Epilogue – Blake
Five years later.
“How do I look?”
“Like a DILF,” my wife answers from her spot at the kitchen island. She grins at me and winks, before busying herself with pulling tissue paper out of a gift bag sitting on the marble top.
Laughing gruffly, I cross the space between us until I can band my arms around her waist, burrowing my nose in the familiar scent of her golden blonde hair.
“That mouth of yours is so much trouble, sunshine,” I mutter, breathing her in. It never gets old that she’s mine, all mine.
Forever.
I stroke the wedding band that symbolises our union, tracing the engraved B bigger tits, fuller hips, the now silvery C-section scar beneath the little pooch at the bottom of her stomach, a reminder of how our son was bought into the world.
I know she’s miffed at herself. She’s told me on multiple occasions how she wishes she could love her body and all the things it does for her, all the things it has already done, but that she’s not quite there yet.
And that’s okay, I tell her.
I remind her how beautiful she is, how attracted to her I am, with my words, my tongue, my teeth and my hands.
“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanked off in my morning shower, picturing me painting this arse of yours with my cum. Wanna rub it into your skin. Mark you up.”
Calla hums, tipping her hips up to kiss mine.
Another loud bang sounds from upstairs, making me stop and strain my ears to hear for a yell, but when nothing comes of it, I continue.
“When we get back this afternoon, I’m gonna bend you over the bed, slide inside you and watch your arse bounce back and forth while your sweet little pussy grips me.” I slip a hand around Calla’s front, sliding it between our tightly packed bodies, to cup her the heat at the apex of her thighs.
“Blake…”
“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you scream my name.” I nose at her hairline. Having a toddler who’s in the middle of a sleep regression means when we do finally find time for our sexcapades, we have to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake August.
But not tonight.
“I like the sound of that,” my wife all but purrs.
I kiss her again, because I can, before I squeeze Calla’s hips and sidestep towards the refrigerator. Grabbing a pre-made smoothie from the bottom shelf, I straighten up and turn back to find my wife still staring at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “You just look very handsome.”
I furrow my brow playfully, fiddling with the backwards facing cap on my head. “Don’t I always?”
“Shush you. I mean it.”
Unscrewing the lid, I peer down at my t-shirt and shorts combo. It’s my usual attire, especially when the weather begins to warm up like it is right now, in the middle of May, but the writing splashed across my faded black t-shirt is new.
TEAM AUGUST.
“Do you think he’ll like it?”
Calla nods. “He’s going to love it.”
I take a swig of my smoothie, swallowing down the taste of tart berries and sweet apple juice.
“I’m nervous.”
“Nervous?” Calla looks up from where she’s resumed fiddling with the gift bag. “Why?”
I pop my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s his first proper football match and I just want him to have fun and—”
“If he’s anything like his dad…” My wife grins. It’s a running joke in our family that although August has Calla’s blue eyes, the rest of him is all me. My little carbon copy. “He’s going to have the best time.”
“Yeah, but if there’s any scuffles—”
“I hardly think so. They’re three.”
“Jenkin’s son just turned four.”
Calla places her hands on her hips and stares at me.
“Stop worrying, it’s going to be fine. He’s going to have the best time kicking that ball around, just like he does at training and then afterward he’s going to have the best time having a sleepover at Grey and Delilah’s.
It’s all he’s been talking about. Apparently, he and Archer are going to stay up all night. ”
“I’m sure Delilah will love that.” I smile, thinking about my sister-in-law trying to get August and her four-year-old son, Archer to sleep, whilst also soothing Archer’s one-year-old baby sister, Daphne.
“I’m sure she will,” Calla agrees.
I knock back another quarter of my liquid breakfast, before I use the neck of the bottle to gesture towards the gift bag.
“Who’s that for?”
Calla raises her gaze to meet mine. “You.”
“Me?”
“Mhm.” She bobs her head. “I was going to give it to you this evening, but you know I’m not any good with keeping surprises.”
I chuckle at that, reaching forward to grab the bag.
“Nuh uh.” My wife pulls it back, sending me a chastising look which really shouldn’t turn me on half as much as it does. “You have to wait.”
“Wait? For what? I thought you said—”
“Don’t. Move a muscle,” she warns, wagging her finger, before padding out of the kitchen.
I peer around the corner to see her standing at the foot of the stairs, shouting August’s name.
“Come here please, darling.”
“No!”
I raise my brows at her, smirking. “That’s all you.”
My wife flips me off, oh so maturely sticking her tongue out at me.
