and draped one leg over mine, her fingers idly tracing over my chest. For a while, we simply laid in bed, tangled in the sheets, the window cracked open to let in the night breeze.
I couldn’t stop staring at the wall across from us.
There, framed in black walnut and lit by a soft sconce, was a photo of Gemma in white lace.
Her body was softer now, more womanly. Hair down, cascading over one bare shoulder.
She stood with her back to me, my arms wrapped around her body like a shield.
One hand on her hip. The other cupping her breast. Her smile was pure mischief. Mine was hunger.
Even in stillness, the image pulsed with emotion. With my claim.
She looked up at me, then her eyes followed my gaze.
“You like it?” she asked sleepily, her mouth curved into a happy smile.
She surprised me with the photo for my birthday. I hadn’t even realized she’d set the whole thing up for the picture until I opened the wrapping paper to find the beautifully framed memory.
I nodded, voice rough. “Yeah. I like it.”
“It’s my favorite, too.”
“I look at it,” I whispered, brushing her hair off her cheek, “and see everything I’ll ever need.”
Gemma leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. “You’re everything I never dared to want.”
I kissed her deeper, pulling her close again.
And with her belly snug between us, our hearts beating in perfect rhythm, I whispered against her skin. “Forever, baby. You’re mine. Forever.”