Epilogue
AUGUST
Five years later…
There are eleven notebooks lining the shelf above my desk in our home office now. They’re arranged chronologically, each one filled cover to cover with green ink.
The first is the original. The first one she carried into my office for her first lecture. The one with anatomical diagrams and notes that I wasn’t even aware she was taking at first.
Professor Holt has the body of an Adonis, and hands that I can’t stop thinking about.
She filled that notebook like it was a diary, detailing the wonders of our sex life together. And then, as the years went by, she filled ten more. Her current, and twelfth, lies open on the bedside table with a pen on top of it, just waiting for tonight’s entry.
Because my wife is adorable. She documents everything. Every position we try, every sound we make, every place I put my hands or tongue…
…and how many times I get her off. Our record so far for one session is seven. But records are made to be broken.
Our son, James, is asleep down the hall.
He has Jessie’s eyes, my jaw, and an adorable stubborn temperament that he gets from both of us.
This of course means a nightly negotiation to get him into bed.
He’s only three years old and is already sure he’s right about everything.
He’ll be a force of nature when he’s older.
Tonight, Becca put him down for us. Becca, Jessie’s long-time friend who bought her the vibrator so many years ago, which may have inadvertently caused the chain of events that led to our incredible relationship.
She moved to our same neighborhood after graduation. She and Jessie are such good friends that they’re practically incapable of living more than a few minutes apart.
And I don’t mind. I like Becca, and we pay her to help us out around the house—probably more than someone else would charge—but I don’t mind. We owe so much to her. She’s basically part of the family now.
Their mutual friend Dani is married now to a man who looks wonderfully terrified of her. And Lourdes runs a women’s health center in Miami. They FaceTime weekly, and I have a feeling our fun together is the topic of many discussions.
Jessie is finishing up her graduate degree in human anatomy and writing her thesis on female sexual responses, specifically the neurological mechanisms surrounding arousal. She’s specifically focusing on women who, like her, were late in exploring their sexuality.
Her committee chair calls her work ‘groundbreaking.’ Me? I tease her and call it ‘autobiographical’ but only when we’re in the bedroom at night. I have to chuckle when she hits me with a pillow, then straddles me, her bright eyes gleaming down at me.
That’s our signal. The one that lets me know she wants something from me—she wants it.
Gerald Belcher is gone. Once Jessie reported him to the dean, her investigation spiraled into something massive. More women came forward, including a junior faculty member whom he had harassed for years.
By the end of the academic year, the dean had all she needed. Belcher was terminated, and the last I heard, he was selling insurance in Connecticut.
The skeleton in my old office is still named after him.
I hear the front door close and Becca’s car start in the driveway.
Then I hear my wife’s footsteps on the stairs.
She appears in the doorway of our bedroom like an angel, and my heart does the same thing it always does when I look at her, which is nearly burst out of my chest as every nerve ending in my body lights up.
God, she’s so damn sexy.
She’s wearing one of my T-shirts—just the T-shirt. Her hair is down, her legs are bare, and she’s leaning against the doorframe the way she used to lean against the one in my office.
Only she’s not a freshman anymore. She’s twenty-three years old, and she is my wife. The way those eyes look at me… She knows what’s about to happen.
“James is out.” She smiles. “Becca said he managed to get an extra story out of her before passing out.”
“That’s my boy.” I chuckle.
There’s a pause as her smile shifts, changing from something warm to something else—something with heat behind it. She bites the corner of her lower lip and tilts her head, looking at me through her lashes.
I think back to the proposal—getting down on my knees in front of her barely two weeks after we met. I held up the ring, and she said yes before I even finished the question. Tears spilled from her eyes, and mine even welled up a bit too.
My perfect woman.
She bites the corner of her lip in that adorable way that gets my blood flowing, then whispers, “Hey, Daddy.”
My cock pulses between my legs, lifting the fabric of my briefs as it begins to swell.
Five years of marriage and those words still hit me like a defibrillator on high. Straight to the heart. My fingers tighten around the mattress like they used to curl around the edge of my desk. Some things will never change, and the way this woman makes me feel is one of them.
“Come here, you,” I say back. My voice has dropped to the ravenous texture of pure desire.
Slowly, she crosses the room and stands beside me. I run my hands up the back of her thighs, feeling the smooth, warm skin. Then I move up the curve of her delicious ass as pre-cum begins to drip from the tip of my cock.
She’s not wearing panties. She knows what she’s doing and what I’m about to give her.
A tiny whimper escapes her lips, and that does it for me.
I snatch her by the hips and pull her down into my lap. She tries to straddle me, but I spin her over and pin her down on her back. Her eyes widen up at me as I press the ridge of my cock between her legs so she can feel my arousal.
“I defended my thesis today, Daddy,” she murmurs as I bring my lips to hers.
“Oh, I know,” I reply, sliding my hands up beneath her shirt. I find her breasts and cup them, kneading the perky flesh and rolling her nipples between my fingers until her breath catches and her back begins to arch. “Tell me about it.”
She gasps as I pinch harder, her head falling back, succumbing to the pressure of our wonderful game. “I passed.”
I pull her shirt off and over her head, and she lies naked beneath me. My eyes scour her body as my cock swells to its full size. I will never get tired of this. Her beauty is simply too supreme. “Of course you did, baby,” I tell her. “You’re my brilliant, brilliant girl.”
“August—”
Her eyes seem to darken as she looks at me, an intensity filling them. Her hips roll, and I feel the slick arousal of her pussy against the thin fabric of my briefs. “Daddy, please…”
“Please?” I ask. “Please what?”
