Epilogue
Rhys:
Three years later:
The familiar scent of antiseptic and pet dander fills my nostrils as I finish up with my last patient of the day.
A grumpy old tabby with a urinary tract infection, but she’ll be fine with some antibiotics.
I scribble a few notes in the chart, then strip off my gloves and toss them in the bin, stretching my back.
It’s been a long day, but a good one. They’re all good ones now.
I wander down the hallway toward the other room at the practice, my footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor.
That’s Layla’s office now. She’s not my student anymore.
She’s my wife, the mother of our son, and one of the best damn vets I know.
We work together, side by side, and I couldn’t imagine my life any other way.
She’s sitting at her desk, her long brown hair pulled back in a messy bun, a few stray strands curling around her face.
She’s bent over some paperwork, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in that way she does when she’s concentrating.
My heart swells with a love so fierce it almost hurts. I’ll never get tired of this view.
“Hey, beautiful,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you about ready to leave soon? We need to pick up Max from the babysitter.”
She looks up, and the smile she gives me is so bright, so full of excitement, it stops me in my tracks. Her brown eyes are sparkling, and she’s practically vibrating with it. I can’t help but smile back, even though I’m a little confused. What’s got her so worked up?
“Actually,” she says, her voice bubbling with barely contained glee, “Mom’s going to pick up Max. She’s going to keep him for the night.”
She stands up, her chair rolling back with a soft squeak, and comes around the desk to stand in front of me.
“I was thinking... I thought maybe we could go out for dinner. Just the two of us. I don’t think we’ve done that since Max was born, and eighteen months is a long time without a proper date night with my husband. ”
I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her against me. The feel of her body pressed against mine is as familiar as breathing, but it still sends a jolt of desire through me.
“I’d love that,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her forehead. “But what’s the special occasion? You look like you’re about to burst with some big secret.”
She giggles, a light, airy sound that I love more than anything. “Well,” she says, her cheeks flushing slightly, “I was going to wait until we were at the restaurant to tell you, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”
“Tell me what, baby?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
She looks up at me, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief and love, and takes a deep breath. “Rhys,” she says, her voice soft but steady, “I’m pregnant.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the air out of my lungs.
I stare at her, my mind struggling to process what she just said.
Pregnant. Again. We’re going to have another baby.
A wave of joy washes over me, so intense it makes my head spin.
I can feel a grin spreading across my face, so wide it almost hurts.
“Really?” I manage to choke out, my voice thick with emotion.
She nods, her own eyes welling up with tears. “Really. I took the test this morning. I wanted to be sure before I told you.”
I let out a whoop of pure joy, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around. She laughs, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, and when I set her down, I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs stroking over her cheeks.
“Fuck, Layla,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she whispers back.
I can’t wait another second. I crash my lips against hers, kissing her with all the love and joy I’m feeling.
She kisses me back just as fiercely, her hands tangling in my hair, her body pressing against mine.
I can feel the urgency building between us, a desperate need to celebrate this news in the most primal way possible.
My hands find the hem of her scrub top, and I’m pulling it over her head before she can even protest. Her bra follows, and then my hands are on her, cupping the weight of her breasts.
They’re already fuller, more sensitive than usual, a sure sign of the pregnancy.
I roll her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, and she whimpers into my mouth, her back arching.
“I need you,” I growl against her lips. “Right now.”
She nods, her eyes dark with desire. “Me too.”
I spin her around, bending her over her desk. Her hands fly out to brace herself, scattering papers and pens across the surface. I make quick work of our remaining clothes, my scrubs and her pants and panties joining the growing pile on the floor.
I grip her hips, my fingers digging into her soft flesh, and pull her back against me. She’s already wet, already ready for me, and I slide into her with one smooth, deep stroke. We both groan at the sensation, a perfect, familiar fit that never gets old.
“Fuck, Layla,” I grunt, my head falling forward so I can press a kiss between her shoulder blades. “You feel so good.”
I start to move, setting a hard, fast pace.
The sound of our bodies slapping together fills the small office, a rhythmic, primal beat that speaks of possession and love.
My hands roam over her body, over her soft belly, up to her breasts.
I can feel the faint tremors that run through her, the building tension of her arousal.
“Rhys,” she gasps, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. “Harder. Please, harder.”
“Anything for you, baby,” I growl, my hips snapping against hers, driving into her with a force that rocks the desk. I’m not holding back, not now. I’m giving her everything, celebrating this new life, this future we’ve created together.
I reach around, my fingers finding her clit, and I rub her in tight circles. She cries out, her body tensing, her walls clamping down around me like a vise. I can feel her orgasm building, a storm gathering deep inside her, and I’m right there with her, chasing my own release.
“Come for me, Layla,” I command, my voice rough with desire. “Come all over my cock. Let me feel you.”
Her body arches, her back bowing as a scream is torn from her throat.
It’s a beautiful, raw sound, and it’s all it takes to push me over the edge.
I follow her into oblivion, my own release crashing over me in a blinding wave of pleasure.
I bury myself deep inside her, my body pulsing, filling her up, marking her as mine again and again.
We stay like that for a long moment, our bodies joined, our breathing ragged. I can feel the tremors that still run through her, the aftershocks of her orgasm. I press another soft kiss between her shoulder blades, my hands stroking gently over her back.
“I love you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion.
“I love you too,” she whispers back, her face turned to the side, her cheek pressed against the cool wood of the desk.
I pull out of her slowly, reluctant to break our connection, but I have other needs that must be met.
I guide her to her desk chair, then sit down myself, pulling her into my lap.
She’s soft and pliant, her body relaxed and sated.
She rests her head against my chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.
“Good girl,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her hair. “You did so good for me.”
She preens under my praise, a soft, happy sigh escaping her lips. I can feel her breasts pressing against my chest, full and heavy, a tempting offering. I can’t resist. I cup one in my hand, my thumb stroking over the nipple, and she whimpers softly.
“Please, Rhys,” she whispers, her voice a soft, breathy plea.
“What do you want, baby?” I ask, my voice a low growl. “Tell me what you need.”
She hesitates for a moment, then whispers, “Nurse from me. Please.”
I groan, my cock twitching to life again at her words. I never get tired of this. I never get tired of her. I shift her in my lap, adjusting her position so I can get better access. I lean in, my lips closing over her right nipple, and I begin to nurse from her.
The taste of her is intoxicating, a sweet, creamy nectar that’s uniquely hers. I can feel myself getting lost in it, lost in the feel of her, in the taste of her.
This is my heaven. This is my home. She’s my everything. I’m the luckiest man in the world, and I know it.