Epilogue
Three years later
Damon
I watch Lucy from across our office, my gaze locked on the gentle swell of her belly visible beneath her fitted dress. Three years of marriage, and still the sight of her steals my breath. Now she carries my child, and the possessive heat that burns through me at the thought is almost unbearable. My pregnant wife. My partner in every sense. Mine .
She's at her desk, brow furrowed as she reviews contracts for our consulting firm—the business that once was just mine but now thrives under our joint leadership. Her fingers tap rhythmically against the keyboard, and occasionally she brushes back a strand of hair that falls across her face. Even these small movements mesmerize me. Three years together, and I still can't look away.
"You're staring again," she says without looking up, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Can you blame me?" The words rumble from my chest, husky with desire.
Lucy finally raises her eyes to meet mine, and that familiar electricity sparks between us. Her cheeks flush pink, the same shade that now seems to permanently color her skin since the pregnancy. Five months along, and she's never been more beautiful.
"We have the Miller presentation in an hour," she reminds me, but her voice has that breathless quality that tells me she's affected too.
"I'm aware of our schedule." I stand, moving around my desk with deliberate slowness. "I'm also aware that my wife looks particularly tempting today."
Lucy rolls her eyes, but her lips curve upward. "Damon..."
"The way that dress hugs your body..." I continue, approaching her desk. "Do you know what it does to me, seeing you like this?"
She sets down her pen, giving me her full attention now. "You've mentioned it. Several times. Today."
I don't apologize. How could I be sorry for appreciating every inch of her? When we first met, she was a struggling college student, determined and resilient but weighed down by financial worries. Now she stands beside me as my equal, her natural intelligence having quickly made her indispensable to the business. But the changes in her body—those drive me to distraction.
"Stand up," I tell her, not a command but not quite a request either.
Lucy rises, one hand instinctively cradling her bump. The gesture sends a primal surge of satisfaction through me. My child. My wife protecting my child.
"Turn around," I murmur.
She complies, a knowing glint in her eye. The dress—deep blue and professional enough for client meetings—hugs the new curves of her body. Her breasts, fuller now, her hips wider, and that perfect rounded belly. I step closer, until my chest presses against her back.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" I whisper against her ear, my hands sliding around to rest on her belly.
Lucy leans back against me, her body relaxing into mine. "I have some notion, considering you can barely keep your hands off me."
"And why should I?" My fingers splay possessively across the swell where our child grows. "Every man who sees you knows."
"Knows what?" She tilts her head, exposing the curve of her neck to me.
"That you're mine." I press my lips to her skin, tasting the sweet-salt of her. "That I've bred you. That my child grows inside you."
Lucy shivers against me. "Crude," she chides, but her voice trembles with desire.
"Honest," I correct her. "Every time we walk into a meeting, every client who comes through that door—they all see it. My ring on your finger, my child in your belly."
My hands slide up to cup her breasts, now heavy and sensitive. Lucy gasps, arching into my touch.
"Does that bother you?" she asks, a hint of her old insecurity bleeding through.
"Bother me?" I turn her to face me. "It makes me feel like the king of the fucking world."
The vulnerability in her eyes fades, replaced by that quiet strength that first drew me to her. "Sometimes I think you're insane," she says, but she's smiling.
"Only about you." I take her face between my hands. "Only ever about you."
When I kiss her, it's with the same hunger that consumed me the first time. But now there's something else too—a bone-deep certainty, a completeness that comes from knowing this woman is mine in every way that matters.
Her lips part beneath mine, inviting me deeper. Her tongue slides against mine, and I groan into her mouth. My hands drop to her hips, drawing her against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.
"The Miller presentation," she reminds me, but her fingers are already working at my tie.
"We have time." I reach behind her, clearing a space on her desk with one sweep of my arm. Papers flutter to the floor—nothing that can't be reorganized later.
Lucy raises an eyebrow. "Really? The desk?"
"Really." I cup her face. "I can't wait another minute to have you."
"You had me this morning," she points out, but she's already reaching for my belt.
"Too long ago." I capture her mouth again, swallowing her laugh.
There's an efficiency to how we undress each other now—the familiarity of three years together. I unzip her dress just enough to expose her breasts, still contained in a practical maternity bra. When I free them, my mouth waters at the sight. They're fuller, the nipples darker, more sensitive. When I brush my thumbs across them, Lucy whimpers.
"Beautiful," I murmur. "So fucking beautiful."
Her hands work my shirt buttons, then my belt. I help her, too impatient to wait. When I'm finally free, hard and aching for her, I lift her carefully onto the edge of the desk.
