Epilogue

Three years later

Jake

I walk through the front door after a long day on base, my combat boots thudding on the hardwood floor. The smells of roasting garlic and fresh bread envelop me, welcoming me home.

"Daddy's home!" Lily calls out in a singsong voice from the kitchen. I hear the patter of little feet and our two-year-old son appears, toddling towards me with chubby arms outstretched.

"There's my little man," I say, scooping him up and burying my nose in his soft blond curls. He smells like baby shampoo and pure innocence.

Lily emerges from the kitchen, her pregnant belly straining against the flowery apron tied around her waist. Even with flour smudged on her cheek, no makeup, and her hair piled in a messy bun, she takes my breath away. Pregnancy has only made her more radiant, her skin glowing and breasts fuller. My beautiful, perfect wife.

I set our son down and he toddles off to play. Lily steps into my open arms and I pull her flush against me, as close as her swollen belly will allow. I capture her lips in a deep, possessive kiss.

"Mmm, I missed you today," she murmurs against my mouth. "Dinner's almost ready."

"I'm hungry for something else," I growl, nipping at her lower lip. My hands roam her lush curves, squeezing her round ass. "You look so fucking sexy, baby. Carrying my child...I can't get enough of you."

She giggles and swats my chest. "Jake! Language. Little ears," she scolds, but her blue eyes sparkle with amusement and desire.

I back her up against the wall, pinning her there with my hips. "I need you, and don't pretend you're not an insatiable little minx who can't keep her hands off her husband." Something I really love about her.

I slip a hand under her apron and cup her breast, thumbing the pebbled nipple through thin cotton. She arches into me with a breathy gasp. "Can you blame me? I'm so horny all the time."

My other hand slides between her thighs, under her skirt. I groan when I find her bare and already slick with arousal. "Christ, Lily. You trying to kill me?"

I rub tight circles over her swollen clit and she mewls, clutching at my shoulders. "Only a little death, Marine."

I want to bend her over the couch and bury myself in her wet heat, but the oven timer dings. Lily wiggles out of my arms with a breathless laugh.

"Hold that thought. Let me get dinner on the table first."

I watch her ass sway as she walks back to the kitchen, adjusting myself in my fatigues. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine having this—Lily as my wife, our perfect son, another baby on the way, the white picket fence. But here we are, all her dreams come true.

And later, after our boy is sleeping soundly, I'll show her just how much I cherish her. I'll worship my sweet Lily, the mother of my children. I'll map every inch of her skin with hands and mouth, claim her body once again as she so eagerly surrenders.

I'll fill her up, leave her sated and dripping with my seed. My perfect bride, round with my child.

Forever mine .

We eat dinner, and I swear she's teasing me. The way she slowly licks her fork, sliding it out of her mouth and staring at me with those bedroom eyes…

Lily

I know exactly what I'm doing to Jake, licking my fork like that, letting it slowly slide from between my pursed lips. His green eyes darken and he shifts in his seat, no doubt imagining that tongue on his cock instead.

"Mm, this is so good, baby," I moan appreciatively, taking another bite of the garlic bread. "You want a taste?"

I hold out a morsel to him, and he leans in to take it between his teeth, lips brushing my fingertips. I shiver at the contact.

The heat in his gaze makes my core clench with need. I squirm in my seat, rubbing my thighs together to get some friction where I'm throbbing for him.

He gives me a look that promises revenge.

Good. I can't wait.

After we put our little man to bed, Jake stalks towards me with a predatory gleam in his eye. He backs me into our bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

"You teased me all through dinner, you naughty girl," he growls, crowding me against the wall. "Flashing me glimpses of your creamy thighs, licking your lips like you're starving for my cock." He nuzzles into my neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Teasing me with this lush body ripe with my baby."

His large hands roam my curves possessively, cupping my heavy breasts. He rolls my nipples between his fingers and I gasp, arching into his touch. "Jake, please..."

