Epilogue
RAIDEN
Central Park in early summer smelled like fresh-cut grass, roasted peanuts from the cart halfway down the path, and the faint mineral tang of the reservoir a block away.
Sun slanted low through the leaves, warm gold across the picnic blanket we’d staked out not twenty minutes earlier.
I should have been relaxed, soaking in the soft hum of New York at dusk, but something inside me hummed with energy every time Marissa’s laughter drifted across the lawn.
She was barefoot, chasing our twins with that easy grace she’d never lost even after retiring her skates, blond hair whipping over her shoulders in a loose braid the little monsters had tugged on all afternoon.
The twins were now two years old and convinced the world existed solely for their entertainment.
They squealed and dodged between park benches, cheeks apple-red, curls bouncing, the very picture of mischief.
Marissa herded them back toward the blanket with a patience I still didn’t understand, one palm braced at the small of her back, where our third child had been since she was six months along.
I watched the fabric pull smooth over her belly every time she straightened, and a heat that had nothing to do with the weather crawled under my skin.
She corralled Kyler first and deposited him on the edge of the blanket with a lidded cup of strawberry yogurt drops.
Kayte followed, plopping down cross-legged, curls escaping her ponytail like they always did.
The second their hands were busy fishing snacks from the container, Marissa exhaled a weary sound and let gravity win.
She dropped to her knees beside them, braced both hands on the cooler’s rim.
I leaned over quickly and helped her lower herself to sit.
Then I bit into an apple, the crunch echoing while I stared at my incredible wife. She grew even more gorgeous every day. I held back a grin as my eyes dropped to her stomach. Especially when she was carrying my baby.
Marissa swiped a bead of sweat from her temple and narrowed her blue eyes at me.
“I can’t believe you did this to me again, Shaffer.” The accusation was half huff, half laughter, but all exasperated affection. “Three kids under three?”
I chewed, swallowed, and finally let a slow grin curve my lips. “Warned you I’d probably keep you knocked up for a long time.” The words were more satisfying than any touchdown call. “It’s sexy as fuck.”
She glared at me, but before she could lecture me for the language, tiny feet thudded against the blanket.
Kyler used my thigh like a vaulting horse, launching himself onto my lap.
Kayte followed, squealing. I caught them both, one under each arm, and collapsed back onto my elbows while they giggled and tried to climb my chest like it was a rock wall.
“You’re riling them up again.” Marissa’s tone was stern, but her gaze softened, her mouth tipping at the corners. “They’ll never nap now.”
I shrugged, helpless, as Kyler’s stubby fingers found my beard and tugged. Kayte squeaked when I tickled her ribs. “Not my fault they recognize a superior wrestling partner.”
Marissa sighed—the put-upon sound of a woman wildly in love with her chaos. “If you don’t stop encouraging mayhem, I’m revoking your sex privileges.”
I lifted a brow, tipped Kayte upside down until she shriek-laughed, then set her right-side up and deadpanned, “Sex is how we ended up in this situation, remember?”
Her palm slid protectively over the gentle swell of her stomach. “Exactly.”
“Pretty sure you begged for it.” I winked.
She huffed, but color warmed her cheeks. “Well, I’ll have more self-control going forward.”
I snorted. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby. We both know you can’t keep your hands off me. Especially when you’re pregnant and desperate.”
I punctuated the tease by blowing a raspberry against Kyler’s neck. He shrieked again, the sound bubbling up like champagne.
Eventually, the twin tornadoes slowed, their little bodies worn out and sagging against me, lids drooping.
Marissa gathered the cups and tucked everything back in the cooler.
I hauled both kids into my arms for the walk home.
We had a double stroller, but I enjoyed having them snuggled up in my arms.
By the time we reached the penthouse, Kyler was snoring against my shoulder, and Kayte’s thumb drooped from her mouth on my other side.
Upstairs, the nursery’s blackout curtains were drawn, but it glowed with dim whale-shaped night-lights. We eased our son and daughter into their cribs, whispered words of love, and crept out.
Marissa stifled a yawn behind the back of her wrist, and when she was done, my fingers slid between hers. Instead of guiding her toward the living room, I stepped across the hall and nudged our bedroom door with my boot.
“What are you doing?” She sounded bemused, but there was that spark I knew—in the dilation of her pupils, and the way her thumb stroked the inside of my wrist.
I closed the door behind us. “Testing my theory.”
She barely had time to arch a brow before I pushed her gently against the wood and covered her mouth with mine.
The kiss started slowly—a long slide of lips tasting apple and summer air—but deepened fast, hunger sharpening every pass of tongue, every low sound vibrating in my chest. Her hands smoothed up my arms, her nails grazing my skin, and I felt her surrender in the melt of her spine against the door.
Fabric rustled, and I found the thin straps of her dress, easing them over rounded shoulders kissed pink by the sun.
The bodice slipped, pooling beneath the swell of her breasts.
She inhaled, her cheeks flushing as I roamed below the edge of maternity lace.
I thumbed one nipple and felt it peak instantly.
“Raiden.” Breathless. Faint admonition drowned by need.
I kissed the protest away, my lips brushing the corner of her mouth. “Want me to stop?”
Her answer was a soft bite to my lower lip. “Don’t you dare.”
I grinned against her, heat coiling low. “Thought so.”
The dress puddled at her feet. I scraped my beard down her throat, pausing to mouth over her rapidly beating pulse, one hand curving around the ripe globe of her belly.
