Epilogue

Epilogue

Angelica

Five Years Later

Iknow he’s watching me from the bedroom window.

I’m in the front yard of our secluded Upstate New York cabin, where we like to come when LA life becomes too claustrophobic. It’s a little chilly, but the dance moves I’m executing are keeping me warm. Enough that I am wearing very little clothing. A thin white shirt with no bra and shorts that might as well be panties for all the skin they cover.

I’m a very bad girl, teasing my husband of five years like this, but I can never seem to help it. He has already had me on my back twice this morning, his grunts echoing in my ears. And no matter how many times I reassure him, he feels guilty for how often he needs me. How hard he takes me. Sometimes he loves me so hard after he returns from a mission that he has to cover my mouth to muffle the screams, lest he wake up one of our napping sons.

Does he think I’m lying when I tell him I love it?

That bulky shaft swelling behind his fly, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths every time I enter the room. What wife wouldn’t be thrilled by their husband’s endless well of desire for them? Doesn’t he witness the way I thrash through my orgasms, blinded by pleasure, my nails buried in his back?

I guess I’ll have to spend the rest of my life convincing him I can never get enough. With a mischievous smile on my life, I bend forward and sweep up, high kicking, rolling my hips in a sensual circle. I twist my fingers in the waistband of my shorts, tightening the material ever more around my bottom, my sex, letting him get a good, hard look at every crevice, every curve.

The sound of his low groan can be heard through the window.

Closing my eyes, I can visualize that long, thick erection in his hand. The way he’s watching me and abusing it with white-knuckled strokes. Wanting to come outside and take me, but ashamed of himself for the way he dragged me into the woods this morning in my nightgown and shoved me to my knees, pushing his hot, pulsing cock into my mouth, only managing three pumps before flooding my throat with his lust.

“You make me so fucking horny,” he gasped while he was in the throes of his climax. “I can’t go five minutes without getting hard, goddammit.”

Yes, my husband is always balanced on the razor’s edge of hunger when it comes to me—and I’m exactly the same. He’s the only man I’ve ever wanted inside of me. The only man I’ve ever allowed to touch me. And when I married him in the LA County courthouse the same afternoon he saved me from being murdered, I knew life with Murph would be like this. Full of love, wonder, heat, security.

My father served as our witness, much to my surprise. Truth be told, he didn’t seem all that happy about it. But he saw the way I clung to Murph, the way Murph held me like a treasure. It became obvious to him that our love ran deeper than he realized. And he wasn’t going to stand in the way of that. These days, he even comes to visit us, whether we’re in New York or Los Angeles, growing more and more comfortable with his role as grandfather to Murph’s kids. And their friendship has been repaired, much to my relief.

Miller, the guard who had a secret obsession with me, is being treated at a psychiatric facility. After he received the medication he required, he reached out to me and apologized for his actions. I don’t think we’ll be inviting him to dinner anytime soon, but accepting his apology made everyone feel better and I don’t hold a grudge against the man, who was in need of treatment.

I turn on a tiptoe and lock eyes with Murph through the bedroom window, dragging my fingertips over the peaks of my breasts, burying them in my hair and arching my back. As expected, his face disappears from the window and I know I probably only have ten seconds before he’s in the front yard.

A victorious smile stretches across my face, my loins softening, turning wet for my husband. My love. The man who encouraged me to take a new path in my career, since the old one wasn’t making me happy. Now, I write my own music. My choreography is more cerebral, creative. I’ve moved from the pop music charts to the alternative one and finally, finally, what I do for a living is fulfilling, because I’m being true to myself.

A crunch of foliage brings my head around—and there is my giant, stomping into the yard toward me, nostrils flared. His shirt is unbuttoned and untucked, his thick, hairy middle on mouthwatering display, the zipper of his jeans straining, thanks to what’s inside.

“Get those shorts down, little girl,” he pants, jerking open his fly. “You went and made Daddy horny again, didn’t you?” When Murph reaches me, he spins me around and marches me toward the closest tree, guiding my hands high on the trunk and propping them there, his harsh breaths hitting the back of my neck. “Can’t help it, can you? Shaking that little ass in my face. Fuck.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” I whimper.

“Like hell you are.” He pulls down my shorts himself and tugs my bare backside into his lap, that fist between my thighs guiding his arousal through my slick folds from behind. “If you’re sorry, show me. Let in these inches.”

It’s still not easy seating the entirety of my husband’s shaft, but Lord, do we try. Sometimes I can take all of it. Sometimes I can’t. Today, I have a feeling there won’t be a problem. I’m so drenched and ready, my teeth are chattering with lust.

Murph sinks in halfway with a groan, muffling the sound with my shoulder so we don’t wake the sleeping children inside. “I can’t figure out how it stays to fucking tight with the way I pound away at you.” Another few inches slide into me. “Ahhh. Christ. Just a couple more, baby.”

His next thrust lifts me clean off the ground, both of us groaning, and I land back on my feet with Murph impaling me completely, filling every square inch of my sex, crowding my walls, stretching me, pulsing, pulsing.

“Shit. Shit.” He rocks into me and growls, “It’s too tight. I’m going to come.”

I widen my stance, giving him a pouty look over my shoulder. “Should I rub myself?”

“No.” He heaves the word, his fingers finding that magic spot between my legs. “This is my property, little girl. My responsibility.” He strokes my clit with his middle finger, faster, faster. “Feel that. All swollen from teasing me, aren’t you? You love working me up until I pounce.”

“You’re finally onto me,” I whimper as he bucks into me, forcing me up onto my toes, hitting me with a series of rough drives that are so perfect, so needed, my eyes roll into the back of my head. “Harder.” His flesh smacks into mine. “More.”

Murph snarls a curse into my neck, adding a second finger to the strumming of my clit, his quickening breath telling me he’s close to the edge. And he pumps into me with no mercy, assaulting my senses, turning me into a trembling mass of nerve endings, the tickle building between my thighs until I’m clawing at the tree bark, whimpers sawing in and out of my throat.

“Come on your man’s dick,” he growls, right up against my ear. “I want to feel those juices run down to my fucking balls, baby. You hear me?”

It’s the filth that sends me spiraling. Has me pushing my hips back into his thrusts until we’re grinding into each other desperately, wringing the bliss from one another’s bodies, our groans of pleasure filling the forest. I’m barely through the tumult of sensation when Murph yanks me back against his chest, those burly arms wrapping around me.

“Mine,” he says, winded. “Mine to love. Mine forever.”

I reach back and loop my arms around his neck, dropping my head back onto his wide shoulder and looking into the eyes of the man I love beyond reason or common sense, pulling him down for slow, savoring kiss. “Forever.”

THE END

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