Extended Epilogue #2
"Shh," Jarvis says. He tilts her face up. "We don't need you to perform. We just need you to let us love you."
He kisses her slow and deep, not hungry the way it used to be when we first claimed her. Hungrier, maybe, but quieter. Like he has all the time in the world, like he knows exactly where she is and where she'll be tomorrow and the day after that.
I watch them. My hand stays on her knee. Then I slide it up, under the hem of her dress, finding the soft skin of her inner thigh. She whimpers into Jarvis's mouth.
I don't rush. I never rush anymore. I have learned that the best things with Jolie happen when you take your time.
Jarvis unbuttons the front of her dress.
One button. Two. Three. Her breasts spill out, heavy and full, and I see the wet circles already forming on her bra.
She's full. She's always full. Even after five years, she produces more than the twins can drink.
We help her drain twice a day, sometimes three. It's the best part of my life
Jarvis pulls the cup down. He takes her nipple into his mouth and sucks.
She moans, her head falling back against the couch as I watch her face while he drinks from her.
The relief is instant—I see it in the way her shoulders drop, her lips part, her hips shift restlessly.
I lean in and kiss her neck, then her collarbone, then the swell of her other breast where she's leaking in slow, steady drips.
I catch them with my tongue. She tastes the same—sweet and thick and perfect.
Better now, maybe, because I know what it means, what it cost her, and what it gives us.
"You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Jarvis murmurs against her skin. He switches sides, latching onto her other breast, and she cries out softly. "Nothing's changed. Not one thing."
"You gave us everything," I say against her throat, my hand moving higher to find the wetness between her legs. She's soaked—always soaked for us. "A family, a home, a reason to keep building instead of just collecting."
She turns her head and kisses me, clumsy and desperate and perfect. Her tongue slides against mine, and I taste her tears, not sad ones but overwhelmed ones, the kind that come when you're so full of love you don't know where to put it.
Jarvis lifts his head with milk glistening on his chin and looks at me over her shoulder, giving me a small nod. We don't need words anymore. We haven't for years.
I slide my fingers inside her, and she gasps as her body clamps down on me immediately. I work her slow, curling my fingers until I find the spot that makes her toes curl. Jarvis holds her breasts and kneads them gently, catching the overflow with his thumbs.
"Come for us," I whisper against her ear. "Just like this. No rush. No performance. Just let go."
She does. The orgasm rolls through her in soft, deep waves, not the violent explosions of our early days but something steadier that lasts longer.
Her body pulses around my fingers while milk spills from her breasts onto Jarvis's hands, and she sobs with relief.
When she's done, she's limp and boneless.
Jarvis cradles her against his chest, and I pull my hand free before wrapping my arms around both of them.
We sit there for a long time. The apartment is quiet. The restaurant hums below us, the refrigerators cycling on and off, the building settling. It is the sound of our life. The sound of everything we built.
Jolie shifts and sits up slightly, her hand moving to her own stomach as she presses her palm flat against the soft curve of her belly. She looks at Jarvis, then at me.
"I have something to tell you," she whispers.
My heart stops. I don't know why. Maybe because her voice sounds different, or because she's touching her stomach the same way she did five years ago when she told us the first time.
"What?" Jarvis asks. His voice is thick.
"I'm pregnant again," she says. "A boy."
The room goes still.
Jarvis physically freezes. I see it happen—his hands stop moving, his breath stops, and his eyes drop to her stomach before snapping back to her face.
"Say it again," he says.
"I'm pregnant," she repeats, her voice stronger this time. "I wanted to be sure before I told you. The doctor confirmed it yesterday. Fifteen weeks. It's a boy."
I don't remember moving. One second I'm on the couch, and the next I'm wrapping my arms around her from behind, my hands finding their way to the soft curve of her stomach. I rest my chin on her shoulder and hold her close, feeling the warmth of her body against mine.
"A boy," I murmur against her ear. "A son. Our son."
I press a kiss to her cheek, then her neck, my hands still cradling the swell of her belly. "Hey, little man. We're your daddies, and we've been waiting for you."
I feel her hands cover mine, both of us shaking as we hold the future between us.
Jarvis steps forward and places his hands over hers, his fingers brushing against mine as we all hold her growing belly together.
"We're having another son," he says.
"We're not done yet," Jolie says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "I want more. A big family. This house full of noise and chaos and love. I want everything."
"We'll give you everything," I say. "Everything you want. Everything you need."
The restaurant is quiet below us, the twins asleep down the hall, the city dark outside the windows.
But in this room and in this moment, everything is bright.