She was rounder than last month, tighter under my palm, and the primitive thrill of it nearly stole my control. My baby, growing safely inside her.
“You’re gorgeous.” My voice came out like rough velvet. “Full of life. Full of me.”
She shivered. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
I scooped her up, carried her the four strides to our bed, and laid her in the center. Afternoon light bled through sheer curtains, illuminating her skin. My shirt hit the floor next, then my jeans. She watched, her breath hitching each time my muscles flexed.
Pregnancy made her hungrier; I’d learned that early. And I’d been more than happy to satiate her any time she wanted it.
Kneeling, I kissed the arch of her foot, skimmed palms up shapely calves to her knees, then parted them slowly. Her cotton panties were dampened in the center.
I ran a single knuckle along the heat. “Already wet for me, sweetheart.”
Her hips shifted restlessly. “You know I’m always horny.”
“Gonna have to reward you for admitting it.” I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her panties, tugged the fabric down her thighs, and braced one hand beside her hip.
The other, I slid between her legs, stroking once, spreading slick warmth.
She moaned, biting her lip to muffle it since the twins’ room was across the hall.
“Let me hear those little moans, baby,” I murmured. “Kids are out cold.”
She exhaled a shameless little sound that arrowed straight to my groin. I kissed her again, swallowing the next gasp as I teased her entrance, circling lazily. She bucked against my hand, frustration blooming.
“Need you inside,” she whispered.
“Patience.” I eased two fingers in, stretching her gently. She was tight around the swell of my knuckles, velvet heat pulsing. I watched her lids flutter, her belly rise with fast breaths.
When she was slick and restless, I withdrew, slicked my length with her arousal, and positioned myself at her opening. She reached out, curling her fingers around the back of my neck and dragging me down until our foreheads touched.
“Hard,” she begged. “Don’t go easy because of the bump.”
A growl rumbled. “I’ll always give you what you need. But don’t expect me to ever be careless.”
I pushed in, my thick cock claiming her pussy inch by inch until she was surrounding me from root to tip. Her head fell back, her lips parted on a silent cry. I stilled, letting her body adjust, savoring the impossibly tight squeeze around me.
“You feel me all the way up here?” I rested my palm low on her belly. The thought that I filled her so deeply—so close to where our daughter grew—nearly unhinged me.
She whimpered, nails digging into my shoulders. “Move.”
Muscles bunched in my back as I drew almost all the way out, then thrust home again.
Gentle first, then harder, steady rhythm building.
The mattress creaked; her breasts bounced with each drive, her dusky nipples pebbled.
I lowered my mouth, took one between my lips, sucked gently, then bit until she hissed with pleasure.
“So fucking sensitive,” I groaned before my tongue soothed the distended peak.
“I can’t help it,” she whimpered.
“Good.” I switched to the other side, lavishing it with the same greedy attention. Her back arched, her belly brushing my torso. I locked eyes with her—deep blue eyes blown wide with lust—and pounded harder.
Wet heat gripped me like a fist. Every plunge felt like sliding into molten velvet. I praised her, my voice a low rasp. “Taking me so good, baby. That’s it. Keep squeezing. You’re so fucking tight when you’re about to come. I can feel it…fuck, you’re perfect.”
Her climax hit fast—her hips jittery, and her breath fracturing.
I shifted my angle, driving deeper, the blunt head of my cock brushing her most sensitive spot.
She shattered around me, muffling her cry in my shoulder.
Her inner muscles rippled, milking my length.
I groaned, somehow holding the line until the contractions eased.
“Again,” she whispered, wild and wanton.
She wasn’t going to get an argument from me. I slammed home again, over and over. Relentlessly.
Each thrust sent soft slaps echoing, slick heat coating where we were joined. She clung to me, her hips bucking, the pace urging me. My own release coiled tight, but I wanted her undone once more. Needed it like air.
“You love how I fuck the orgasm out of you, don’t you?” I asked, my breath ragged.
She nodded, words lost.
“Let me feel it. Let me fucking feel you come.”
Her eyes rolled, her spine bowing as another orgasm ripped through her.
“That’s it, baby. Ride it out. Just like that. You’re gonna milk every drop out of me.”
The sight of her flushed face, quivering tits, and belly rounded with our child tipped me over. I locked deep, my pulse thundering, and released into her with a low, broken moan. Hot seed spilled, and I swore I felt her body draw it in—a primal claim.
For long seconds, I hovered, my forearms braced on either side of her head, sweat cooling. When I could finally breathe, I eased to my side, keeping her close so I stayed buried inside her. “Damn, baby. You make me want to fuck you again the second I stop. That’s how addictive you are.”
She made a pleased, sated sound and tucked her head under my chin.
“I’m not even gonna say I told you so,” I murmured, my palm smoothing over her belly.
“You just did, you punk.” But her tone was soft, affectionate.
“The point was worth proving. Now it’s documented how it happened when you’re knocked up again right after this little girl arrives.”
She gasped, smacking my bicep. “I will not.”
I rolled, caging her beneath me again, my lazy grin stretching. “Guess you need another demonstration.”
A laugh burst from her, half-exasperated, half-eager. “You’re insatiable.”
“With you?” I kissed the tip of her nose, then her mouth. “Always.”
Outside the bedroom window, evening approached and pink bled across Manhattan rooftops. Inside, the quiet was warm with our shared breath and the knowledge that whatever came—more sleepless nights, loud mornings, and babies squabbling over toys—we had each other, and that was more than enough.
Life was pretty damn near perfect.