Epilogue #2
Jett stands up, wiping his face with his sleeve, then leans down and kisses me. It's soft.
"How long have you known?" he asks.
"Today," I say. "I took the first test this afternoon."
"You should have called us," Jett says. But there's no anger in it.
"I wanted to see your faces," I say. "I wanted to be sure."
Jarvis shifts beneath me, and I can feel him getting hard. It's instant and automatic, his body responding to the news before his brain can catch up. His hand stays on my stomach, but his other hand slides up my back under my sweater, pressing me closer.
"I need you," he says. His voice is a growl now. "Right now. Right here."
"Jarvis, I'm pregnant," I say. "We have to be careful."
"We'll be careful," he says. "But I need to be inside you. I need to feel you. I need to know this is real."
Jett moves behind the chair. His hands find my shoulders. He massages them, working out the tension I didn't know I was holding.
"We both need you," Jett murmurs against my ear. "Let us show you what this means. Let us worship you."
Jarvis stands up with me still in his arms. He carries me to the office door. He presses my back against it. His mouth crashes into mine, hot and desperate and so full of love it steals my breath. His hand stays on my stomach, spread wide, protecting what's his even as he claims what's his.
Jett moves behind me, his body pressing against my back and his hands sliding under my sweater to cup my breasts. They're swollen and tender, and I gasp when he touches them, milk beading immediately and wetting his palms.
"She's already leaking," Jett says. "Her body's changing. Getting ready."
"Good," Jarvis growls against my lips. "Her body knows what to do. It was made for this, for us, for our family."
He pulls my leggings down until they bunch around my ankles. He pulls my leggings down until they bunch around my ankles, then slides my panties off and tosses them aside. Jarvis groans when he finds me bare.
"Always ready," he says. "Always wet for us."
He unzips his jeans and pulls himself out, hard and thick and already wet at the tip.
He lifts me slightly with his hands under my thighs and pushes inside.
I cry out, the door hard against my back, Jarvis deep and filling me.
The angle is different because he's holding me up and supporting my weight as he starts to move, slow and careful, but his eyes are wild.
"Look at me," he commands. "Don't look away."
I look at his face, fierce and possessive, terrifying and safe all at once.
"You're carrying my baby," he says. "My baby. Do you know what that does to me? Do you know what that means?"
"It means I'm yours," I whisper.
"It means you're everything," he says. "It means I would burn the world down before I let anything hurt you. Either of you."
He thrusts deeper. I moan. Jett's hands are still on my breasts, milking them, squeezing gentle streams that run down my stomach. He leans around me and catches some with his tongue, lapping it up while Jarvis moves inside me.
The combination is too much—the relief of finally telling them, the fear melting into joy, and the way they look at me like I'm sacred now. Not just desired. Sacred.
Jarvis shifts his grip, carrying me away from the door while still inside me, and walks to the desk. He clears it with one arm, papers flying and the laptop sliding to the edge, then lays me down on the wood with my back flat and legs spread as he looks at me.
"My pregnant girl," he says. "Look at you. Look how beautiful you are."
Jett climbs onto the desk. He kneels beside my head. His cock is out, hard and straining. I turn my head and take him into my mouth. He groans, his hand stroking my hair, and he starts to move with shallow thrusts while Jarvis resumes his rhythm between my legs.
They are gentler than ever before. Jarvis's thrusts are slow and deep, rolling his hips instead of snapping them, and Jett's hand in my hair is soft without pulling. They treat me like I'm fragile, precious, the vessel for their future that they can't bear to break.
But the need is still there. Beneath the gentleness, there's a hunger that scares and thrills me. They want this, want me, want the baby growing inside me, and the wanting makes them bigger and harder and more desperate with every stroke.
"You're going to get so big," Jett pants. "Your belly's going to swell with our child. Your breasts are going to get heavy with milk. And we're going to take care of you. Every day. Every night."
"You're going to be so full," Jarvis adds. His hand is back on my stomach, pressing lightly, feeling where he is inside me. "Full of us. Full of our baby. Full of everything we give you."
I moan around Jett's cock. I can feel my orgasm building, not sharp and violent like usual, but deep and warm, spreading through my pelvis like honey.
"Come," Jarvis commands. "Come for us, little mama. Let us feel you."
I do. The orgasm rolls through me in soft, endless waves as my body clamps down on Jarvis in rhythmic pulses, making him groan. He thrusts deep and holds there, flooding me with heat, his release hot and thick inside me.
Jett pulls out of my mouth with a wet sound, stroking himself once before spilling across my stomach, his release warm and stark against my skin.
I look down at where it lands, just above the flat plane of my belly, and I feel the weight of it—a visible claim on the life growing inside me.
Jarvis presses his hand over the spot, his palm warm and heavy, covering both Jett's mark and the invisible beginning of our child.
Jarvis collapses forward. His elbows bracket my head. He kisses me, soft and slow, tasting like love and salt and forever.
"Are you okay?" he asks. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," I say. "You didn't hurt me. You never hurt me."
He lifts his head, his eyes suspiciously wet again as he looks at Jett, then back at me.
"We're going to be fathers," he says. Like he's testing the words.
"Yes," I say.
"And you're going to be a mother," Jett adds. He's smiling so wide it must hurt his face.
"I'm scared," I admit. The truth slips out. "I don't know how to be a mother. Mine wasn't... she wasn't around. What if I'm like her? What if I choose this place over the baby? What if I..."
"Stop," Jarvis says, his voice firm. "You are not your mother. You are Jolie, and you're going to be the kind of mother who knows what it feels like to be left behind. That means you will never do it—not to this baby, not to us, not to yourself."
He kisses my forehead. Then my nose. Then my lips.
"We're going to figure it out together," Jett says, wiping his release and my milk from my chest with a napkin from the desk drawer. "All three of us. Four of us now. We're a team, and teams don't leave."
I look up at the ceiling. The office is a mess. Papers are scattered everywhere, the laptop hangs off the edge of the desk, and my leggings are bunched around one ankle. I'm covered in them, filled by them, owned by them.
And now I'm carrying their child.
I start laughing. It bubbles up out of nowhere, hysterical and relieved and so happy it hurts.
"What?" Jett asks, grinning.
"I just realized," I say. "I'm going to get huge. And moody. And I'm going to cry at commercials. And you're both stuck with me."
Jarvis smiles, a real smile that transforms his whole face from stern to devastating.
"We're not stuck," he says. "We're home."
He pulls out slowly, and I whimper at the loss. Then he lifts me off the desk and holds me against his chest. Jett moves in behind me, wrapping his arms around both of us.
We stand there for a long time. The restaurant is quiet around us. The chandelier in the dining room is off. The streetlights cast shadows through the windows. But in this office, in this moment, everything is bright.
Jarvis places his hand on my belly again. His palm is warm and huge and steady.
"Our babies," he says. His voice is thick. "Daddy's going to take such good care of both of you. Both of you are mine."
I close my eyes and let myself sink into this moment, into them, into the life we're building. The calendar is full, forever started three months ago, and now it just got bigger.
I press my hand over theirs, feeling the shape of our future beneath my palm, and I know—this is where I belong. This is where I was always meant to be.