9. Epilogue – Lucas
EPILOGUE – LUCAS
Istand beside the crib and watch my son sleep.
He fought it for twenty solid minutes. He rubbed his eyes, kicked his legs, threw his stuffed bear out twice, and gave me the same stubborn scowl Harmony gives me whenever she knows I’m right but doesn’t want to admit it.
Then, finally, his little body gave up. Now he’s curled on his side with one fist tucked near his mouth, breathing softly in the glow from the night-light.
A year old.
I still don’t know how the hell that happened.
Some days I look at him and feel like my chest can’t hold it all. I’ve walked into fires, wrecks, and houses filled with smoke, but nothing has ever hit me like being someone’s dad.
Quietly, I back out of the nursery and pull the door closed behind me. The hallway is dim, the house finally settling after bath time, dinner, and the usual end-of-day chaos. It’s the kind of quiet I used to think I wanted after a shift. Now it only feels right because my family is inside it.
In the kitchen, Harmony stands at the sink rinsing dinner plates, her hair twisted up in a messy knot and one of my old T-shirts hanging loose over her shorts. She’s barefoot, tired, and so damn beautiful I have to stop in the doorway for a second just to look at her.
My wife.
Her hips are fuller now. Her breasts are softer and heavier. Pregnancy changed her body, and motherhood changed the way she carries herself, but every version of her has only made me want her more. She’s all curves and warmth and sharp little looks over her shoulder when she catches me staring.
Which she does now.
“Is he asleep?” she asks.
“Out cold.”
“Good. Then I can finish this before he somehow senses a clean kitchen and decides to revolt.”
I cross the room and slide my arms around her from behind, settling my hands low on her stomach as I press my mouth to the side of her neck. “Leave it.”
“Lucas.”
“What?”
“I’m still cleaning.”
“I can see that.”
“Then stop distracting me.”
“I’m helping.”
She snorts, but her body softens back against mine for half a second before she catches herself. “You are absolutely not helping.”
I groan against her shoulder, then let her go because she’s right and because the faster we finish, the faster I can get my hands back on her. “Fine. Move over.”
Her eyebrows lift. “You’re volunteering for dishes?”
“I’m volunteering to get you out of this kitchen.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“It should.”
She laughs and hands me a towel.
We fall into the familiar rhythm of it. She rinses, I dry. She loads the dishwasher wrong on purpose because she knows it bothers me, and I fix it while she pretends not to notice. It’s ordinary. Domestic. Perfect.
I glance over at her as she wipes down the counter. “So when are we starting on baby number two?”
Her hand pauses. Then she looks at me slowly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Did the last year completely erase itself from your memory?”
“No.”
“The sleep deprivation?”
“Yep. I remember it.”
“The diapers?”
“Vividly.”
“The four-month sleep regression where I cried in the pantry eating peanut butter from a spoon?”
“I found you and brought chocolate chips.”
“You did.” Her mouth twitches. “But you’re still seriously bringing up another baby?”
“Yes.”
She folds the dish towel and sets it on the counter, studying me. “You really mean it.”
“I really do.” I step closer. “Our kid is the best thing I’ve ever had a hand in making. And watching you become his mother made me fall in love with you in ways I didn’t know existed.”
Her expression falters, and there it is. The look that still has the power to put me on my knees.
“Lucas.”
“What?”
“You can’t say things like that while I’m trying to be practical.”
“I’m very practical.” I rest my hands on her hips and pull her against me. “We already have the crib.”
She laughs, but her hands slide up my chest. “That’s your argument?”
“I’ve got others.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I bend until my mouth brushes her ear. “We could start trying tonight.”
She lets out a soft, wordless sound.
I lift my head and look at her. “You’ve thought about it.”
Her cheeks go pink. “Maybe.”
“Harmony.”
“Yes,” she admits, rolling her eyes even as she smiles. “I’ve thought about it.”
That’s all I need. I take her hand and pull her toward the bedroom.
She laughs behind me. “You’re not even going to pretend to be calm about this?”
“Hell no.”
The door closes behind us, and I turn, catching her mouth with mine as I back her toward the bed.
She kisses me just as hard, her fingers already working at the buttons of my shirt while mine slide under the hem of hers.
She makes a breathy little sound when my palms close over her bare waist, and it goes straight through me.
I pull the shirt over her head and drop it on the floor. For a second, I just look at her. My wife, standing in front of me with swollen lips, bare tits, and eyes full of the same want burning through me. I cup her breasts, thumbs dragging over her nipples until she gasps and arches into my hands.
“Lucas.”
“I know.”
I strip her shorts and underwear down her legs, then take my own clothes off fast because I’ve never been good at being patient when she’s looking at me like that. My cock is hard, heavy, and aching by the time I sit on the edge of the bed and pull her onto my lap.
She straddles me, her knees on either side of my hips, one hand braced on my shoulder as I guide her over me. I can feel the heat of her pussy against my cock, and my grip tightens on her hips.
I drag her down onto me. She takes me slowly, inch by inch, her mouth parting as I fill her. The feeling of her wet heat closing around me punches a groan out of my chest. I hold still once I’m buried deep, letting her adjust, letting myself feel every perfect inch of her.
Then she starts to move. Her hips roll over mine, slow at first, then harder when I grip her and help set the rhythm.
Her tits bounce with every stroke, and I lower my mouth to one of them, sucking her nipple while she rides me.
She moans, fingers digging into my shoulders, her pussy getting wetter around my cock.
“Fuck, Harmony.”
She moves faster, needy and flushed, her hair falling loose around her face. I keep one hand clamped on her hip and slide the other between us, finding her clit with my thumb. She jerks against me, her cream slicking the base of my cock as I rub her in tight circles.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I say against her mouth. “Come for me.”
Her body locks. Then she breaks. She comes hard, shaking over me, her pussy gripping my cock so tight I nearly lose it right there.
I hold her through it, thrusting hard up into her—then my control snaps.
I bury myself deep and explode, filling her with my cum and a rough groan as she collapses against my chest.
Afterward, I stay inside her, my arms wrapped around her, my mouth pressed to her damp temple. She’s breathing hard against my neck, soft and warm and mine in every way.
I tip her face up and kiss her again, slower this time but no less hungry. She melts into it, and I keep her close. Because I can. Because she lets me. Because this life is mine now.
“I love you,” I say against her mouth.
Her eyes open halfway. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
A smile curves her lips. “Again.”
I laugh and brush my thumb along her cheek. “I love you, Harmony.”
She closes her eyes for a second, like she’s holding the words somewhere private. “I never get tired of hearing that.”