Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36353 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
“Please,” she begged. “Please. I need to come.”
“Then fuck me harder, baby. Ride my cock. That’s it. Yes! Fuck!”
Water sloshed over the edges of the tub as we moved with more urgency, climbing toward the pinnacle of bliss. But the water was slowing us down, so I wrapped my arms around her thighs and kept her plastered against me, my shaft still buried in her heat while I pushed to my feet. Then I carefully stepped out of the tub and into our shower.
I was never more grateful for the panel I’d originally thought was ridiculous when we bought the house. In seconds, I chose a temperature and hit a button that would release the water when it reached it. The warm spray splashed onto us as I sat on the bench and moved my hands to Gemma’s lush hips. Holding her in a firm grip, I moved her up and down on my shaft as I pumped up into her.
“Fucking love these hips, baby. Wide and open, so perfect for having my babies.”
Gemma moaned and bounced on my cock, taking me hard and deep every time. “Callum! Oh, yes! Yes!”
My palms covered her big tits, and I squeezed them as I lightly bit her neck. “Love these. Big and fat. Can’t wait until they are dripping with milk. Fuck! Thinking of sucking on these leaking nipples…fuck, baby. I can’t wait. Fuck! Yes! Oh, fuck!”
“Yes! Callum! Harder!”
She bore down on me, and I practically saw stars. I wasn’t gonna last much longer, so I pressed my finger over her clit and rubbed. Then when she was right at the edge, I pinched and sent her flying. She screamed my name, and her pussy rippled around my cock, massaging it, milking until I roared her name and exploded inside her.
Afterward, we lazily washed under the hot spray, then I took her to our bed and made slow, sweet love to her. I worshipped her body from head to toe before we climaxed together.
She curled onto her side, facing me, and draped one leg over mine, her fingers idly tracing over my chest. For a while, we simply laid in bed, tangled in the sheets, the window cracked open to let in the night breeze.
I couldn’t stop staring at the wall across from us.
There, framed in black walnut and lit by a soft sconce, was a photo of Gemma in white lace. Her body was softer now, more womanly. Hair down, cascading over one bare shoulder. She stood with her back to me, my arms wrapped around her body like a shield. One hand on her hip. The other cupping her breast. Her smile was pure mischief. Mine was hunger.
Even in stillness, the image pulsed with emotion. With my claim.
She looked up at me, then her eyes followed my gaze.
“You like it?” she asked sleepily, her mouth curved into a happy smile.
She surprised me with the photo for my birthday. I hadn’t even realized she’d set the whole thing up for the picture until I opened the wrapping paper to find the beautifully framed memory.
I nodded, voice rough. “Yeah. I like it.”
“It’s my favorite, too.”
“I look at it,” I whispered, brushing her hair off her cheek, “and see everything I’ll ever need.”
Gemma leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. “You’re everything I never dared to want.”
I kissed her deeper, pulling her close again.
And with her belly snug between us, our hearts beating in perfect rhythm, I whispered against her skin. “Forever, baby. You’re mine. Forever.”
EPILOGUE
GEMMA
The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of my studio, casting golden light over the hardwood floors. The scent of lavender cleaner still lingered faintly in the air from this morning’s tidy-up, and soft jazz played from a speaker in the corner.
I didn’t have any clients today. It was just me and my favorite little assistant who never really helped. Her and the crayons she’d managed to smuggle in from the house.
“Gwinnie,” I called gently. “Please remember that the walls are for looking, not coloring.”
Our daughter didn’t even flinch. She sat cross-legged in front of my desk, surrounded by scattered pinks and purples, her curls bouncing as she turned to grin at me. “Daddy lets me color wherever I want at his office.”
“I’m sure he does,” I muttered, shaking my head.
Our children had their daddy wrapped firmly around their little fingers, and his boss wasn’t much better about enforcing rules when it came to the kids. His or ours.
“Not the wall, Mama,” she said proudly, holding something up.
My stomach flipped when I saw what she’d been drawing on.
“Where did you get that?” I asked, racing over.
She blinked up at me, holding the photo in both hands like it was treasure. And in a way, it was. A black-and-white print, showing a younger version of me in lace lingerie and soft lighting. The only surviving copy from the archive that was stolen all those years ago.