Epilogue
Two Years Later
Paris
The fire crackles and spits, filling the room with the faint smell of smoke and pine.
My mom’s laughter rings from the couch, colliding with Dad’s booming voice as they argue—again, about whether the stuffing should have sage or not.
Myles sits next to me in the old leather loveseat, a glass of whiskey balanced easily in his hand, watching them with that faint smirk he always gets when he’s amused but won’t admit it.
God, he looks so good here in the home we’ve built together. Broad shoulders stretching his shirt, jaw rough with evening stubble, one scar catching the firelight like a secret only I know the story to. He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t have to. His presence is loud all on its own.
Mom clinks her glass, calling everyone to attention. “Alright. It’s that time again.” Even though this is the first Thanksgiving Myles and I are hosting in our home, it still feels right that Mom should be the one to kick off our tradition.
Dad groans, pretending to be annoyed, but he takes the lead, as usual. Something about good health and his garden that refuses to grow tomatoes. Mom rolls her eyes and adds her piece, something sentimental that includes a fond memory of Tonia.
I meet my husband’s eyes and smile softly.
My sister will always be with us, in a way, but over the past few years I’ve started to finally find some peace.
Just like Myles’s nightmares are eased by my presence in our bed, he’s also helped me process my grief about my sister’s death in a way that I hadn’t thought possible before.
He says I’m the light in his darkness, but he brightens my life too.
Then it’s Myles’s turn.
He doesn’t even hesitate. Just turns his head, pins me with those glacier-blue eyes. “I’m thankful for my wife,” he says simply, his eyes never leaving mine.
Mom lets out an exaggerated sigh and Dad grunts, trying but failing to hide the pride in his eyes. My cheeks heat like the fire’s jumped from the hearth to my skin, and I duck my head, pressing my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
Even after two years, Myles still knows how to undo me without even trying.
When it’s my turn, I grip the stem of my wineglass, suddenly nervous. “I’m thankful for my new job,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. “Being a school counselor…it’s more rewarding than I ever expected. The kids remind me every day why I chose this path.”
Mom beams. Dad pats his chest proudly.
But I don’t want to stop there. My hand drifts unconsciously to my stomach. A secret pulse thrums under my palm. I almost say it, almost let it slip out into the warm glow of the fire and the laughter.
I’m thankful for the life growing inside me.
The words burn at the back of my throat, desperate, insistent, but I swallow them down. Not now. Not like this.
Myles shifts, his gaze never leaving me. One eyebrow quirks, curious. I squeeze his hand, offering a smile I can’t quite contain. His thumb brushes my knuckles, steady, grounding, and that rare smile spreads across his face, one he only ever gives me.
Heat curls low in my belly, and my heart tightens. He has no idea, but he will. Soon.
Next Thanksgiving, he won’t just be thankful for me.
We’ll both be thankful for our little family.
Later, when the house has gone quiet and my parents are tucked away in the guest room, I’m rinsing dishes at the sink when I feel him at my back. His heat presses into me before he even touches me. Then his arms band around my waist, his mouth at my neck, his growl vibrating against my skin.
“I missed you all damn day.”
My breath catches, dish forgotten in the suds. “Myles,” I say with a laugh. “We’ve been together all day.”
His lips drag lower, teeth scraping lightly at my collarbone, and I shiver in response. “I’ve had to share you with other people all day.”
I smirk, daring, tilting my head to catch his sharp eyes. “Are you…jealous?”
“Careful, little girl,” he says with a warning growl.
Before I can respond, he scoops me up in one smooth, possessive motion. I squeak, wrapping my legs around his waist. He bounces me playfully in his arms then heads down the hall, past our bedroom to the very last door—the one that opens to our secret world.
Our playroom.
The lock clicks open, and he lowers me onto the cool sheets of the custom-built bed. Myles cages me in with his body, his mouth finding mine in a demanding, drugging kiss. His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back, deepening the kiss until I’m dizzy with his taste.
“You drive me insane, Paris,” he rasps, voice thick with need. “And the only cure I’ve got is owning every inch of you.”
