Epilogue
Marin
Two Years Later
My husband’s face is the first I see.
He’s usually grinning ear to ear, but tonight he looks like one of those dinosaurs some idiot brought back to life and trapped in a tiny little cage for a billionaire auction. His shoulders are stiff, his fists are balled, and his eyes are focused on the guy in the front row that’s been showing special interest in me since I started playing tonight.
I consider throwing the man a wink, just to get my husband going. I guess I’m in the mood for a punishment. Heck, I’ll always be in the mood for one of Archer’s punishments.
Last week, he caught me talking to the guy that bagged our groceries and he edged me for nearly two hours while I moaned and begged him to let me come.
He never did. He made me walk around the house sopping wet and begging the rest of the day.
It’s all in good fun and I love the playfulness of it all. More so, I love that he hasn’t tired of our naughty little games. If anything, it’s better now that he’s not holding back.
I strum out the last note of the night and smile toward the crowd before setting my mom’s Gibson guitar on the stand next to my stool. I love that I have a piece of her here with me, andI know how proud of my life she’d be, even the part where I married a man twenty years older than me.
Sure, I think she’d have been a little shocked at first, but I know eventually, she’d have come around. She’d have realized what mattered most is that Archer makes me happy and cares for me.
I’ve barely set the guitar down when Archer hops up onto the stage, his gaze locked on the man in the front row who’s waiting for an autograph.
“She’s done for the night, man,” he barks, his jaw locked. “Time to go. Can’t you see the distillery is emptying out?”
The guy in question is a short, balding man with a beer belly and a T-shirt that says,‘Fuck the Rebellion.’In my eyes, there’s no real competition between him and my giant of a husband, but Archer doesn’t look at it like that. To him, everyman wants me. Every man is competition.
He’s the same way with Abigail, and I assume he’ll be the same way with our daughter, Margaret.
“We’re good, babe.” I touch Archer’s arm, noticing the tension in his muscles. “Really. It’s all good here.” I take the man’s napkin and scribble down a note before signing my name.
It’s so weird to sign my name.
Who cares about my name? Abigail started this YouTube channel for me where she live streams all my shows. I have a few followers and a few regulars that never miss a performance, but really, I’m just a mom, a wife, a woman who happens to write songs and play a guitar. I’m not a big deal. Definitely not a big enough deal to want an autograph from.
Archer’s jaw tightens, and he growls as my finger brushes against the man’s as I hand back the napkin.
“Oh stop.” I smack him playfully on the chest as the guy with the rebellion shirt scurries out of the bar. “You’re going to scare away all my listeners.”
“Nope.” He catches me before I bend toward the speaker. “You know you’re not to be talking to other men, and you know you’re not supposed to be cleaning up your own stage set. I’ll get that in a second.” He glances toward the door as the last customer of the night leaves the room. “But first, you need your punishment.”
Yes, yes, yes! Pregnancy has made me hornier than ever, and I’ve been looking for reasons to be punished.
I drag my fingers through his beard and stare up into his blue eyes. “Are you going to teach me my lesson right here?”
“Right here.” He nods toward the front door that’s still unlocked. “I need anyone that walks through that door to see what happens when you don’t follow the rules.”
“I’m bloated, I’m pregnant, and my hormones are out of control lately. I don’t think anyone is looking at me like a sexual being anymore.”
He fists into my hair and leans into the lobe of my ear, his breath warm, his tone snarled as he says, “Jesus Christ, princess. You have no idea how gorgeous you are, right now especially.” His rough hand drags down over the swollen mounds on my chest. “These tits, soon to be dripping with milk. Your gorgeous belly.” He drags his hand beneath my skirt and snarls. “This pretty, swollen, little pussy.”
His rock-hard cock pokes at my hip, and he moans in his throat. “I need to bend that little ass over and fuck you hard tonight, but not before a spanking.”
Tipping up onto my toes, I lean into my husband’s mouth, sweeping my tongue against his lower lip for a second before he turns me over, bends me forward, yanks down my skirt, and wallops my ass with one hard smack after another.
“Tell me why you’re being punished, princess. Say it loud.”
My clit throbs as the blood in my head slowly drains toward my pussy.
