EPILOGUE
One week later…
“I s there anything you can’t do?” My awe swivels between Colton and the golden turkey he’s about to try pulling from the oven. “Other than lift that yourself.”
“I can handle it.” He frowns when I nudge him out of the way.
“Nope, doctor’s orders. I got her in there. That’s how she’s getting out.” I breathe through my mouth while hefting the sizable load onto the cooktop.
“Thanks, Princess.” My husband doesn’t look too pleased with me still babying him. “But don’t give me too much praise yet. We gotta check if she’s moist.”
I gag, slapping a palm over my mouth. “That’s such a gross word.”
He furrows his brows. “But we want our turkey to be moist.”
Spud and our six other dogs woof from the hallway in agreement.
“No, please stop.”
After setting the heavy load onto the cooktop, Colton’s head tilts at me. “How about juicy?”
“Better.” But I’m still gulping down excessive amounts of saliva.
My husband lifts his shoulders. “Either way, we don’t want it dry.”
It doesn’t make a difference to me. I don’t want to tell him, but the smell of cooked meat is making me nauseous. Everyone else will gladly devour the bird. Bile rises up my throat at the thought and I choke it down. Colton notices, rubbing my back in soothing circles.
“You okay?”
“Mhmm,” I mumble. “Just taking it all in.”
But he’s not convinced. His gaze searches for any sign of upset. “Do you need to rest?”
That earns him a gentle swat from the dish towel. A giggle distracts from my queasy stomach. “Quit fussing over me and worry about your feast.”
“Need help carving?” Brody’s offer comes from the living room where he’s lounging unapologetically.
“As if you’re getting off your butt,” I sass.
“One of us needs to lend a hand. I’d hate to see you break a nail.”
My tongue sticks out at him even though he can’t see me. “It doesn’t count if you don’t mean it.”
“Come give me a push and I’ll be right there. Your sofa is too comfortable.” His broad bulk slouches lower into the cushions.
“Gonna need a forklift to remove you.” I imitate the beeping of the heavy machinery.
“We’re good,” Colton tells Brody to end the debate.
My brother gives a thumbs-up before returning his focus to the football game. Dad sits beside him on the left and Paisley flanks his right. It’s a beautiful image—one I capture with a quick photo. I’m starting to clutter our walls with framed memories. The only person missing is Mom.
Well, that’s not entirely true. Our cousins couldn’t make it. Chance’s response didn’t surprise me, but Byron and Frankie were another story. When I asked the grumpy single dad what the deal was, he said something about a flight risk and hung up. Less mouths for us to feed.
Colton groans, which clenches my vagina walls in eager acceptance. At least until the thick aroma of steamy poultry assaults my nostrils. Another smooth slice cuts deeper into the roasted turkey, boosting his joy higher.
“Look at that, Princess.” Pride shines in his voice. “Extra juicy.”
The urge to hurl lurches me forward. “Umm, that’s… great. Almost ready to serve? I’ll pour the drinks.”
Bottles of wine and sparkling apple juice get gripped in my whitened knuckles as I try to get ahold of myself.
The gurgles in my gut slowly fade when I get space from the smelly scene.
After the glasses are full, I toss a few ginger mints into my mouth.
The taste settles my sickness immediately.
I dare to inhale, discovering I can breathe without the threat of vomiting.
Relief has me grinning at my husband, but then I’m struck by a very intense craving.
His tattooed arms flex from the force of slicing and plating.
Sweat glistens on his forehead, sparking a fever in my lower belly.
A soft whimper dribbles free as he gets started on scooping the mashed potatoes.
I blindly reach out for support, curling my fingers around the top of a chair. Damn, he’s sexy.
I glance over my shoulder. The three on the couch are still distracted by the football game. Maybe I can steal Colton away for a halftime show of our own. There hasn’t been nearly enough sex in our marriage and I’m ready to fix that.
Our honeymoon officially starts after Christmas.
We decided to wait until after the holiday season.
Colton lightly suggested we could host Thanksgiving a few days late due to the recent upheavals in our routines.
In that same speech, my overly considerate husband made sure to spell out that he’d handle all the preparations.
I’m barely pregnant, but he’s already acting like I should constantly have my feet up.
Right now, I’d love to be folded like laundry with my ankles at my ears while he—
A soft touch to my shoulder rouses me from the filthy fantasy that doesn’t belong in this setting. “Are you feeling well? You’re really flushed, Bee.”