I know very well what, but I like playing with her. After all, it’s better to pre-heat an engine, right?
“Please, fuck me…”
Her words strike me with the same impact as always. I may have her beneath me already, but I quickly pin her wrists above her head with one hand, using the other to tear my boxers from my waist.
My cock springs out, hard as freshly forged iron, and slaps down on her soaked and ready cunt. The sight of it there—so big compared to her tiny little body—sends something surging through me so powerful it borders on primal violence.
I grit my teeth and press the tip against her soaked hole. “You’ve been dripping since Becca was getting ready to leave,” I say with confidence, pushing my hips forward just enough that she starts to spread.
“Yes.” My wife nods. I think about how angelic she looked at the ceremony, standing there beside me at the altar. What a contrast to the desperate little slut she is now. My slut. No one else’s.
Her pussy lips clench around my crown, pulling, trying desperately hard to pull me in.
“Good girl.”
I slide right into her. Right where Daddy belongs.
She lets out a gasp but quickly covers it with a pillow. My muscles tighten, and I have to chew the inside of my cheek to keep from coming. My wife’s moans always make me feel like I’m a god among men. King of the universe.
I don’t stop moving until I’m buried all the way to the hilt in my wife’s warm, tight, wet pussy.
Her fingers wrap around my arms, and I feel her heels on my back as she wraps her legs around my waist. I pull back, gritting against the overwhelming sensations, and slam back into her again and again.
The slapping sounds…I’ll never grow tired of them. An audible confirmation of the work I’m putting in. Between them and the moans from her lips, it’s like my own private symphony. A symphony I was born to conduct.
“Harder, Daddy,” she mewls. “Harder.”
I let go of her wrists and grab the headboard with one hand, lightly wrapping my fingers around her neck with the other. She loves it when I do that. Says it makes her feel small, vulnerable, and submissive, but she knows I would never do anything to actually hurt her.
Pumping deeper with my hips, I give her what she needs: hard, deep, relentless thrusts that drive her up the mattress.
The headboard starts to slam against the wall, so I wrap my knuckles around the backside to muffle it.
She reaches up, intertwining her fingers with mine while I fuck her with all I’ve got.
“Goddamn, baby. This pussy…” I grit through my teeth as sweat begins to form on my brow. “Five years on and it still squeezes me like the first time I fucked you. Like it was made only for me.”
She nods, finding her voice between a moan. “It was, Daddy. It was made for you.”
Knowing what she loves, I slide my hand between us and find her clit. That little nub with ten thousand nerve endings. The tender spot that brought us together the first time.
It only takes a moment before she breaks.
Her back arches off the bed, and her sweet cunt locks around my cock with such contractions that my vision starts to blur. Black darkens the edges of my eyes.
“Daddy…Daddy…Daddy…” she moans in a voice that is wrecked and desperate, wrapped up in the bliss of her release.
I know from reading her notebook that she loves when I keep the pressure on her clit, even when it’s too much. Even when it’s about to drive her past her limit.
So that’s what I do.
“Come on, baby, give me one more,” I tell her, switching the rhythm with my thumb, causing her body to jolt. “One more.”
“I–I can’t—” she stammers. But I know better.
“Yes, you can.” I shift my angle inside her, rutting deeply and thoroughly in a way that I know will stimulate her G-spot. I match the movements, my thumb and my cock working in tandem to bring her to the horizon once more.
I love watching her come. I love it.
“Be a good girl for Daddy,” I tell her. “Like you always do. Like you know you can.”
Her mouth drops, her eyes widen, and she goes off again, her whole-body twitching like she’s seizing. I feel the rush of warmth from her to me, the contractions as she squeezes my cock with her soaked channel.
I can’t hold back any longer. It’s always nearly impossible.
I bury myself as deep as I can go, and with a groan that seems to scrape my entire soul, I go off.
“I love you, Jessie. I love you.”
Our mutual orgasm empties me completely. My cock pulses inside her, wave after wave running hot and deep through my core. She holds me in a needy embrace, whispering my name over and over.
“August…August…”
I collapse beside her and pull her to my chest. Our breaths are both ragged, like we’ve run a triathlon. We lie there a while, our hearts pounding in a mutual rhythm. The house is quiet. James is sleeping. The night is ours.
“Daddy?”
“Hmm?”
“Can you hand me my notebook?”
Smiling, I lean over and pick up notebook number twelve from the nightstand. I hand it to her, and she opens to a blank page and starts writing. I just watch. I love watching her write. The way she concentrates, the way her eyebrows furrow, the delicate way she holds the pen. It’s adorable.
Once she finishes, she turns to me with that expression—the one that says she wants to read it to me. I simply smile.
“August undid me again. He always does. I come apart, and he somehow pushes me on, giving me more and making me take it. It’s incredible.
I used to think anatomy was just a scientific language we invented to describe the human body, but now I know that it’s more.
It just keeps going. Like our love. I’m going to need more notebooks to explain just how much I love him. ”
I look at her a long time, taking in the emotions swimming in her eyes. Then I take the pen and paper from her and start to write on my own.
But I don’t write much. Just a simple sentence: I love you more.
And I sign it.
She looks at what I’ve written, then back to me. “I don’t think that’s peer-reviewed,” she giggles.
“Oh, it doesn’t need to be,” I laugh, pulling her tighter against me. She tucks her head beneath my chin, and I cradle her, holding her the way I have for the last five years. Completely, irrevocably, and with the full certainty that I was put on Earth to protect her.
To make this woman happy.
As we both start to fall asleep, I hear the pen slide off onto the floor. But neither of us reaches for it. We don’t have anything else to write tonight.
THE END