"Please what, sweet girl? Tell me what you need."

"I need you inside me. I'm so empty." I practically sob the words, writhing against him desperately.

I don't know what it is. I've always been horny for Jake, but being pregnant has shot my hormones into overdrive.

I'm insatiable .

He hikes up my skirt and practically rips my panties off me, the flimsy lace no match for his Marine strength. I whimper as cool air hits my overheated flesh, already so slick and ready for him.

"Fuck, baby, you're dripping," he groans, fingers delving into my sodden folds. I cry out when he circles my aching clit, hips bucking into his touch. "This hungry little pussy is all mine. No one else gets to see you like this, so desperate and wanton."

"Yes, only yours!" I agree frantically, dizzy with need. "Please, Jake..."

He brings his fingers to my mouth, coated in my juices. "Suck."

I open obediently and he pushes his fingers inside. I moan around the digits, laving them with my tongue, tasting my own musky arousal. His eyes burn into me, dark with lust.

"On the bed. Now," he commands gruffly. "I'm going to feast on this sweet cunt before I fuck you senseless."

A thrill races through me and I scramble to obey, climbing onto our king-sized bed. He prowls after me like a wolf stalking his prey. I start to lay back, but he stops me with a hand on my hip.

"No. On your hands and knees." His voice is rough, sending shivers down my spine. "I want to see my baby in your belly."

I position myself as he asked, knees spread wide, my heavy tits hanging down. He kneels behind me, big hands smoothing over the globes of my ass appreciatively.

"Fucking perfect," he praises, landing a light slap on one cheek. I yelp, then moan as he soothes the sting with his palm. "Round with my child, ass in the air for me like a bitch in heat."

His filthy words make me clench around nothing. I'm shamefully aroused by his degradation, by him putting me in my place as his broodmare, the receptacle for his seed.

"Please, Jake, I need your mouth on me," I whine, wiggling my hips invitingly.

He spreads me open, dragging a long lick through my folds and over my tight little pucker. I keen, pushing back against his face. He laps at me, circling my clit, fucking into my channel with his tongue.

"Oh god, yes, just like that! Ah!" My arms give out and I face-plant into the mattress, ass still high in the air. He redoubles his efforts, sucking my clit into his mouth as he plunges two thick fingers knuckle-deep into my weeping core.

It only takes moments before I'm flying apart with a scream of his name, my walls clamping down on his plundering fingers.

I cry out his name as the pleasure crashes over me, my entire body quaking with the force of my release. Jake doesn't let up, his fingers and tongue relentlessly stoking the flames, pushing me higher until I'm sobbing from the intensity.

"That's it, baby, come on my tongue," he growls against my dripping flesh. "Fucking drown me."

I do, gushing into his eager mouth as a second orgasm rips through me, even more powerful than the first. Spots dance behind my eyelids and I collapse fully onto the bed, boneless.

Jake gentles his touch, lapping softly at my sensitized flesh, licking me clean of my release. I whimper and twitch as little aftershocks zing through my nerve endings.

"You taste so goddamn good," he rumbles appreciatively. "I could eat this pussy for hours."

I mewl at his words, exhausted but still needy. I need him inside me, stretching me, filling me up.

As if reading my mind, Jake flips me over onto my back and settles his hips between my splayed thighs. His green eyes are wild and hungry as they rove over my body laid out before him like a feast.

My heavy breasts, nipples straining against the confines of my bra. My rounded belly, ripe with his child. The wet and swollen flesh of my bare pussy, pink and glistening from his oral attentions.

"Fucking look at you," he rasps, voice gravelly with lust. "All mine. My perfect little wife."

"Yes, yours," I breathe, reaching for him. "Please, Jake, I need you inside me. I'm aching."

He curses under his breath and practically rips his fatigues open, shoving them down just enough to free his straining erection. I lick my lips at the sight of him, so hard and thick, the bulbous head an angry purple and weeping precum.