I swipe at my chin, not bothering to peek over at Paisley. “Super hungry.”
Brody lumbers over with the grace of a buffalo. “Good thing we’re ready to eat.”
“I think you should all leave,” I mumble under my breath.
Dad balks. “What?”
The shock in his voice slaps the hussy trying to invade me. “Please take a seat.”
He chuckles. “That’s not what I heard the first time. Shoot, gotta get my ears checked.”
A fire spreads across my face as I dash into the kitchen, grabbing the beans and salad. Colton follows with the rest. I claim the chair next to him, snagging his hand in mine.
“What a spread!” Dad rubs his hands together before patting his stomach. “We’re eating well tonight.”
Colton nods, a hint of a smile lifting his lips. “Thanks for coming to our home. It means a lot. Can’t properly describe how much.”
Brody lifts his drink toward him. “Nowhere else we’d rather be, brother.”
My husband sits at the head of our table, surrounded by family and love. There’s an unmistakable sheen in his eyes as he looks at our circle gathered to celebrate. Nobody else notices, but I rarely miss a thing these days when it comes to this man.
Colton is finally getting the life he deserves and we’re just getting started.
One month later…
“Bianca,” I rasp while bucking my hips. “Please.”
But she wags her finger. “Not yet.”
The buzzing starts again. It sends an electric spark along my spine and I arch against the invisible binds. A frustrated grunt voices my complaint, but the woman spread in front of me only smiles.
My gaze feasts on Bianca stuffing her cunt full of silicone cock. She hasn’t allowed me to touch her in at least five minutes. The last contact we exchanged was a quick swipe of her tongue along my Jacob’s Ladder. I’m allowed to watch, but I can’t join in. Not until she gives me permission.
Pregnancy hormones have her constantly ravenous.
It’s made our honeymoon extremely pleasurable for both of us.
Bianca is sentimental at heart, much like me.
It was an easy decision to redo her dream vacation and return to Europe.
We haven’t made it much farther than our bedroom in this Paris suite that overlooks the Pont de Arts bridge.
My wife has decided to recreate the scene where I overheard her masturbating. In this version, I’m in a chair at the foot of the bed with a direct view of her actions.
The pink vibrator I bought thrusts in and out of her pussy in a languid pace meant to seduce. My cock weeps in desperation. Her performance could get me off in one stroke if she allowed me to touch myself. But that’s against the rules.
Bianca loves to push me to the limit. I beg for relief that she refuses to grant. Her teasing edges me to the point of madness. We’ve expanded our sexual horizons together and I’m appreciating our joint effort.
These power dynamics she plays get me hard instantly.
Toss in the fact Bianca has become more adventurous and I’m blowing my load constantly.
The wood creaks beneath me as I rock frantically with her rhythm.
It does little to ease the pressure in my balls.
She pushes the dildo deeper into her pussy, moaning loudly as the toy hits the spot.
My dick throbs in complaint, but I don’t move my hands from their grip on the armrests.
Bianca rocks her hips. The motion grants me a shameless glance at her bottom. We’ve been prepping her ass for anal. The plug I sunk into her tight hole earlier is taunting me. There’s a distinct clench in my balls. I clamp my jaw shut before a curse can spill free.
My wife thrusts the vibrator in deep. “Where do you wanna come, Stalker?”
“Don’t care.” My voice is rushed. Urgent. It matches the rapid pace of my pulse.
Bianca tsks. “That’s not a very good answer. You’re a bad boy.”
“No,” I blurt. “Please let me come.”
Her cunt squeezes the silicone as if wishing for my cock. “Tell me where.”
My wild gaze rakes over the three options. Her tits are too sensitive. It honestly doesn’t matter since I’m seconds away from exploding. But I can’t deny my desire for the untraveled.
“Your ass.”
She grins. “That’s my good boy.”
I tremble from the praise. “Now?”
Her scoff scolds me. “Try again.”
“Can I please fuck your ass?”
Bianca squirms on the mattress. “Will you be gentle?”
I chomp on my bottom lip, knowing what she needs to hear. “No.”
“You always give me what I need,” she croons.
My legs shake when I stand, daring to break the restraints. “Are you ready for me, Princess?”
She nods and grinds against the bed. “Claim my ass as yours. I need to feel you there.”
Renewed conviction ripples through me. That’s all I needed to hear. My fingers pull the toy from her ass. The progress we’ve made gapes at me while I lube my girth. There’s a pulse in my balls that warns me this won’t take long.