Epilogue

Epilogue

Ten Years Later

Greta

Carrying my box full of medical supplies, I walk into the gym only to find a familiar sight. My husband trying to teach a bunch of second graders how to play basketball while our daughter hangs from his neck, our other daughter listening to him lecture with the deep concentration she inherited from Eric. Our girls couldn’t be more different from each other, one serious about honing her basketball skills, the other one just in it for the socializing and snacks.

His voice is like coming home after a long journey, even though I’ve only been gone a couple of hours. I’ve been back at the house working on the website for our youth basketball program, founded by me and Eric when he retired from the league three years ago. After winning four championship titles for the city of LA, his only wish was to spend more time with me and his girls, so he got to work, creating the number one girls’ basketball program in the state.

I’m the on-site medical trainer, splitting my time between practice, games and my work at a local sports rehab clinic, so I get the best of both worlds, healing world-class athletes and bandaging boo-boos.

Sometimes, like in this very moment, the happiness hits me so hard, I have to stop and take a deep breath. How can I be anything but blissfully joyful 24/7 with this man as my foundation? And me as his? Thank God I gave him that second chance ten years ago—he’s never squandered it once. No, he finds new ways every day to make me the happiest woman in the world and today was no exception. This morning, when I got into my car, he’d left me flowers on the dashboard and a note detailing every single act he plans to perform on me tonight.

As if my husband can sense the direction of my thoughts, he turns and spies me over his shoulder, his face transforming with love, lust, relief to have me home. It takes him a visible effort to concentrate again on what he’s saying to the miniature basketball players, but he manages and I lean against the wall, watching him. This man I adore beyond reason. This man who gorges himself on my body like it’s his last meal, never missing an opportunity to get me alone.

Eric is turning forty tomorrow. He won’t find out about the massive surprise party I’ve been planning until then. But tonight he’s asked me for a different kind of gift. One he gets frequently. Also one he swears to God gets more delicious every single time. One he craves to the point of insanity. Eric wants to use his mouth between my legs. However he wants, for as long as he wants—and the anticipation of it is creating goosebumps up and down my arms.

It takes an hour for practice to finish.

And another forty-five minutes for Eric to answer questions from the parents who arrive to pick up their children. We pass out game schedules, the newly designed jerseys, go over some practice techniques for home. After that, the gym is finally empty, no one but me, Eric and our girls. Our snack queen is now hanging from his arm, using it like a monkey bar. The other one is trying to spin a basketball on her finger. We leave the gym together and drive to my father’s house, laughing the entire way at their anecdotes from practice.

“Now, be good for Grandpa and CeeCee,” I call as the girls run to meet the older couple standing in the driveway wearing smiles ear to ear. My father remarried a few years back and we love my stepmother. She’s become a huge, indispensable part of our lives, especially the children, whom she adores—and she’s definitely turned Eric’s longtime coach and friend into a big softie.

Yes, there might have been a speed bump or two at the beginning, but our family is united now. Happier than we’ve ever been. And I can’t help but credit the man with his wrist draped over the steering wheel, sexier than any human being has the right to be.

“You’re speeding,” I point out, trying to hide my smile.

“Damn right I am,” he growls, reaching over to squeeze my inner thigh, his fingertips traveling higher, all the way to my panties and brushing up and down on my slit. “I fucking need this.”

Slowly, I peel the underwear down my legs and drop them in his lap. “Don’t worry. You’re going to get it, Daddy.”

“Shit.” His chest heaves. “I can’t make it home. I need to lick it now.”

Before I know what he’s going to do, my unpredictable husband pulls the SUV off the road into a wooded area, parking out of view of the road. He’s out in a flash, dragging me from the passenger side and hustling me toward the back seat.

I know what my husband wants.

To use his tongue to pleasure me. Over and over. Until I’m a mess who can’t string a sentence together. It’s his favorite pastime. But maybe I want to give him more than one gift for his birthday. I’m allowed, aren’t I?

Before he can throw me into the backseat, I go down on my knees and start to unbuckle his belt. “Ahhh, Greta.” His fingers tangle in my hair, his voice thickening. “What are you doing? You know I can’t think straight when you put me in your mouth.”

I lower his zipper and bring him out in a fist, rubbing the weight of him against my cheek, stroking reverently. Worshipping the part of him that has brought me unimaginable pleasure over the last decade. “I don’t want you to think straight,” I say, licking the salt from his tip. “I want you to think crooked.”

Eric groans, bracing a hand on the side of the SUV.

Knowing exactly what I’m asking for.

“You want Daddy to fuck that little mouth?” I nod shyly, gasping when he fists my hair, guiding his erection to my lips with the opposite hand, feeding it to me roughly. “Ohhhh shit. I’ve had my eye on this pretty young mouth for a while. Wondering how much it would stretch for a man’s cock.” He pushes deep, bringing tears to my eyes. “Wondering if you could keep that innocent look on your face with my balls pressed to your chin.” He eases in another inch, that smooth, heavy sack finding my face. I blink up at him naively and he pulls out with a curse. “I can’t, little girl. Can’t play when you’re sucking me off. I’ll come. Jesus.”

I’m still gasping from lack of oxygen when I’m maneuvered into the rear seat, pressed down on my back by an impatient hand.

“Give up the hot-ass pussy, Greta. Give it,” he growls, shoving my knees open and diving into my flesh with an eager tongue, grunting as he tries to get his fill. Though we both know he never will, he still tries, his lower body rubbing against the side of the back seat, his tongue leaving no land unclaimed. “Ahhhh. FUCK,” he shouts into my flesh, eating me with stiff lips, raking his hands up and down my thighs. Panting and lapping at me when I climax, his thumb finding my clit and working it in little circles until I’m mewling his name, fingers tangled in his hair. “Sweetest little thing,” he says gutturally, kissing my sated folds, tracing his mouth up my belly, trailing the tip of his tongue over my erect nipples, before finally finding my mouth, kissing me with the same amount of passion—no, more—than the first time we kissed ten years earlier. “I’ll give you a minute to rest, then I want more, wife.”

My lips form a lazy smile. “Whose birthday is this, anyway?”

“Mine.” He kisses me hard, love reflected in his blue eyes. “You make every day my birthday, angel. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “Here’s to the next decade.”

He strokes the side of my face, his heart on display. “And five more after that.”

THE END

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