Jake notches himself at my entrance and surges forward, hilting inside me with one powerful thrust. I keen at the sudden penetration, my inner muscles fluttering around his invading length. No matter how many times he takes me, I'm always so tight for him.

"Fuck, Lily, you feel incredible," he grunts, pulling out slowly and slamming back in. "Hot and slick and gripping me so good. Like this pussy was made for me."

"It was," I moan, wrapping my legs high around his waist, opening myself up even more. "Only for you, Jake. Forever."

He sets a relentless pace, pounding into me hard and deep, just the way I need it. The wet, obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh fill the room, punctuated by our gasps and groans of pleasure.

Jake dips his head and captures one of my nipples in his mouth.

His mouth is hot and demanding on my breast, tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. I tangle my fingers in his short hair, holding him to me as he suckles greedily.

"God, Jake, yes!" I moan, my back arching off the bed. The dual sensations of his mouth on my nipple and his thick cock plundering my needy channel send sparks of ecstasy zinging through my body.

He releases my breast with a wet pop and kisses his way up my chest, my neck, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss. I can taste myself on his tongue and it only inflames my desire.

Pulling back, he braces his weight on his forearms on either side of my head, his hips still churning, driving into me with deep, purposeful strokes. His intense green eyes bore into mine, dark with possession and carnal hunger.

"You take my cock so well, baby," he rasps, voice rough with strain. "Fucking made for it. Made for me to fill this sweet cunt with my seed over and over."

I clench around him at his filthy words, my pussy weeping copiously, easing his way. "Yes, Jake, fill me up!" I keen desperately, my nails raking down his back. "Breed me again, give me another baby!"

He curses harshly and redoubles his efforts, fucking into me with wild abandon. The headboard slams against the wall with each powerful thrust. "Fuck, Lily, you want that? Want me to put another bun in this oven?"

"Yes, god yes!" I babble mindlessly, drunk on pleasure. "I want to be big and round with your babies, all the time!"

The idea of him keeping me constantly pregnant, my belly and breasts always swollen with his children, my body perpetually soft and ripe for his taking, sends me hurtling towards the edge.

"I'm so close, Jake! Don't stop, please don't stop!" I wail, my thighs beginning to shake, my stomach muscles quivering and tightening.

He hammers into me, grinding his pelvis against my aching clit with every thrust. "That's it, baby, come on my cock," he commands gruffly. "Squeeze the cum out of me, milk me dry. Fucking take it!"

His words are my undoing. I detonate with a silent scream, my orgasm crashing over me in waves of mind-numbing ecstasy. My cunt clamps down on him rhythmically, rippling along his pistoning length.

Jake stiffens above me, his hips stuttering. "Fuck, Lily, fuck!" he roars, slamming into me one last time and exploding, painting my insides with his hot release.

I moan at the feel of him throbbing and spurting deep inside me, his potent seed flooding my womb.

I milk his cock with my fluttering inner muscles, drawing out every last drop. Our mingled fluids seep out around his softening shaft, making a sticky mess between my thighs.

Jake collapses on top of me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. I welcome the crush of his body, enveloping me, anchoring me. He nuzzles into my neck with a contented rumble.

"I love you," he murmurs against my sweat-dampened skin. "So fucking much."

My heart swells at his words, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "I love you too, Jake. More than anything."

We lay there tangled together, basking in the afterglow. His hand smooths over the swell of my belly reverently. "I can't wait to meet this little one," he says, voice filled with wonder. "See what other perfect blend of us we've created."

"Me too," I whisper, covering his hand with my own. The life we've built together, this family, is beyond my wildest dreams. I'm so incredibly blessed.

Jake shifts off of me and spoons up behind my back, one strong arm banding across my chest. He splays his other hand across my rounded stomach possessively. "Sleep, my sweet wife."

I hum in agreement, exhaustion pulling at me. I snuggle back into his warm bulk, feeling cherished and protected. Safe.

