Epilogue

One Year Later
“Again?”I ask, amused.
“I’ll have you know,” Zenny says, crawling into my lap, “that it’s very common for a woman in my condition.”
My cock—sleepy from the two-round quickie just an hour ago—wakes the fuck up right away. Zenny’s wearing some kind of loose tank top thing that allows me to see right down her shirt and she’s in shorts so short that I can’t believe I let her out of the house, because I’m a jealous, possessive bastard like that.
(Okay, I do know why I let her out of the house. It’s because we were going to the same place together.)
“Everyone’s out of the office,” she purrs, her hands finding my tie and yanking at it. “We’re alone.”
“All of our one employees is gone, hmm?” I tease, but I let her pull me into a slow, deep kiss. Emmett only comes in two mornings a week to help us sort mail and work on filing—he’s working part-time to save up money for his new twin great-grandchildren. (And one time he brought them into the office, and I held one of the little lumps for three hours while the lump dozed and I made some phone calls. Don’t you dare tell anyone that.)
I run my hands up Zenny’s legs and grip the curve of her ass. “These shorts of yours are killing me,” I say against her lips. “Are you trying to murder your husband?”
“No,” Zenny says briskly, her hands dropping to my zipper and exposing me with hurried movements. “I need his dick too much for that.”
“That’s reassuring. Ah, fuck, baby, just like that. God, that’s good.”
She’s got my thickening length in her slender fingers, jacking me slowly and tauntingly. Outside my ground-floor office, I see the humdrum roll of a delivery truck to the tire repair warehouse next door. And okay, did I ever imagine myself working on the ground floor of a forgotten building under an overpass in an office carpeted in nubby gray-blue bullshit, and oh, it just happens to be next to the Kansas City franchise of Tires, Tires, Tires?
No. No, I did not imagine this. And I wouldn’t trade it for the fucking world.
Because I also didn’t imagine myself married, and now I’m married to the smartest, sweetest, bravest, and most beautiful woman I know. And because I also didn’t ever imagine myself a father, and yet here’s Zenny perched in my lap with a naughty glint in her eye and a swollen belly pushing at her tank top.
(I know, I know, she’s too young to be pregnant. But let’s be real—her being too young has never stopped me before.)
So I actually don’t mind that I’m now the owner of a new nonprofit in an office that’s as far away from glamorous as possible. I love it. I provide and source additional funding for charities across the Metro—charities like the shelter belonging to the Servants of the Good Shepherd—and what I do actually helps people.
Can you imagine?
Sean Bell, philanthropist?
But it’s no less likely than Sean Bell, husband.
Or Sean Bell, father.
And all of those things are blessedly, happily true.
As for Zenny—my sweet little wife is halfway through her Nurse-Midwifery degree. She’ll still anchor the shelter’s birth center when both she and it are ready, and I’m going to give her the best birth center known to man. I’m going to give her the best of everything, always, until the day I die. (Longer, if I can help it. That’s what good estate planning will do for you.)
Zenny divests herself of those tempting shorts and her tank top, and climbs back onto my lap, kissing my neck and rubbing against me, naked and soft and curved. Unable to take it any longer, I fist my hands in her hair and use my other hand to probe at her tight folds until the head of my sex is firmly lodged inside. She impales herself on me with no prompting, no coaching, simply seeking out the friction and the fullness and rocking herself to an orgasm, oblivious to me.
Some men might object, but I’ve got no complaints about being my pregnant wife’s sex toy. Instead, I lean back in my chair and play lazily with her plumped breasts as she fucks me.
“So good,” I croon in praise to her. “You ride me so good. Does that feel nice? Is that what you need?”
Her eyes closed and her throat working, she nods, her hips grinding against me, and I feel the moment she comes, I feel it clench and milk at my cock, and I also feel her ripened womb going tight under my fingers. It’s fucking heaven to feel, like a secret finally made visible. I trace fascinated circles over the contracting muscles and over the new dark line stretching from her sternum to her pussy. I let her take all the time she needs, I let her slowly unwind into shivering, deep satisfaction and I smile as she curls into a worn-out slump against my chest.
“All better?” I murmur, rubbing at the sudden goose bumps erupting all over her back.
“For now,” she says contentedly. “I might need you again in an hour.”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight as I stroke the hard part of me inside the soft part of her. It doesn’t take long—not like this, with her so warm and curvy and ripe—until I’m pulsing my wet heat into her. My breath is a series of fierce grunts and my stomach and thighs are rock-hard tensed in tandem, flexing and pushing all the cum out, out, out of me, until I’m completely drained and relaxed.
“Do we have to get back to work?” she asks drowsily, her head on my shoulder. “I just want to stay like this forever.”
“We can do whatever you like, Zenny-bug. Just say the word.”
“Whatever I like?”
“Whatever you like.”
“Honest guy thing?”
“Honest guy thing.”
She makes a happy noise and burrows closer to me, and I cradle her for as long as she lets me, holding our unborn baby between us and reflecting on a very different Sean Bell from once upon a time. A Sean Bell who wanted money and power and sex, who was willing to do whatever he had to in order to get it. Now he runs a nonprofit from a dingy office next to Tires, Tires, Tires, and he couldn’t be happier. And it’s all because of the angel in his lap, his little nun, his little Zenny-bug.
It’s because of her, every bit of it.
Pray for us sinners, the prayer goes, and dammit if someone didn’t pray for me and scoop me up into a life of joy and giving. Dammit if I haven’t been circled with love by the most extraordinary people I’ll ever have the honor to know. The least I can do is say hailback.
Hail Elijah. Hail Reverend Mother. Hail Tyler, Aiden, Ryan, and Dad.
Hail Mom.
Hail Zenny, the Lord is with thee.
Pray for us sinners.
Amen.