Epilogue
Duncan
Five Years Later
My wife is doing what she does best.
Making me wait.
She’s ready to be pregnant again.
After two children together—and being nowhere short of deranged in my obsession with her—I know the signs. She starts to walk around our little cabin on the lake with fingers strumming up and down her belly. She stops wearing panties altogether, lifting her skirt for me in the middle of the day when we only have a few moments together. I’ve had her up against the washing machine today, in the meadow on her hands and knees and in the front seat of my truck—but she hasn’t let me come yet. Only her.
My wife comes every time. I exist for her pleasure, plain and simple.
Her happiness and contentment put breath in my lungs. Keep me alive.
And God, I crave her torture. Love it.
I love my magnificent, bossy little wife and our life in the sunshine—a place I never expected to live. Light on my face, her trusting hand in mine and two daughters who care for me. Value me. A family I protect and cherish beyond all else and always will.
We sold the gallery five years ago and found this place. Close enough to civilization that I can bring Thea exploring, refusing to give her another life of seclusion. But far enough from too many people who might look at me funny and make my wife angry. We live peaceful. We live easy and happy, basking in the endless summer of the lake. Thea paints, occasionally selling a piece to one of the city’s many galleries. The interest in her is high, considering her uncle was an odd, reclusive artist, not to mention she is extremely talented, her skill improving even more now that she has seen the world as an adult. Embraced its beautiful parts.
As for me, I found a position working in forestry. My height and strength are good for more than just killing. Maintaining the wildlife that surrounds us and keeping it safe from potential fire. Thea likes to call me her lumberjack occasionally, pride shining in her eyes, and there is no greater feeling in this world than having her proud of me.
To be her husband.
I still can’t believe she sat up in bed the morning after I almost died from a broken heart, wanting to know how soon we could be married in a church. Better believe I found one the same day, not willing to leave it up to chance. And now this angel, this queen/harlot/princess all rolled into one, is mine. Mine to love. To treasure and spoil at every opportunity.
Mine to lust for.
As I’m doing now.
I pause in the middle of chopping a log to watch her saunter out onto the porch of our cabin. In cowboy boots and a black skirt that hugs her sexy arse. A low growl builds in my throat when she bends forward to water one of our herb gardens. My cock has been leaking like a faucet since the third time she begged me to orgasm her without coming myself. And fuck, she knows I love it. Love how alive it makes me feel to be in sexual thrall at her fingertips. At her beck and call. I fucking live for it. Every perfectly painful second.
She also knows there is only so much I can take.
I’m at the end of my rope, my balls in a furious knot, as she approaches the place where I’m chopping logs, her tongue slowly wetting the seam of her lips. “The girls are doing a puzzle,” she whispers, tracing a line of sweat that trickles down my chest. “Take me somewhere.”
Already laboring to breathe, I pick her up in my arms and stomp through the forest, my dick throbbing woefully between my legs. When she makes me wait this long, we can’t fuck in the house. I’m too loud, too forceful. And this is the longest she’s made me wait in a while, being inside of her three times without completion. There is steam coming off my skin. Out of my nose. I can barely think straight. Not about anything but her pussy.
We reach a shed where I keep some of my forestry equipment and I hurry around back, throwing her back against the side of it, hurriedly unzipping my pants. I’m engorged, ready to blow, groaning as I use my hips to widen her thighs, arrowing my shaft toward her entrance.
Pumping in with a hoarse wheeze, thrusting once, twice, violently.
“No coming,” she whispers, flexing her cunt around me. “Not a single drop.”
My bellow of denial can be heard in the city. “Angel. Angel. No.”
Eyelids at half mast, she leans in to drag her tongue up the curve of my ear. “I can’t stop you, Duncan. If you need it so bad. Can I?”
Her small body is like a taunt against my mammoth one. “Nay, lass, you couldn’t stop me. Not if I used force.”