"Love you," I slur, already drifting.

The last thing I feel before sleep claims me is the soft press of his lips against my hair and his deep, rumbling voice.

"Love you, Lily. Always."

Want a free book from Emma Bray? Go to www.authoremmabray.com .

Keep reading for an excerpt from Soldier's Symphony .

Harper

"Oh, come on, Harper! You have to go with us!"

Meg is looking up at me with her big blue eyes. She widens them so they look like puppy dog eyes and pouts as she begs. "It'll be so much fun! I promise you. All you ever do is work. You need to get out and live a little."

I sigh. Meg's got me there. Ever since my dad died, all I've done is work. Of course, I do it to make ends meet, but I've also taken on extra shifts—as many as I can to keep busy.

My dad left me the little bungalow where I grew up. He was smart enough to make sure the house was completely paid off long ago, so it's not like I have a mortgage or rent to worry about. I just have to pay my electric bill and taxes and buy my food and necessities.

Most of what I'm earning now goes into a small savings account. I don't know what I'm saving up for. My dreams died the day my dad did. I just don't have the passion for anything I used to anymore.

I finish wiping down my table while Meg continues to flutter around me like a butterfly. "All the other waitresses are going," she adds. "Molly and Mary will be there. And even Chrissy."

I try not to wrinkle up my nose at the mention of Chrissy, though I can tell by Meg's face that she's not exactly thrilled Chrissy will be there either.

Chrissy acts like she's better than the rest of us and makes it clear every time she steps through the doors that she doesn't need this job. She's just doing it to make extra money before she goes to college.

Besides Chrissy, I get along well with all of my co-workers, especially Meg, who barnacled herself onto me the moment I walked in the door. She decided I needed a friend and applied herself generously to that role.

Growing up as an only child, I didn't have a lot of friends. It was always just my dad and me. I'm a little on the quiet side. I'm not exactly shy, but I never saw the need to be the life of the party. I was the kind of girl who could talk to my classmates and get along well with all of them. I was pretty well-liked, but I wasn't particularly close to anyone.

But none of that matters now that we're all grown up. I'm waiting tables here at the diner, and only God knows what the rest of them are doing. If I had to bet, I would guess most of them are in college now. Many of my classmates were trust fund babies.

I honestly don't know how my dad could afford to send me to private school, but he insisted that I get a good education in a safe environment.

My heart wrenches at the thought of him. It's been two years, yet I still miss him like it was yesterday. He was my best friend.

I never knew my mother. She died giving birth to me, but my father never held that against me—even when I held it against myself. He told me that I was her pride and joy when she was pregnant and that she wouldn't have regretted her sacrifice. Dad also assured me that she'd be so proud of the woman I'd become.

Meg's face falls as if she can tell the turn my thoughts have taken. Meg is a good friend. She's been here for me through it all.

The day I got the phone call that my dad was in a bad car crash, she was the one who held me while I cried. She knows firsthand what I've been through. She was there to wrap her arms around me when I needed someone to cry on, and I'll forever be grateful to her for that.

I'm not into all this social stuff, though. After a long day at work, I like to go home and relax by myself with a good book or a movie, but I know my friend means well. She just worries about me.

That's why I hear myself agreeing. "Sure, Meg. Count me in."

"Sweet!" she squeals as she flutters off to get back to work.

I smile to myself. Maybe it will be good for me to get out for a night with the girls.

The girls don't take me to a rambunctious club, and for that, I'm thankful. I'm so not into the club scene. Instead, we hit up a local bar where the vibe is good, and there's no pressure to dance and gyrate all over one another like there is at a club.

We're all dressed pretty casually in skirts and tank tops, but nothing outrageous.

I instantly relax as we drink a few flirty cocktails and the girls' chatter.They talk about some of our usual customers, and Meg makes this hilarious impression of one of our grumpiest regulars that has us all laughing.

