Page 44 of Jack's Devotion

"Baby." He cups my cheeks, brushing his nose against mine. "It won't ever rule or consume me. It can't. You know how I know?"

"How?"

"Because you already do those things, Madison. You're the only thing capable of that," he murmurs. "It's always been you. It'll always be you. Nothing else will ever fucking compete. It can't."

"Jack," I whisper softly.

"I mean it, baby. You've been haunting me since I met you. Somewhere along the way, you consumed me. I'm yours in every way. All the way down to my fucking soul. Your father will never be able to compete with the way I feel about you. Nothing will."

I bury my face in his throat, inhaling a shaky breath. "I'm yours too. Every single piece of me."

"Oh, yeah?" He slips his hand between our bodies, cupping my pussy. "What about this piece?"

"Definitely yours," I moan. "Absolutely yours."

"Mm." He prowls down my body. "Maybe I should check. Just to make sure."

"Yeah, do that."

He smirks…and then he sets me ablaze. Again.

Epilogue

Jack

Four Years Later

"Son of a bitch," I mutter, peering through the blinds at the pool house.

"Sum bish," our three-year-old whispers from beside me, lifting up on her toes to peer out too.

"Shit. Maggie, you can't say that."

"Oh." She grins up at me, looking too damn much like her mama with her big blue eyes and blonde hair. "How come?"

"Because your mama will kick my ass is how come."

"How come?"

"Because Santa doesn't like it."

Her eyes grow wide, her mouth popping open. "Oh. I won't say it no more, daddy."

Sometimes, I really am a genius. Okay, maybe my wife is. Telling Maggie that words are bad doesn't stop her from repeating them. She's a little rebel at heart. But telling her that Santa doesn't approve? Gets her every time. There's no way she's risking pissing off the Big Guy with the magic reindeer. He's her hero this year.

I'm not jealous at all.

Total lie. I hate sharing hero status. But I'm man enough to admit that daddy will not ever compete with Santa or magic reindeer. It is what it is.

At least my pregnant wife and our two-year-old still think I'm the best fucking thing since sliced bread. Thank God. My life is over the day my wife stops feeling that way. She's the center of my universe. I eat, sleep, and breathe Madison Whitlock.

The fact that she feels the same about me? Luckiest motherfucker on the planet. I'm not ever giving her up. It'll be a cold day in hell before that happens.

"What's we wooking at, daddy?" Maggie asks when I peer through the blinds again.

"The lights in the pool house are flickering, baby girl."

"Oh no," she whispers. "Do we hab ghosties?"

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