Epilogue

Epilogue

Edison

Five Years Later

I prowlthe floor of my office, waiting for Blessing to return from some last-minute Christmas shopping. The house is filled with happy scents of the season. Wood burning in the fireplace, pine, cinnamon. It’s no longer simply a house, it’s a home. Because of her.

Christmas was once a chore for me. All the carolers warbling off-key outside of my door, people skipping work to be with their families for weeks on end. It baffled me. Infuriated me.

That was before I met my wife.

I divide my life into two sections now. Before Blessing. And after Blessing.

I don’t even think I would recognize the cold, cynical man I was prior to her showing up on my doorstep. And I never want to go back to that dark place—that’s why I must guard my wife at all costs. I’m not being paranoid. They want what’s mine. All of them.

You’ve witnessed what she’s like in bed, right?

Over the years, she’s only gotten hotter. Tighter. Hornier.

My dick is a metal fucking pole between my legs twenty-four seven.

She sucks it and creams on it and rides it backwards while babbling baby talk at me, while I’m working, when I’m off. I pounce on her and bend her over furniture, out in the backyard, in public. We’re filthy fucking animals.

And she’s still a sweet, compassionate angel the rest of the time.

I don’t think you understand. She has driven me fucking mental.

You might think she’d understand her appeal by now, considering she can bring me to my knees simply by sniffling. If she even looks like she’s thinking about crying, my world ceases to spin. And she has cried over the years, of course, because we’ve had two children and hormones can be complicated bastards. So my world has stopped spinning many times. You should have seen me when she was pregnant with our first child—I grew a full beard because I flat out forgot to shave. I couldn’t sleep for picturing her in pain. Two weeks before her due date, I flew the best doctors in the country to my home, so she would have the best care.

Thankfully, we have decided to stop at two children—and that was my angel’s decision because she was worried about my mental health. I can’t blame her. We’re already dealing with my jealousy and possessiveness and wild obsession with her, we don’t need to add my fear of her experiencing pain to the mix.

When I hear the mechanical whirr of the gate opening outside (I had it installed five years ago to keep the mob out), I stride to the window, relief setting in when I see my wife arriving home with her security team. Our four-year-old hops out of the black Mercedes and runs to the house next door where he’ll no doubt play with his best friend, Jasper, one of the newer orphans for whom we haven’t yet found a home.

You wouldn’t believe what my wife has done with the orphanage. Between having two kids and dealing with my obsession, she has found time to revamp the orphanage into an educational facility. It’s a home for these children and while they are living within its walls, they learn valuable trades and she prepares them for the future. She’s an utter phenomenon and I am all too proud to stand by her side when she holds charity dinners. Although, as I’m sure you can imagine, I stand at her side to make sure no one thinks of laying a fucking finger on her.

They know. They know she’s the only one of her kind. They know she’s spun from pure magic and they want to steal her from me, but I’m ready. I’m always balanced right on the edge, waiting for someone to try to take her, so I can absolutely detonate.

Through the frosted window, I watch as Blessing carries our sleeping one-year-old son into the house. The security team carries her packages in behind her—and I wait, breathing in and out steadily, forcing myself not to scare her. I wait until she has settled our son into his nursery. Then, slowly, I cross to my office door and toe it open, letting a creaking sound drift into the hallway.

Blessing knows damn well what it means.

A moment later, she steps into my office, closes the door and leans back against it.

I’m only capable of holding myself at bay for another second before I rocket forward and flatten her roughly against the heavy wood, allowing her no room to escape. She cries out while I rake my teeth up the side of her neck, my right hand reaching beneath her skirt to grip her pussy. “Give me the names of the people who coveted this while you were out.”

“N-nobody. Nobody!”

“Don’t be naïve, little girl, everyone you passed on the street wanted it. Give me their names and I will take care of it.”

“Edison,” she whispers, cupping my face. “Even if someone else wanted me, it wouldn’t matter. There’s only you. There will only ever be you.”

Paranoia and suspicions claw at me. Not about her. I trust my wife implicitly. It’s the world I don’t trust. Her appeal is too vast. She weakens the wills of men.

Why can’t she see what we can see?

Watching her closely, I peel the panties down to mid-thigh, brushing my fingertips side to side on her smooth mound. You don’t understand, she is made of silk. Snug, wet silk. What man could retain his common sense knowing her pussy is nearby? Certainly not me. It hurts to exist and not be inside of her. “I’ll ask you one more time. Who wanted to touch it?”

“No one.” She lays kisses along my jawline. “No one.”

I drop my hand, curl my fingers into a fist and punch the doorframe. “Stop lying to me.”

Blessing bows her head, a touch of guilt cresting in the depths of her eyes. “S-someone might have propositioned me at lunch. I was j-just coming out of the bathroom.”

“I knew it.” With a shaking hand, I yank down my zipper. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him the truth,” she whispers.

I whirl Blessing around and drag her down to the carpeted floor, pushing the pulsing head of my cock just inside of her snug opening. “Which is?”

My wife flutters her eyelashes at me innocently, even as she unbuttons her shirt and peels it open, revealing the perky tits that I can never keep my hands—or mouth—off for long. “I told him my Daddy is going to get him.”

“Good girl.” I drive myself deep inside of her with a strangled shout, already on the verge of nutting. She’s tight as a whip. Soaked. It’s impossible to make love to her slowly when she’s milking me, moaning and lifting her butt to meet my pumps. “He’s been warned.”

“And so have I.” She lifts her knees and clenches her cunt, robbing my lungs of oxygen. Seriously, you’ve never felt anything like it. If my balls could talk, they would be cursing a blue streak. “If I want to go out, I deal with the consequences when I get home.”

I catch her mouth in a hot kiss that turns her wetter, sweeter, and I reach down to tickle her clit with my ring finger—also known as my favorite finger, because it bears the proof that I’m this perfect creature’s husband. “Tell the truth, angel. You love my consequences.”

Mischief kindles in her eyes. “No, Daddy,” she purrs. “I live for your consequences. I love them like I love you. Powerfully. Endlessly.”

“Baby, I love you, too. I love you more than my heart can stand.”

She kisses me sweetly, granting me a long look of affection, then clamps me harder within her sex, making me grit and curse, my vision turning blurry. “Give me the consequences harder? Please?” she whimpers. “You should make sure you bought the tightest one.”

My manhood is replaced by beasthood. “Oh Jesus…”

What choice do I have but to fuck my angel with frenzied hunger?

You see this?You see what she does to me?

She has me turned inside out. I’m a mess. A greedy, overprotective lunatic.

An addict to my wife’s body and all I want is to mainline her.

I am lost in her and never want to be found.

You want her too, don’t you?

I fucking knew it.

THE END

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