I grip my stomach with deep belly laughs—the kind that I haven't experienced in years. It's the kind of laugh that makes your stomach hurt but in a good way.I wipe the tears from my eyes. Meg was right. This feels good. Yes, I still miss my dad, but I know he wouldn't want me to grieve for him forever. He would want me to have friends and start living again.

So, I vow to myself that's what I'm going to do.

We're a couple of drinks in when people start going up on the stage for to sing karaoke. Unsurprisingly, Chrissy is the first one in our group to volunteer. We all giggle and clap supportively. She's not as good a singer as she thinks she is, but she's not horrible, either. She's just a little over the top.

"Okay, now it's your turn, Harper." Meg turns her big blue eyes on me.

"Oh, no." I shake my head, my palms sweating at the thought of getting on the stage in front of a bunch of people—even if they are people I don't know.

"Yes, you have to!" Molly and Mary agree. "We'll go after you, but you go next."

"No, girls, I really don't want to," I protest, but Meg is already plucking my drink from my fingers and pulling me to stand.

"Harper, you're an amazing singer. You'll do great!" she tells me.

I give her a pleading look.

Yes, Meg has heard me sing. I used to love singing, but it's something I haven't done much of since my father died. That was kind of our thing. Dad played the guitar while I sang along with him. He loved to hear me sing. At one time, I even dreamed of going to music school and studying the vocal arts, but I gave all that up when Dad died. Just like I've pretty much given up singing.

Something I know my dad wouldn't want. He'd be so sad knowing I've stopped singing, and that thought cements my decision.

Meg continues to pull on my arm, and I finally concede. What the hell? So far, all of Meg's suggestions—like the one that I come out tonight—have turned out well. And I also vowed that I was going to let loose and live a little, so I'm just gonna go for it. Who cares if I bomb it, right? Everyone in this place is tipsy, and a lot of the people who've gotten up haven't been good singers. Karaoke is all in good fun anyway. It's not like we're seriously out to impress anyone.

"Okay, what are you going to sing, little lady?" the DJ manning the karaoke asks me with a wink.

I glance over at Meg. I don't have the first clue what to choose, but in true Meg fashion, she's ready to volunteer something.

I know the song she suggests, so I shrug at the DJ and go with it. It's not one of the campy, cheesy, upbeat songs, but it's not a slow song either. It's more of a rock-pop ballad—one that I remember singing a lot with my dad while he played the electric guitar.

I let the music wash over me. I haven't sung much in the past couple of years, but I still love to listen to music, losing myself in the chords and melodies.

I close my eyes when the song reaches the opening stanza. It's my cue to sing, so I take a deep breath, open my mouth, and let loose.

I get lost in the lyrics, lost in the melody. I'm singing from the bottom of my heart, remembering my father. This is like a cleansing, a revelation, as I silently dedicate this song to him.

I get so caught up in my song that I forget where I am.When I open my eyes, the bar is so silent you can hear a pin drop. My face immediately flushes.

Oh, my God, I must have been horrible.

Suddenly, everyone erupts into applause, standing to their feet like they're at an opera or something. People are hooting and hollering and cheering, and my face flushes even deeper.

I nod my head in a humble bow and leave the stage. When I walk back over to the table where the girls are sitting, Molly and Mary are typing furiously on their phones.

I glance over their shoulders as I pass by them and gasp when I see what they're up to. "Oh my god, you guys! You cannot post that!"

They took a video of me singing, and they're posting it online.

"Too late!" Molly chirps up at me as her finger presses the send button.

"Yeah, too late for me too!" Mary says with a huge grin.

I cover my face with my hands. I don't want to be all over the internet. I'm not good enough for all that.

"What's wrong?" Meg asks me. "You were freaking amazing!"

"No, I'm so out of practice!" I groan. "I didn't know you guys were taking a video!"I shoot them all a distressed glance.

