Epilogue

Lyric

Five Years Later

Dear Santa,

I know I said I'd never ask you for anything else again, but I have a special request. This year for Christmas, can you please let my daddy know that our family is growing? Next year, we'll be celebrating with a new little one. I'm pregnant with his baby.

xoxo,

Lyric

I quickly scan my letter, my eyes growing misty as I run my hand over my belly. I can't believe I'm pregnant for Christmas again. I'm beginning to think one of Sinclair's traditions is keeping me pregnant for the holiday. I've spent four of the last five carrying one of his babies.

I'm not complaining. My daddy loves me every day. But the way he loves me when I'm pregnant? There's nothing more beautiful than that. He worships me. I feel it every time he touches me. It's in every kiss, every caress. He treats me exactly like a princess…one he'd tear apart the whole world just to make smile.

I probably shouldn't encourage him, but I love the way he is with me. I adore every single moment with him. When I wrote my letter to Santa five years ago, I did so in a moment of hopelessness. I had no idea that Sinclair was carrying a ring around in his pocket or that he was as obsessed with me as I was with him. Neither of us knew what kind of magic the future held.

But it has been magical. Every day with him is magic. Most people probably wouldn't understand the way we are. They wouldn't understand that he's my daddy, the man who cares for me, protects me, and fucks me. He feeds me from his plate, cuddles me, and keeps my life functioning. I don't worry about anything because of him. He reminds me to wear my coat and drive slow and do all the things I forget to do. He helps me do them. For the first time, my life isn't big and overwhelming.

There's so much peace in that for me. I can be as loud and messy as I want. I can throw my whole heart into everything I do because he's there to make sure I'm safe and that I'm taken care of. And at the end of the day, I get to take care of him too.

We get to play our naughty games…the ones that drive him crazy. Sometimes, I'm his good little girl. Sometimes, I'm a brat. He loves me both ways. And I love every wicked thing he does to me.

It doesn't matter if anyone else understands or approves. What we do is just for us. Our little secret.

We have a lot of those.

I only ever keep them for my daddy.

"Baby girl, where are you?" he calls from downstairs.

I quickly shove my letter to Santa into an envelope and seal it before placing it on my nightstand. Once it's where I know he'll find it, I throw the covers back and leap into bed, turning off the lamp.

My heart pounds as I snuggle in and close my eyes, waiting for our nightly games to begin.

My bedroom door creaks open, light spilling across the bed. I feel his penetrating gaze on me. My panties grow damp as my nipples harden. I fight the urge to press my legs together.

He watches me for a long moment before slipping into my room. The door closes with a soft snick. His boots thump against the floor as he crosses toward me, the same path he's walked a thousand times before.

"I know you're awake, baby girl," he murmurs. His thumb runs across my bottom lip. His other hand runs down my side, gripping my ass through my tiny sleep shorts. "You're always awake when daddy comes to see you."

I let out a little snore, trying not to giggle.

He moves his hand from my face, flipping on the lamp. "What's this?"

I bite my lip, listening as he reaches for the envelope I left for him to find.

"A letter to Santa? What could my princess possibly want, hmm? Doesn't daddy give her everything?"

Yes. A thousand times yes.

I hold my breath as he tears into the envelope and pulls out the single sheet of paper.

"Dear Santa," he reads. "I know I said I'd never ask you for anything else again, but I have a special request. This year for Christmas, can you please let my daddy know that our family is growing?"

My eyes spring open, locking on his face when his breath catches.

"Next year, we'll be celebrating with a new little one. I'm pregnant with his baby. xoxo,

Lyric," I whisper, reciting the rest of the note as emotion flares in his eyes and his hands shake.

"Fuck," he growls, carefully setting the letter aside. "You're pregnant."

"Merry Christmas, daddy."

He launches himself at me, a blur of discomposed masculinity.

We celebrate like we always do. With him on top of me, inside me…all over me. It's another perfect Christmas Eve.