“Careful, sunshine. Stick your tongue out at me once more and you’ll be reaping the consequences tonight.”
Calla crooks a brow, gliding up three stairs, while whispering, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“August!” she calls, louder this time. “Don’t you want to give daddy his present before we leave for football?”
“Football!” I hear his excited yell, following by loud sound of his feet hitting the floor as he runs. No matter how much we tell him not to, he hardly listens.
Not a second later, our son appears at the top of the stairs, cheeks flushed red and grinning. He looks so grown up in his little t-shirt, black football shorts, knee high socks and trainers.
“Come on, little man.” Calla reaches out her hand for August to take, slowly leading him down the stairs one at a time. “Let’s surprise daddy before we go.”
I follow behind my two-favourite people in the entire world – my own little family – treading back into the kitchen.
“Up, Daddy!”
Grinning, I reach for August’s raised arms, balancing him on my side. He stays there for a minute, tiny fingers reaching for the clasp of my snapback before he wriggles away, plopping himself down onto the marble countertop.
“Daddy open!”
“Okay, mate.” I ruffle his dark brown hair. “You wanna help me?”
Smiling, he grabs at the tissue paper, accidentally knocking down the gift bag in his haste.
August’s lips form an ‘O’. “Uh oh.”
“Upsie daisie,” Calla coos, rightening the bag. “It’s alright, no harm, darling.”
Together, August and I pull another bundle of tissue paper out of the bag, until finally my fingers touch a soft material. I unfold it, my brain slowly catching on to how small the item of clothing is; much too small for August to fit into.
“I can’t wait to meet you, Daddy,” I read aloud, turning to my wife who has tears in her eyes and her hands clasped together at her chest. “Calla…”
“Daddy, here!” August thrusts two items into my chest before he wiggles to be put back down.
I peer down at the two blaringly positive pregnancy tests while Calla lets our son run freely, my heart beating a million miles an hour, banging against the protection of my ribcage.
“Surprise!” Calla smiles, her voice watery with tears.
I think I let out a choked sound, wrapping my arms around her waist and bringing her to my body. I kiss the top of her head, her temple, her nose, her lips, tasting the salt from our tears.
Placing a hand on my wife’s still flat stomach, I ask, “How far along are you?”
“I’d say about six weeks.” She tips her head to the digital pregnancy test. “But we’ll have to wait for the doctor’s appointment to be sure.”
I nod, my cheeks aching with the force of my grin. “Does anyone else know?”
Calla peers into my face. “Delilah and Gee. They were both here when I took the test on girl’s night in.”
“Girl’s night in? That was a week ago. You’ve known—”
“I’ve known about a week,” my wife bobs her head, “and I’ve been dying to tell you. I thought you’d notice when I got this.”
Calla holds her slim wrist aloft, allowing the buttery sunlight cascading through our French doors to hit her charm bracelet; the same one I bought for her all those years ago the night of the charity gala, when we weren’t even really dating.
Now, her bracelet is rather full, important milestones dotted along her wrist; our engagement, our wedding, our first Christmas as a married couple, anniversaries, the birth of our son…
And, there, beside the horseshoe charm I bought her last birthday, a symbol of good luck, hangs a small set of baby shoes.
“You’ve been wearing that for a week?”
Calla nods, giggling. “I went out and bought it the very next day, when I went to return those shoes of August’s that didn’t fit. I don’t know how you missed it.”
Me neither. Every night before we fall asleep, I kiss Calla’s bracelet, her rings and then her lips.
“Another baby,” I wonder out loud, excitement bubbling in the pit of my stomach. “I can’t wait.”
My wife places her small hand atop of mine, which still rests on her stomach. “Me too.”
I tip my head to the source of the loud clattering in our living room. “How do you think he’s going to react to being a big brother?”
“After he gets over the shock of having to share everything?”
I huff out a laugh at that. Our son may be many things – kind, clever, sporty – but he hasn’t quite grasped sharing yet.
“Other than that, I think he’s going to be amazing. Just like his daddy.”
I lay my lips upon Calla’s, pouring my love and devotion for her into our kiss. “Thank you.”
She shakes her head, wordlessly. I don’t have to tell her what I’m thanking her for; she already knows. For believing in me, for loving me, for standing by me and giving me a family of my own.
“I love you,” she replies with a soft smile.
I kiss her again, because I can, tucking a lock of her golden blonde hair behind her ear. I wonder if it’s a girl, if our daughter will have blonde locks just like her mother.
“I love you too, sunshine.”
THE END.