Epilogue

EPILOGUE

STANTON

W ith a slow stroke of my tongue, I licked my boy's release from his inner right thigh and then upward along the crease of where his groin met his leg. Nipping so I could hear that giggle-groan he got from being ticklish. Instead of trekking to some packed restaurant to celebrate our anniversary, we'd decided on a picnic in our backyard and an evening in bed. Nothing had changed since I put my ring on my baby's finger.

Kissing up the side of his soft, rounded belly, he stroked his fingers through my sweaty hair. His entire body arched as I sucked at his bruised, sensitive nipples. He'd always come so hard when I played with them when I was balls-deep in his tight ass. Finally, I reached his mouth, and the satisfied smile told me all I needed to know—I'd made my boy feel good.

"Was our celebration satisfactory?" I asked as I tenderly dropped the softest kisses on his firm lips.

"You know it was," he whispered in that sweet way he had that drove me crazy. The light caress of his fingertips up and down my spine caused my spent cock to harden again.

I'd tell anyone who asked how obsessed I was with my husband—my boy. I rested my weight between his thighs, chest-to-chest, as I took in his heavy-lidded eyes and swollen lips. That smile of his showed me how happy I made him.

"Have I told you how much I love you today?" I shook my head as he closed his eyes as if he were thinking about it. There was my bratty, happy baby.

"I think you may have, but it's been so, so long."

"I can't have that now, can I?" I brushed his longer hair back from his sweaty brow. "I love you more than anything. Thanks for saying yes."

"Well, Daddy, I didn't have much choice. You said you were going to hold me hostage until I did."

"That's just wrong. I did no such thing!"

"Barricading me in your bedroom wasn't a hostage situation?"

Okay, I'd admit I'd done that. I'd taken him out for ice cream and a movie one afternoon, seven months after we'd started dating. When I'd gotten him home, I'd led him to my bedroom, locked the door, and presented him with the ring I'd purchased. I'd sworn I was going to puke as I'd waited for his shock to fade so he could answer me. We'd discussed getting married but had been happy with simple bands, but I'd wanted him to have the intimate wedding… the honeymoon. I'd wanted to do it the way my baby dreamed of.

A month later, we'd had a very small ceremony in our backyard, just with my mom and a few friends, and a dinner that one of my regular caterers made. Ten people and the minister, that's all we'd needed.

"I think the whole hostage thing is going a bit overboard, baby. The door was locked, not barricaded."

"Sure, think what you like, Daddy. But I wasn't leaving that room until you had a yes from me."

"Do you blame me, baby boy? Daddy's perfect boy comes along, and I'm supposed to just let my beautiful man slip through my fingers? Not a damn chance. "

"You know you have a habit of being goofy, right?"

"I'm insulted! I was being serious, and you call me goofy. I'm so not feeling the love here." I pouted at him just so I could see the roll of his gorgeous eyes.

Everything about him made me happy, even his serious, no-nonsense decorum he had at work, and especially how when he was with me—in our home—he let all that fade away so I could take care of him. I'd pamper him and just take all that weight away he seemed to carry on his broad shoulders. Everything about him was made specifically for me. He grounded me, but he also had a way of letting my natural personality shine through. Neither of us were ever too much for each other.

I was allowed to dote on and spoil him, and I knew that still overwhelmed him from the neglect from his first husband. Mostly, we'd repaired the damage he'd caused, but it was a work in progress, and I was happy to do the work. When I worked late for an event, I could come home, shower, and curl up around him where he rested peacefully in our bed.

Maybe I hadn't seen myself at almost twenty-nine married to the man of my dreams, but sometimes the best things in life were the things you don't expect. Like Beckett, the man who allowed me to be Daddy and said I gave him the freedom to strip away what the world thought he should be. No one else ever saw the shy darting of glances across a room or the way he secretly smiled over silly gifts I brought him home. Soft, fluffy, stuffed animals for him to cuddle when Daddy had to be away late for work. Crayons and coloring books he swore he was too old for, but he still used whenever he was super stressed.

"Daddy, I love you, too."

"I'm so glad I kissed you that night behind my mother's house. Who knew a pretty boy hiding in the shadows would make me so happy?"

"I better be the only boy you're kissing." He scowled at me but ruined it when his wide lips pulled into a smile .

"The only and last."

It had taken him some convincing to give me a chance. He didn't think he was an appropriate boy for a man my age, but as I'd told him almost daily, he'd been made just for me. My husband had given me something I'd started to give up on… someone—a boy—to call me Daddy. No one would ever compare to him. I placed my hands on the pillow beside his head and lifted up only to lower my mouth to his.

"No one could ever have a boy as perfect as mine," I told him between tender brushes to his mouth until he was gripping my hips with his thighs and trying to get our mouths closer. "Just like the first time I met you, you should always have this beautiful smile on your face."

Nothing had changed since that quick kiss, and nothing ever would. He was mine, and I always wanted to be his.

THE END