Epilogue

I'm in my office, glaring at the computer and I rub my eyes. Paperwork's pretty tedious and I throw a glance at my phone to see what Pamela's doing. She's still in the kitchen, making us dinner and I lean back in the seat, feeling content, like a damn animal that's just lapped up the cream.

I've got so much fun stuff on that phone. Saved videos of her jerking me off, of her alone in the shower, of her face frozen in an orgasm. It's my own little drug, and I'm totally addicted to fully owning her.

I've never done anything in my life to deserve her, yet somehow I still got her and I bite down on my tongue. My perfect little housewife, that likes to spend my money and roll around in my sheets every day when I come home from work. I glance at my computer again, groaning to myself when five new e-mails pop up. This damn work never ends.

"Hubby, dinner's ready," Pamela calls from downstairs and I let out a curse.

"I'll be down in fifteen,"

"But it'll get cold until then," she protests and I can hear the frustration in her voice. "And I've already lit all the candles."

"Just give me a sec," I say, a little impatient and I feel a wave of stress rush over me. We've had a lot going on lately. We've been on our honeymoon and we're growing a family. It's been confirmed that Pamela's pregnant with twins, but I still intend on impregnating her again as soon as her body can take it.

"Fine. Take your time!" Pamela replies cheerfully and I frown a little. That's generous of her. And she's not making a fuss. How unusual. Usually when she wants my attention she tends to want it right now. I look at the phone again and nearly die on the spot. She's taken all her clothes off, buck naked now under a little apron and perspiration forms on my forehead.

That little minx…

My throat snares and I get up, storming into the kitchen and she turns around with feigned innocence, making my heart jump. "You think you can toy with me like that?" I raps, yanking at the collar of my shirt." I'm the man of the house and you do not get to do that."

"What do you mean?" She points to her naked glory. "This? Oh, I just got hot from the oven so I had to take everything off."

I grin. "Always using that damn trick against me…"

"You're the one who had the brilliant idea to put a camera in me," she pouts, but still I pounce on her, swiping my hand across the table and set her down. "My dinner!" she wails. "And you could've caused a fire!"

"Let this be a lesson," I growl. "Next time don't be so appetizing."

Ignoring the advice, she fingers the strings off the apron. "Want me to take this off?" she whispers but I shake my head, because I love her in an apron.

"Keep it on, you little…"

"What?" Pamela pants frantically, turning red in the face and her hands clutch the edge of the table. "Say it." Her eyes roll back in her head. "Oh Hugo, please say it."

I glance at her perfectly rounded belly, the one carrying my twins. She's a wife. A pregnant woman Soon to be a mother. I shouldn't say it. It's degrading. Crude. We love each other. But we both get off on it and so I put my lips to her ear and tell the love of my life, what a filthy, little…

The End