Epilogue
Maya:
Six months later:
“Happy birthday, princess,” Jack whispers in my ear, his warm breath sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “Twenty-two. You’re getting so old.”
I laugh, swatting playfully at his arm. “Shut up. You’re practically ancient.
” I lean my head against his shoulder, my eyes sweeping over the opulent dining room of La Lune.
The crystal chandeliers cast a soft, romantic glow over the white linen tablecloths and polished silver.
It’s the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever been in, and I feel ridiculously out of place in my simple blue dress, even though Jack tells me I look beautiful. Which he does constantly.
He drapes an arm across the back of my chair, while his other hand rests possessively on my pregnant belly.
My baby bump is only just starting to show, but he can’t ever keep his hands off it.
Jack’s thumb strokes a slow circle over the spot, a small, intimate gesture that makes my heart ache with love.
“Are you enjoying your dinner?” he asks, his blue eyes soft in the candlelight.
“It’s amazing,” I say, taking another sip of my sparkling water. “But you didn’t have to bring me somewhere this nice.”
“Yes, I did,” he says, his voice serious. “It’s your birthday. And I wanted to celebrate you. You and our baby.” He leans in, his lips brushing against my temple. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, Maya.”
My throat tightens with emotion. This past six months with him have been a dream.
A frantic, passionate, sometimes overwhelming dream, but a dream nonetheless.
I moved in with him the day after that night in his office, and we haven’t spent a single night apart since.
He’s insatiable, my Jack. He can’t seem to get enough of me, and the feeling is more than mutual.
He worships my body, especially my breasts, and their constant supply of milk.
He still nurses from me every night before we go to sleep, and sometimes in the morning when we wake up, and occasionally in the middle of the day, on the big leather couch in his office, or even once, in a secluded corner of a park, hidden by the shade of an old oak tree while we were out for a walk.
The waiter clears our plates, and I lean back in my chair, my belly full and my heart even fuller. Jack’s hand is still on my stomach, a warm, steady presence. He’s been quiet for the last few minutes, a strange, contemplative look on his face.
“What is it?” I ask, my brow furrowed with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything is... perfect.” He takes a deep breath, and then he’s pushing his chair back, the legs scraping softly against the floor. He gets down on one knee beside me.
A collective gasp goes through the dining room. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is stare at him, at the man I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, on one knee in front of me.
“Maya,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion.
“You are the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful woman I have ever known. You’ve given me a love I never thought was possible, and now you’re giving me a child, a family.
I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t want to.
I want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life.
So... Maya, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? ”
He opens a small, black velvet box, and inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, is the most beautiful ring I have ever seen. A huge, glittering diamond on a simple platinum band. It’s perfect. He’s perfect.
Tears are streaming down my face, but I don’t care. I’m laughing and crying at the same time, my joy so immense that it’s overwhelming.
“Yes,” I gasp, nodding frantically. “Yes! Of course, yes!”
A huge, brilliant smile breaks out across his face, and the entire restaurant erupts in applause.
He slides the ring onto my finger, and it fits perfectly.
He stands up and pulls me into his arms, crushing me against his chest, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar, masculine scent.
“I love you,” he whispers, his lips against my hair. “So much.”
“I love you too,” I sob, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
We stand there for a long moment, wrapped in our own little bubble of happiness, the polite applause of the other diners a distant hum.
Then Jack pulls back slightly, his hands on my waist. His eyes are dark, the blue almost completely swallowed by his pupils.
The look on his face is one I know intimately.
It’s that look he gets when he wants me, when he’s starving for me.
“We’re leaving,” he says, his voice a low, rough growl that sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core. “Now.”
Before I can even process what’s happening, he’s throwing a handful of bills on the table, more than enough to cover our meal and a very generous tip. He takes my hand and starts pulling me towards the exit.
“Jack!” I giggle, stumbling a little in my heels as I try to keep up with his long strides. “Slow down!”
He doesn’t listen. We burst out of the restaurant and into the cool night air.
His grip on my hand is tight, possessive, and my heart is pounding with a mixture of excitement and exertion.
He doesn’t lead me to the passenger side of his black SUV.
Instead, he opens the back door and gently but firmly pushes me inside, sliding in right after me and pulling the door shut behind us.
The tinted windows plunge the small space into shadow, hiding us from the world. I’m grateful for it, because the look in Jack’s eyes tells me I’m not going to want anyone else seeing what’s about to happen.
He doesn’t say a word. He just reaches for me, pulling me onto his lap.
I’m straddling him, my knees sinking into the plush leather seat on either side of his powerful thighs.
My dress rides up around my hips, leaving my bare, wet folds pressed against the rough fabric of his slacks.
I can feel him, already hard and insistent, pressing against me.
“God, I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he growls. “Watching you, all glowing and beautiful, carrying my baby... knowing what’s waiting for me underneath this dress... I’ve been hard as a rock since the moment I saw you.”
His hands are on my waist, then sliding up my back.
He finds the zipper of my dress and pulls it down in one smooth, sure motion.
