Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
“Well,” she says, “this is a different view.”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it,” she says, running her hands over my abs. “I’m just not sure what to do now that I’m here.”
“Move your hips, like this,” I say, gripping her and showing her how. “Fuck, yeah. Just like that. Now you’re riding Daddy.”
She quickens her pace.
“Does it feel good?”
“It feels amazing.” I take her breasts in my hands and gently pinch and strum her nipples. She whimpers, arching her back as she rides me.
“I love it when you tease my tits.” She bounces on my cock, and fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“That’s it, baby girl, just do whatever feels best for you.”
She leans forward a little, grinding her clit against my pubic bone. “I want to feel you come inside me. I want you to fill me up until it’s pouring out of me.”
Listening to my baby girl talk dirty is what does me in. I can’t hold back another second. My orgasm shoots out of me, and I pump her full it. Lost in passion, I pinch her nipples harder than I intend to. I feel her cunt tighten. She cries out, shaking with the force of her own climax, milking me dry.
She collapses on top of me, cum dripping from her pussy, down my balls, soaking the sheets beneath us. I hold her tight against me.
“You were amazing, baby.” I kiss her temple. “Did you like being on top?”
“I loved the view,” she murmurs. I run my hands across her back, savoring the softness of her skin. She sighs contentedly. “Swear we’ll always be like this,” she murmurs.
“Always be like what?” I squeeze her backside. “Satisfied?”
She smiles against my shoulder. “That…and happy.”
I press a kiss to Tatum’s forehead. “I swear to do whatever it takes to keep you smiling just like that.”
And I do. All night, every night, for the rest of our lives.
epilogue
TATUM
Five years later…
I spread pesto mayo on the final slice of sourdough bread.
“Sweetie,” I say to Lila, my daughter, who just turned three. “Go get your papa and tell him lunch is ready.”
Lila darts from the kitchen screaming, “Papaaaaaa, luuuunch!” at the top of her lungs.
Something about the sound of his sister’s voice makes the baby kick from deep inside me. I pause, pressing a hand to my swollen belly, and smile. I still have three months to go until I’m no longer getting up to pee every five minutes.
I bring the sandwiches to the kitchen table, pausing to watch the sun stream in across the hardwood. Outside, in the backyard, is the playhouse that Lucas and some of his work buddies built for Lila.
Work has been great for Lucas these past few years. He’s been working for a contracting firm—Pope and Parkes, in downtown Knoxville—and he’s quickly become an integral part of the team. I love that he’s working for people who recognize what he brings to the table. They know about his past and choose to judge him on his skills and work ethic, not his time served.
After a moment, Lucas appears, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. I laugh as he sweeps Lila into his arms, pressing a kiss to her plump little cheek.
“Still fighting with the crib?” I ask. Lucas had every intention of building a crib from scratch, but when my assistant gifted us a perfectly nice lizard-themed crib from Ikea, I told him the time and effort he could spend building a crib would be better spent rubbing my feet and giving me orgasms.
“It’s a piece of Swiss garbage,” he grumbles.
“Garbage, garbage,” Lila echoes, as Lucas deposits her in her booster chair.
“Swedish,” I correct him playfully. “And I think it looks cute on the picture.”
“Well, I expect your assistant to know you better than that,” he says, taking his seat at the table. I’ve been promoted to full stylist at the salon, which made room for a new assistant, who has happily taken over the hair-washing and blow-drying for me. Contrary to what Lucas might think, she knows me very well—she knows that I don’t want my husband working himself to the bone when the baby will only spend a year in the crib. Besides, we still have the one he made for Lila; she basically chewed through it.
“Mommy, can I feed this to Marcellus?” Lila asks, peeling the lettuce off her sandwich. I laugh.
“Sure, kiddo,” I say, and Lila is up and out of her seat in an instant. I follow her over to Marcellus’ terrarium in the den and watch her slide her step stool over and expertly open the terrarium door. Marcellus gives her a dubious look. Everything changes when she presents the lettuce; he immediately begins to munch it.
“Let’s leave the lettuce and go wash our hands,” I say. I wait for Lila to close the terrarium and then lift Lila into my arms. After washing our hands in the kitchen sink, I deposit her back into her seat.