Epilogue
June
Five Years Later
I know my husband’s behavior is borderline ridiculous.
But having me in the studio while he records his new album makes him happy.
It makes him happy to wrap me in a cashmere blanket, light my favorite magnolia-scented candles around the studio and croon into the microphone while staring at me from the other side of the glass.
He claims there’s no magic in the recordings unless his eyes are on his wife while he sings. And who am I to argue?
I have a front row seat to a private concert with my favorite singer, twenty-four hours a day.
A singer who has gone from fading legend to industry powerhouse again in the last five years.
His latest album—One Night in June—went triple platinum and his upcoming tour is sold out.
Although, getting Deke to agree to the tour wasn’t easy.
My presence is required full-time on the road.
I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, which is one reason I’ve decided to put my communications degree to good use and become Deke’s public relations manager.
My job would have been a lot harder when Deke was on the road raising hell, but he’s been sober for five years and doesn’t want to be anywhere but in bed with his wife.
Or traveling with his wife. Or plotting out the future with his wife.
I’m very happy to be the common denominator of his interests.
Speaking of the future, though…
I have some news to share with him today and I’m getting restless for him to finish this song, though I’m trying not to show my impatience. Can’t rush perfection.
Still, there’s no harm in incentivizing him, is there?
Deke is watching me through the recording booth glass, half of his face hidden behind the microphone, his guitar cradled in his arms. When I let the blanket drop from my shoulders, there’s a barely noticeable hitch in his voice, but his gaze deepens with intensity to see my shoulders and the slopes of my breasts revealed.
I was feeling daring and excited this morning when I wore this silk corseted top that lifts and plumps my boobs in a very noticeable way—and Deke is more than noticing.
He raises an eyebrow, angling himself to get a better view.
Leaning back in the plush leather couch, I push the blanket off my lap and show him my tight and tiny micro skirt. I angle my knees inward, as if shy, tugging the hem down over my pussy, but it’s too late, he’s already seen that I’m bare.
He cuts the recording off mid-song. “Session’s over,” he barks into the microphone, drawing the guitar strap over his head and setting the instrument down with a jumble of notes.
He tosses aside his cowboy hat and strides out of the booth, much to the dismay of the nearby technicians sitting behind the mixing desk. “Out,” Deke shouts. “It’s wife time.”
“It’s always wife time,” complains one of the techs.
“Goddamn right it is,” Deke says with relish, licking his lips as he approaches. “Why do you think I’m such a happy son of a bitch? Get out.”
Three men pile out of the studio, grumbling as they go.
My husband is on top of me before I can blink.
I give a surprised squeal, pretending to fight him while he manhandles me onto my back and straddles my hips, pinning me to the leather couch with a confident hand around my throat.
With his free hand, he yanks up my skirt roughly and curses, long and low.
“You bring that freshly waxed cunt in here to distract me, June Bug?”
“Sorry.” I shift my hips enticingly. “I know you’re a busy man…”
He’s already shaking his head. “I am never too busy for the love of my life.” He unzips his pants and I catch my breath as that huge rod bobs free of his fly, still wearing the red lipstick kiss I gave it this morning.
“Not to mention,” he says, already beginning to pant.
“I’m addicted to her pussy. Dream about fucking it all day long. ”
I crook a finger at Deke, and he comes down on top of me, wedging his shaft against my entrance while we both groan against each other’s mouths. “It dreams about being fucked by you,” I whisper, holding eye contact while I raise my knees up to my shoulders.
Teeth gritted, he hammers home, stopping and shaking once he’s fully seated and going through what I know is a struggle not to ejaculate right away. “Jesus. Jesus. One pump and I could dump it all, baby. Every time. You’re so fucking tight around my cock.”
I drag my nails down his back and grip his thick ass muscles, drawing him deeper into me. “I know, Daddy. You put so much come inside me.” His groan is deafening. “It’s a wonder I didn’t get pregnant sooner.”
He has just started to thrust when I make my pronouncement. His jaw is slack, his mountainous body moving on top of mine. But his head comes up quickly after a few seconds, sharp eye searching my face. “Sooner? What does that mean?”
A sob breaks from my chest. “I’m pregnant,” I whisper, my voice watery.
“Pregnant,” he whispers back, the outline of his head blurring as my eyes pool with tears. “You’re sure, June Bug?”
“Yes,” I eke out, overcome by the emotion in my chest. “I’m sure.”
“You’re pregnant.”
“Yes.”
His eyes take on a sheen, his throat muscles working, and he surges into a laughing kiss, wrapping his arms around me and rolling us onto our sides.
His overjoyed laughter only grows huskier and louder as he drops kisses all over my face and hair.
“Holy shit, we’re going to have a baby.” Desperately, he searches my face, wiping my tears with his thumbs.
“Don’t be scared. Don’t be nervous. I’m going to take such good care of you. ”
“I know. I know. I’m so happy.”
“God, June Bug. I’m…” He draws me into a bear hug that makes my soul soar to the ceiling. “Happy doesn’t even come close. I love you. I love the baby. It’s going to be okay.”
I slide my leg over his hip, his erection still filling me, and I snuggle my lower body closer, loving the sensation of togetherness. Being joined in so many ways. “I’m going to be five months pregnant by the time this tour is over.”
His smile vanishes in a flash. “Is that safe? Should I cancel—”
“No. It’s perfectly safe. We’ll make a few adjustments.”
“I can’t be away from you,” he grates against my mouth.
“I can’t be away from you, either.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, both of us beginning to shift impatiently, overcome by so many feelings at once. Love. Excitement. Wonder. Obsession. Lust.
Deke rolls onto his back, positioning me on top of him, and I whine his name into a kiss, working my pussy up and down his broad inches, his calloused hands in a rough grip of my ass cheeks. Guiding me, grinding me.
“Daddy’s sperm got me pregnant,” I whisper, licking into his mouth.
With a broken-off curse, his hips begin to smack up and down beneath me, jarring my molars together, his hungry eyes roving between my jiggling breasts and my face. “There’s more where that came from.”
“Give it to me.”
He moves faster, the couch springs groaning beneath us. “Give me yours first.”
Easy. All I have to do is look at Deke Decker and my body does the rest, knowing my pleasure has always belonged to him and always will. “Deke,” I hiccup, release moving like a swift current through my body. “Husband.”
“Wife,” he groans, lifting his hips on an intake of breath and flooding me. “My love.”
“My love,” I whisper, collapsing on top of him. “Forever.”
“Forever,” he vows, kissing my temple hard and holding me for hours, whispering plans for our future into my ear.
THE END