"Babe, we weren't the only ones," Molly notes as she jerks her head toward the rest of the room where other people are on their phones.

My cheeks flame, and I catch Chrissy out of the corner of my eye. She's glaring at me with her arms crossed, no doubt pissed off that I've stolen her thunder. Great. All I need is for her to be pissed off at me and give me more attitude than she already does at work. I was hoping that tonight would bridge the gap between us, and I think it did until my performance right after hers. I should have known better.

A few people come over to say hi to us and gush about my performance, and I sit there blushing like the idiot I am, feeling awkward. I've never been one for the spotlight, but I have to admit this feels good.It feels good to sing again and to hear that people enjoyed it.

When I finally go home, I have a smile on my face. For the first time in two years, I'm not crying as I fall asleep.

Erik

I work my way through my business emails as I do every morning while the news plays in the background. Taking a sip of my black coffee, I scowl at my computer screen. Fucking Donovan. It's always something with him. I type out a quick reply before I hit "send."

I scoff when I see that Morta has made yet another bid for one of my compositions. He may as well give it up. I'll never sell my work to anyone.

My music is my life. It's personal. It's not for public use. He should consider himself lucky that I fund his little musical theater.

I realize that I'm a bit backward. Most composers want the world to hear their work and love it, but I'm just the opposite. I hoard my compositions close to my chest like a dragon hoards treasure. I'm greedy. I don't want to share them with anyone. I think part of the reason is I know that no one else will be able to do my pieces justice.

I take another sip of my brew before something on the television catches my eye.I don't know why I turn the news on every morning. I rarely watch it, but now and then, a clip will catch my attention.

But nothing has ever caught my attention like this.

There's a girl on the screen. She has a thin build and long chocolate curls that flow down to her waist. They frame her face, making her look cherubic, like something from one of those classical paintings.

Her eyes are closed, her dark lashes laying on her creamy-white cheeks. She's wearing a fluttery little black skirt and a sky-blue tank top that shows just a hint of skin between the hem of her shirt and the band of the skirt.

It's not the clothing that gets my attention, though. She's not scantily dressed, and while she's beautiful—the most beautiful little angel I've ever seen—it's not that either.

No, what gets my attention is the crystal pure sound pouring from her pink lips. She has perfect pitch, her voice smooth and sweet.I've never heard anything like it in all my thirty-one years. Her voice is purity itself. I can't tear my eyes from her.

She's innocence personified, and that voice…

I'm suddenly burning to know everything about her. Who is she?

As if the news anchor hears my unspoken question, she answers, "That's Harper Young, ladies and gentleman, the waitress who's singing went viral last night."

She goes on to tell the story of how she and her friends were hanging out at this bar when Harper got up to do a karaoke number. Her friends filmed her and put her on the internet, and now she's become an overnight sensation.

"Harper." I taste the syllables on my lips. Sweet Jesus, her name tastes like honey. I speak it again, claiming it as mine.

Something inside me clicks. I've never wanted anyone to perform my compositions, but I'm suddenly dying to hear my music on her lips. It's crystal clear, like I've had an epiphany. It's her. She's who I've been waiting for. This marvelous, wonderful girl. This little angel sent down from heaven.

I pause the scene and rewind it to play back the clip. I can't tear my eyes from her as I watch the emotion flood across her face and pour out into her voice. Even though she has her eyes closed, she puts more emotion into that one song than the most practiced of musicians.

My eyes rove over her from head to toe, desire coursing through my veins. I'm aroused for the first time in years.Well, I'm no monk. I've been taking care of my needs myself for a while now, but it's been a long time since any female has elicited such a reaction.

I jump from my desk, excitement coursing through my veins. I feel like I'll die if I don't get to her soon. I don't know what my plan is, but I take off toward my library door. Istop when my hand touches the doorknob, glancing to my right. My gaze is drawn there unbidden.