"Are you comfortable?" I ask, hands gentle on her thighs as I spread them.
Lucy nods, her eyes dark with need. "I need you, Damon. Now."
I hook my fingers into her panties, sliding them down her legs. The scent of her arousal hits me, making my cock throb with anticipation. I drop to my knees, needing to taste her first.
"Damon—" Her protest turns into a moan as my mouth finds her center.
She's wetter than usual—another gift of pregnancy—and the flavor of her on my tongue is addictive. I lick and suck until her thighs tremble on either side of my head, until her fingers tangle in my hair, holding me exactly where she needs me.
"Please," she gasps. "I need you inside me."
I rise, positioning myself between her spread thighs. The sight of her—dress rucked up around her waist, breasts exposed, belly round with my child—nearly undoes me. I've never wanted anyone the way I want Lucy. Never will.
"You're everything," I tell her, the words raw and honest as I push slowly inside her.
Her body welcomes me, hot and tight and perfect. When I'm fully seated, I pause, savoring the moment. Lucy's legs wrap around my waist, her ankles locking at the small of my back.
"Move," she commands, and I obey.
I establish a rhythm, not too hard—I'm always careful with her now—but deep and steady. Each thrust pulls a soft sound from her lips, a sound I want to capture and keep forever.
"You feel so good," I groan, watching where our bodies join. "So perfect around me."
Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging through my shirt. "Harder," she whispers. "I won't break."
"I know how strong you are." I increase my pace slightly, still mindful of her condition. "My resilient wife. My perfect Lucy."
Her inner muscles tighten around me, and I know she's close. I slide one hand between us, finding the spot that makes her see stars.
"That's it," I encourage her. "Let go for me, baby."
Lucy's back arches, pushing her belly against my abdomen. The feel of it—that physical reminder of what we've created together—sends a surge of possessive pleasure through me.
"I'll always take care of you," I promise, the words spilling out unplanned but completely true. "You and our baby. Always."
She cries out, her body clenching around mine as she comes. The sight of her—head thrown back, throat exposed, face flushed with pleasure—pushes me to the edge.
"You're mine," I growl, hips pumping faster now. "My wife. Carrying my child."
"Yours," she agrees, voice breathy and satisfied. "Always yours."
That's all it takes. I bury myself deep inside her and let go, release flooding through me so intensely that my vision blurs at the edges. For a moment, there's nothing but this—our bodies joined, our hearts beating in tandem, our futures irrevocably intertwined.
As the pleasure subsides, I lean forward, careful not to put weight on her belly, and rest my forehead against hers. Our breath mingles in the space between us.
"I meant what I said," I tell her, needing her to know. "I'll always take care of you both."
Lucy's hand finds my cheek, her touch gentle. "I know you will. But remember, we take care of each other now. Partners, remember?"
I turn my face to kiss her palm. "Partners. In everything."
Carefully, I withdraw from her body and help her rearrange her clothing. There's something intensely satisfying about watching her put herself back together—knowing that underneath the professional exterior, she carries the evidence of our passion.
I check my watch. "We still have twenty minutes before the Millers arrive."
Lucy slides off the desk, smoothing her dress over her bump. "Just enough time for me to fix my hair and for you to pick up these papers you so carelessly knocked to the floor."
I grin, unrepentant. "Worth it."
She shakes her head, but her smile matches mine. "You're impossible.”
"And yet, you married me." I bend to help her gather the scattered documents.
"Best decision I ever made." The sincerity in her voice makes my chest tight with emotion.
When the papers are sorted and we're both presentable again, I pull her into my arms for one more moment of privacy before we return to being consummate professionals.
"I love watching you grow with our child," I tell her, hand splayed across her belly. "I love knowing that everyone who looks at you can see that you're mine."
Lucy's eyes soften. "Caveman," she teases, but I can see the pleasure my words give her.
"Your caveman," I correct her. "Forever."
The intercom buzzes, announcing the Millers' arrival in the lobby. Lucy steps back, professional mask sliding into place, though her lips still look kissed and her cheeks retain their flush.
"Ready, partner?" she asks, extending her hand to me.
I take it, squeezing gently. "With you? Always."
As we walk to the conference room, my hand rests at the small of her back. I notice the receptionist's eyes flicker to Lucy's belly, and that surge of primal pride returns. Let them look. Let them all see. This brilliant, beautiful woman chose me. Carries my child. Shares my name and my life.
I've never felt more powerful. More complete. More certain that whatever the future holds, we'll face it together—partners in every sense of the word.