His mouth trails lower, to my throat, my collarbone, the swell of my breast through the thin cotton I changed into earlier. His palm slides down my ribs, deliberate, possessive, pinning me with touch alone.
I arch into him, needy already, but he shakes his head, tutting against my skin. “Not yet. You know better.”
God help me, I do. My whole body burns at his control.
His lips close around a nipple, wet heat soaking through the fabric before he drags the shirt up and over my head in one sharp move. He pins my wrists above me with one hand, the other stroking down my stomach, over my hip, claiming, teasing, promising more.
“Say it.” His voice is gravel and fire.
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, already trembling.
A wicked smile cuts across his handsome face, and then he lowers his mouth to my neck, trailing kisses to my shoulder and arms. I want more. He knows it, but he’s stalling intentionally because he wants me to beg.
“Myles—” I moan breathlessly, arching impatiently into him.
“Quiet,” he growls, low and dark. “You don’t talk unless I let you. You know the rules in here.”
My pulse thrums hard in my ears. The rules. The ones he set the first night he gifted this room to me. Rules that have become my anchor, my freedom in disguise.
I nod, lips parted. “Yes, Sir.”
He releases my wrists only to stand, towering over me. He strides to the dresser, opens the drawer, and my heart skips when I see the glint of leather.
Restraints. My favorite.
“Hands up,” he commands, and my body obeys before my mind can catch up.
He cuffs my wrists together, his grip firm but gentle, then straps them to a hook in the center of the headboard. I’m pinned, arms directly above me, chest arched forward like an offering.
Vulnerable. His.
“Look at you,” he rasps, trailing a finger down my throat to the valley between my breasts. “My perfect little wife. All spread out, ready for me.”
Heat floods my cheeks. God, the way he says it shakes me down to my bone marrow.
He takes his time, blindfold next, the soft velvet slipping over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. My breath hitches, but I don’t resist.
“You remember your safe word?” he asks, his voice silky with need.
“Yes, Sir. Red.”
“Good girl.”
The praise makes my toes curl.
Then his palms skate over my ribs, my thighs, my hips. His mouth closes around a nipple, biting, sucking, until I writhe against the restraints.
“Patience,” he growls. “You’ll come when I say you can.”
A whimper escapes me, but I bite it back. The sting only makes me hotter.
Something cold touches my skin next, smooth and hard. I know that toy. The glass wand. He drags it up my inner thigh, circling, teasing, just enough to make me arch helplessly.
“Please—”
“Please what?”
“Please, Sir. More.”
The wand presses inside, slow and filling, and I moan, my voice loud enough to echo off the soundproofed walls. Myles chuckles deep in his throat, the sound vibrating straight into me.
“You’re already soaking. You love this, don’t you? Being helpless for me. My pretty little captive.”
“Yes, Sir,” I gasp, trembling under the rhythm he builds, the glass thrusting, retreating, circling my clit until I’m breaking apart.
But just when I’m almost at the peak, he stops.
I cry out, tugging at the cuffs. “No!”
He grips my jaw, his mouth at my ear. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes, Sir. Please,” I beg.
“Then beg like you mean it.”
The humiliation, the need, the love…it all blends into one molten ache. “Please, Myles. Please let me come. I need you. I need all of you.”
He lets out a low moan, and in the next heartbeat the blindfold is ripped away. His eyes burn into mine, raw and possessive, as he tosses the wand aside and frees himself.
“Then take me,” he snarls, pushing into me in one deep and brutal thrust.
I spiral, pleasure tearing through me like wildfire. He continues to fuck me hard and fast, his body driving into mine, his lips claiming every moan, every cry, every broken whisper of his name.
The first climax rips through me so hard I see white. I grind my teeth, the cuffs biting into my wrists, as my body writhes with the weight of my orgasm.
But he doesn’t stop.
He continues to pound into me, relentless, riding my orgasm until I’m trembling, spent. “You’re not done,” he growls against my throat, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. “Not until I say you’re done.”
I whimper, shaking my head, but the truth is my body is already begging for more. My walls clench around him, greedy, aching.
“You think you can hide it from me?” he rasps, pulling out just long enough to slap my thigh, the sharp sting making me jolt. “This pussy was made for me. You love when I push you past your limits.”