There's a mirror hanging in the corner of the room. I hate mirrors. I hate the fucking things, but I left this one up because it was my mother's. However, I put it in the most obscure location so I don't have to look at myself.

I look now and scoff as I raise my hand to my scarred visage. I trail my fingers over the mangled flesh on the right side of my face. Fortunately, my injury doesn't cause me much pain, but it scarred up the right half of my face, making me look like a monster.

I force myself to gaze upon my scarred face, my jaw hardening as reality comes crashing down upon me once again. I'm a monster now. I'm not the good-looking man I once was, the man who could saunter up to any female and ask her out with complete confidence.

I drop my hand from the doorknob and hunch my shoulders as I turn back toward my desk, dejected.

There's a reason I keep myself sequestered away from the rest of society. The mirror starkly reminds me of that fact. I don't know what came over me that I momentarily forgot.

My eyes flick back up to the screen where Harper's beautiful face is displayed.Yes, I do. This little songbird with the voice and face of an angel. She's what came over me.I want her so bad it's a physical ache. My chest tightens, and I pull in panting breaths.

It can never be, I remind myself. She's beautiful and whole, whereas I'm half the man I used to be. She wouldn't give a poor sap like me the time of day.

I ball my hands into fists and lean on my desk, my jaw clenched so tightly I'm surprised I don't break the fucker. The hopelessness of my situation crashes over me until I roar in fury and swipe everything from my desk, knocking my laptop and everything onto the floor to shatter.

Nostrils flared, I grapple for control, my chest heaving like the beast I am. Shame washes over me at losing control like this. I'm no longer fit for polite society. This just proves it. I'm not worthy of an angel like her.

I look back at the screen, my heart breaking into a thousand pieces as I rewind the clip and watch it over and over and over again, torturing myself with the purity that I can never have.

I spend the next few days finding out everything about Harper Young. I have the best private investigator money can buy pull her file, and I study everything contained within it. I study her harder than I studied any course in college. She's twenty-one and waiting tables at a hole-in-the-wall diner—such a waste for a girl with her kind of talent.

I rewatch the clip of her singing like a man possessed. Her voice is ingrained in my head forever. I hear it when I sleep. I see her image every time I close my eyes. She's there all around me.

My world is irrevocably changed, and nothing will ever be the same again.

I have my man watch her all day while she's at work. Everywhere she goes, I have him following her and sending me a live feed of what's going on.It's obsessive and crazy and over the top, but I don't give a damn.

Maybe I can't approach her on my own, but I'll make damn sure I keep my eyes on her. I can't explain it, but I have this insane need to know where she is at all times. I need to watch over her even though she has no clue I exist.

Her father passed away a couple of years ago, so she's all alone in this world. Anything could have happened to her in those years before I knew of her, but I vow that nothing will now because she has me silently watching over her, protecting her.

She'll never be alone again. Whether she knows it or not, I'll always be there in the shadows, her silent benefactor making sure she has anything she needs.My heart clenches painfully at the knowledge that's all I can ever be.

It's not about sex, although I'd be lying if I said I'm not dying to sheath myself in her heat. No, it's more than that. My arms ache to hold her, stroke her like a little kitten. Talk to herand climb inside her mind to hear every thought in her beautiful head. Make all her dreams come true.

I certainly have the means to. I have all this money and no one to spend it on. What's the point in all of this if I have to do it alone? But I'm no longer alone because now I have a reason for living. I have Harper. I can take care of her, even if from afar.

I content myself with that until I turn on the TV one morning and see that Morta is on the morning news putting out a public offer for Harper to come work for him.

I drop my coffee cup, the hot beverage spilling onto my shirt and pants. It scalds me, but I barely feel the burn. My vision is blurring as panic seizes my chest.

There is no way in hell I'm going to let her work for another composer. I don't think I can bear for her to sing another man's compositions. The only songs she should be singing are mine.

I square my jaw with resolve.

When Harper sings, she's going to sing only for me .