The cool night air kisses my skin as he pushes the top of my dress down, baring my breasts to the dim light filtering through the windows.
They’re heavy and full, my nipples already pebbled, beaded with tiny droplets of milk in anticipation.
“All through dinner,” he murmurs, his gaze fixed on my chest, “all I could think about was this. About you.” He leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over my skin. “I’ve been dying for your milk, princess.”
And then his mouth is on me.
He latches onto my left breast, the pull of his lips firm and greedy, and the familiar, intense jolt of pleasure shoots through me, straight to my core. I gasp as the warm flow of my milk lets down, and I can feel him swallowing, hear the guttural sounds of satisfaction he makes against my skin.
As always, the feeling of his mouth, the absolute hunger he has for me, makes my body respond in the most shameless way.
A deep, throbbing ache begins to build between my legs, a desperate emptiness that only he can fill.
He switches to my other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, and the ache intensifies, becoming a demanding pulse. I need him inside me. Now.
I can’t wait another second.
My hands, trembling with urgency, fumble with the button and zipper of his slacks. I reach inside the opening, my fingers brushing against the hard, hot length of him. He groans against my breast as I wrap my hand around his thick shaft, pulling him free from the confines of his pants.
He’s hard as steel, the velvety skin stretched tight over the rigid flesh.
A bead of pearly precum glistens at the tip, and I use my thumb to spread it over the head, making him shudder.
He lifts his head from my breast, his lips glistening with my milk, and his blue eyes burn with a need so intense it steals my breath.
“Go ahead, princess,” he says, his voice firm and commanding. “Take what you need. Slide yourself down on my cock and make yourself come all over me.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I rise up on my knees, positioning him at my entrance.
I purposely didn’t wear any panties tonight, just in case, and now I’m so grateful.
I’m so wet, so ready for him, that the head of his cock slides into me easily, stretching me, filling me in the most exquisite way.
I sink down slowly, my head falling back on a moan as he impales me, inch by thick inch. The feeling of being so completely filled by him, of him stretching me so perfectly, is overwhelming. I love it. I love the slight ache, the way my body has to yield to him, the way he owns every inch of me.
Once he’s buried to the hilt, I pause, savoring the sensation. But Jack isn’t in the mood to savor. He’s hungry. He latches onto my breast again, his mouth hot and greedy, and the pull of his lips sends a fresh wave of liquid heat through my veins.
I can’t hold back anymore. I need to move.
I start to ride him, lifting myself up and then sliding back down, my movements slow and deliberate at first. The drag of his thick shaft against my sensitive inner walls is heaven.
But soon, slow and deliberate isn’t enough.
I need more. I need faster. I need harder.
I begin to ride him frantically, my hands gripping his shoulders for leverage, my hips rising and falling in a desperate, needy rhythm.
The car is filled with the sounds of our lovemaking - the wet slap of my skin against his, my breathy moans, his low growls of pleasure, the soft, sucking sounds of his mouth as he nurses from me, unable to get enough.
“Jack,” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Oh God, Jack.”
He thrusts up to meet me, his powerful hips driving into me, matching my frantic rhythm. The force of his thrusts pushes me higher, until I’m crying out with each stroke, my body on fire.
“That’s it, princess,” he growls against my skin, switching to my other breast. “Ride my cock. Show me how much you need it.”
I do. I throw my head back, my blonde hair spilling over my shoulders, and I ride him like my life depends on it, chasing the pleasure that’s coiling tighter and tighter in my belly, a white-hot knot of sensation.
He’s still nursing, his hands gripping my hips, guiding my movements, helping me take him deeper. I can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are straining, the way he’s starting to lose his rhythm. He’s close, too.
“Come for me, princess,” he commands, his voice a low, guttural rasp. “Come all over my cock. Milk me dry.”
The combination of his dirty words and the desperate, possessive pull of his mouth as he latches back onto my breast is enough to push me over the edge.
The knot in my belly finally snaps, and my orgasm crashes over me, a blinding, all-consuming wave of pleasure.
My whole body convulses, my inner walls clamping down on him, milking his cock as I scream his name, a hoarse, broken cry that’s swallowed by the shadows of the car.
With a loud moan, he follows me over the edge. I feel him pulse inside me, and then a flood of heat as he spills himself deep within me, filling me with his seed. He thrusts up into me once, twice, three more times, his movements jerky and uncoordinated as he empties himself completely.
And then it’s over. I collapse against him, my body boneless and spent, my head resting on his shoulder, my breath coming in ragged gasps. His arms come around me, holding me tight, one hand splayed possessively on my back, the other tangled in my hair, holding my head to him.
“I love you so fucking much, Maya,” he whispers against my hair, his voice thick with emotion. “My beautiful, perfect wife-to-be.”
I lift my head, a tired but blissful smile on my face. I look at him, at my Jack, his face handsome and flushed in the dim light, a stray drop of my milk glistening on his lip. I reach up and wipe it away with my thumb, then bring it to my own lips.
“I love you too, Jack,” I whisper, my heart so full it feels like it might burst. “More than anything.”