Page 17 of Hot For Her Bully

"No, you promised," I remind him and continue to knead into his back like he's a ball of bread dough. He grunts and groans while I move through the pressure points of his back. "It's important in deep tissue massages to make sure the client is comfortable. Client, are you comfortable?"

Weston cracks an eye open, clearly in pain, as I kneel beside him on our bed. He growls, "Woman, I am not comfortable. You are strong as fuck for a little thing. Are you using your elbows?"

"No." I shove him and sit back to stop my massage. He rolls over onto his side to see me pouting.

"Babe, don't make that face. You just need more practice. You're doing great in your classes and this isn't easy. I'm not easy."

"You got that right. It seems like your favorite word to use on me is 'no'. When are you going to start telling me yes?" I tease him.

"It turns you on when I tell you no, and then you get to have your way with me, your lowly sex slave of a husband."

"Mm." I giggle and move closer to kiss him, ready to have my way with him right now, but the sound of tiny tears falling strikes me at the back of my neck. It sends a ripple down my spine that our baby needs me.

"You stay put," Weston says. "I'll grab Wesley. He's due for a feeding. You get comfortable and I'll bring him to you."

I do as I'm told for once, leaning back against my favorite body pillow as Weston carries in our tiny bundle of joy. He's only a few weeks old but has Weston's beautiful gray eyes and black hair. As soon as he passes me our son, Weston returns to his position on the bed, lying on his stomach to watch me feed the baby.

"This is fascinating." He smirks and twists his head to the side. There's so much love in his eyes for us.

"You're fascinating. You have classes, work, and still manage to find time for us."

Weston's eyes look ready to close as he talks between yawns. "I'm the luckiest guy in the world. The least I can do is take care of you. I made that promise to you and your dad. I'm always going to do everything in my power to keep it."

I lose myself watching Wesley feed. By the time I think of something sweet to say back to my husband, he's sound asleep.

The love of my life. I never thought of life going in this direction, but I'm happy to go wherever Weston leads us. I'm more certain than ever that through it all, he'll lead us into our happily ever after. We’re already halfway there.

Extended Epilogue

WESTON

TEN YEARS LATER

"Whitney, we're going to be late. You know how Harland gets," I shout at my wife while shuffling pieces of lasagna onto plates and setting them around the table. "Wesley, Wyatt, and Winter, come eat."

"I'm right here, Daddy," Winter, our 6-year-old, announces behind me. She's wearing her princess gown for the fourth night in a row. I help her into her seat and give her a kiss on the forehead. "We're washing the royal gowns tomorrow."

"Okay." She pouts with bold brown eyes and jet-black hair.

"It only takes an hour to do laundry. Don't be such a baby," Wyatt says as he walks into the kitchen.

"Hey." I point a finger at him. "Just because you're two years older doesn't make you any less of a baby, Wyatt. Be nice to your sister. You're supposed to protect her, not make her feel bad about being herself."

"Sorry, Winter." Wyatt slides into a chair and scarfs down a bite of lasagna. He immediately regrets it as it's piping hot. Still, he's stubborn and shuffles the food around his mouth instead of waiting for it to cool off.

"That's what you get." Wesley laughs while pushing buttons on his portable game.

"Not in the kitchen, Wes."

"But Dad, I'm on like level 34, and I'm about to beat it. I just need two minutes."

"Two minutes and then dinner. When Nan gets here, I want dinner finished and dishes cleaned. Everyone bathes and gets ready for bed. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the three reply in unison.

I make my way upstairs to the bedroom, where Whitney's standing in front of the mirror in nothing but her bra and panties. She keeps holding her stomach in and pushing it out. She turns to the side and repeats the movements.

"You can't go to dinner in that," I tell her.

---