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, because it’s true.
God, it’s true.
He pulls back, thrusts deep again, and my legs shake with the force of it. My body screams from the overstimulation, but pleasure builds anyway—wicked, unbearable pleasure that sends me spiraling right back toward another peak.
When it hits, it’s violent. My head falls back, my voice cracking into a sob as I come again, harder, wetter, my body giving everything it has.
Even then, Myles doesn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. His hand snakes down, thumb pressing to my clit, rubbing in tight, ruthless circles. My thighs slam shut against his hips but he just pries them open wider, caging me with his body.
“No,” I gasp, shaking my head. “Too much—”
“Are you using your safe word?” His voice cuts sharp through the haze, but I’m too far gone to comprehend his words.
“Red?” he prompts, eyes blazing down into mine.
I can barely think through the fog of sensation, but I know I’m not breaking. Not yet.
“Not yet,” I gasp. “I—I can take it.”
He stills instantly, easing the pressure, kissing my temple. “Good girl. That’s it. Breathe.”
My lungs heave as I blink back tears, the line between pain and bliss razor-thin. He strokes my hair, murmuring low praise. “So beautiful. So strong for me. My perfect little wife.”
When my trembling steadies, he smirks, eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re not done yet.”
God help me, my body clenches in anticipation.
He flips me onto my stomach, the cuffs biting into my wrists as he pulls me onto my knees. His hand fists in my hair, arching my back, exposing me fully. The position is filthy, degrading…perfect.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, sliding back into me with one brutal stroke. “Bent over, cuffed, dripping down your thighs. You were made to take me like this.”
He increases his pace, his thrusts wringing harsh cries from my throat. My knees slip on the sheets, tears spill from the corners of my eyes, but I don’t want him to stop.
“Myles…oh, baby,” I moan breathlessly.
He yanks my head back against his shoulder, his mouth devouring mine. “Come again,” he orders.
I shatter for the third time, my scream swallowed by his kiss, and then my body gives out, collapsing against the bed.
Finally, he releases my wrists, tearing off the cuffs.
He flips me over, gathering me in his arms and entering me again, my breasts pressed tightly against his chest. After just a few more desperate thrusts, his own climax rips through him.
He lets out guttural, almost animalistic groan as he empties inside me, grinding deep until every drop is claimed.
The room smells like sweat and sex, the sheets damp and tangled, my body a trembling wreck in his arms.
But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
He kisses my forehead, my damp cheeks, my swollen lips, and then pulls the blanket over us, cradling me against his chest.
“You okay, baby?”
I nod, burying my face in his neck. “More than okay.” My throat is raw, my body aching, but I don’t mind one bit.
He strokes my hair, rocking us slightly. “You were perfect tonight. My perfect girl.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. I close my eyes, sinking into him, letting the feeling of contentment wash over me.
“Myles?”
He hums, half-lost in stroking lazy circles on my back. “Yeah, baby?”
I swallow, my nerves buzzing harder than the aftershocks rolling through my body. “There’s…one more thing I’m thankful for.”
He stills, pulling back just enough to look down at me. His eyes catch the low light—sharp, searching. “What’s that?”
My heart is beating abnormally fast. Not from fear but a mixture of anticipation and excitement. For the past few days, I’ve carried this secret in silence, waiting for the right time, the right words. And it seems there’s no better “perfect moment” than now.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words hang heavily between us, and for a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. His chest goes tight under my cheek, his breath hitched.
I bite my lip, bracing for…I don’t even know what.
Then, he exhales, a shaky sound that almost resembles a laugh. His hand slides down between us, resting flat and firm against my stomach. “Say it again.”
I smile through the tears suddenly burning my eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
Something raw flashes across his face—shock, awe, something so fierce it steals my breath. Then he lowers his mouth to mine in a rough, desperate kiss, pressing my body closer like he can’t get close enough.
He pulls back after a while, dropping his forehead to mine with a soft chuckle, placing his hand protectively over my belly. “I love you so much. Both of you.”
I laugh through the tears, clutching at him. “We love you too.”
~The End
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