My chest seizes with love so true, it could never be denied. And when she gazes at me like I’m the greatest man on earth, I vow to spend the rest of my life proving her right.
epilogue
Petra
Five Years Later
I’m makingout in the backseat of my car with my husband.
In his lap, facing him, my thighs squeezed around his hips.
His fingers are frantic in my hair, our tongues embroiled in a hungry duel.
We both finished work early today and arrived at the day care parking lot too early to pick up our twin boys, Justin and Cooper. One look at my husband’s expression and I knew what he was thinking. We drove around the corner in my car and parked behind the supermarket, climbed into the backseat and, well, it’s a normal Tuesday.
We’ve never wasted an opportunity to touch each other.
If it’s there, we take it.We need it.
“We only have five minutes,” I gasp, tilting my head to the right so Barry can run his tongue up the side of my neck. “We have to hurry.”
“Then you shouldn’t have worn this skirt today.” His palms skim up the outsides of my thighs until they vanish beneath my skirt, feeling. Fondling my bottom with an air of ownership. “In a horny little thong, no less.” He gives my bare cheek a sound slap and adjusts his position beneath me with a wince, angling his hips. “You know what to do to make us come fast, princess.”
“Don’t I?” I murmur against his mouth, starting a light tease of my panties against his straining fly. Just a graze. Up. Down. Up. Down. “When you’ve got a husband who can’t control his hunger, you’ve got to learn a few tricks.”
Biting my lip, I lean back and lower the straps of my tank top, giving my breasts a naughty little shake, making his hips jerk involuntarily, his guttural grunt filling the car. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck.Yes.”
“No touching,” I murmur, gripping the lapels of his blue jacket, my gaze running over the numerous medals and accolades that decorate my special forces soldier turned veteran advocate. Pride bleeds into my need for him now, thinking about all he—and we, as a couple—have accomplished since we met.
Five years ago, we went straight to Barry’s cabin after a long interrogation from my sisters, who finally gave Barry their heartfelt approval. Even if they were pissed, they’d have to hire a new receptionist. We remained in his little oasis in the woods for a full two months, a lot of that time spent in Barry’s mammoth bed, the frame creaking and slamming into the wall, eventually needing to be repaired. Twice.
But true to his word, determined to fulfill me in every way, Barry found a cosmetology school for me to attend. He also got involved with Veterans Affairs and started a very rewarding career helping vets reacclimate to their new environments whenthey return home from deployment. Which means, I spend every waking moment obsessing over my selfless husband. And how he looks in uniform.
For my part, I’m now a full-time makeup artist, specializing in wedding makeup.
It seemed like a shame to let a good recommendation go to waste and Karen wrote me a sparkling one for my website, along with her entire bridal party, kicking off my career with a bang.
Yes. We moved to an up-and-coming suburb near base and life is spectacular. I’m doing what I enjoy. I’m married to the love of my life. I have two kids who make the world brighter. And my sisters were inspired enough by me going to trade school to pursue new passions, outside of escorting. Sweet Fleet is no longer, and you know what? None of them miss being at the beck and call of men.
They only respond to their own whims now.
Me?
That’s a slightly different story.
I cave to the whims of my husband, but only because he caves to mine.
So perfectly. So frequently.
And with so much love.
“I’m going to rub you out, baby,” I hiccup softly, rolling my forehead against Barry’s as surely as I work my hips, humping him a little faster now. Through my panties and the denim of his jeans. My clit swells just listening to his ragged breaths, turned on by the way he vibrates with lust, his hands scoring up and down my buttocks. Urging me along in my gallop, the cotton-covered mound of my pussy riding his ridge firmly.
Fast. Fast. Faster.
“Oh Jesus,” he pants, his middle finger finding my back entrance and jiggling it. “Please don’t stop, princess. I’m so close.”
“So am I,” I purr, lapping at his mouth. “I’m going to spend the rest of the day with my panties all wet from my come.”
