Page 182 of Deacon

I tuck them both in. Freya reads them a story. We kiss them on the head and turn out the lights. On the other side of the door, I cock my head. They’re both silent, tired out from the day.

“I’m going to the attic for a minute,” Freya whispers.

I nod. “Don’t be too long. I’m going to have a shower. After that, you’re all mine.”

She blushes, glancing over her shoulder as she opens the attic door. “Yes, daddy.”

I think about her the entire time I’m in the shower, but I’m always thinking about her. I never stop marveling at how much she’s changed my life. I went from being lonely every night to having a full house.

Never in my wildest dreams did I dare to hope my life would end up this good.

I towel off and pull on my sweats. Then, walking quietly, I head up the stairs to the attic. She’s sitting at her desk, chin in her palm, flipping through a book. The fern-green walls are covered in her sketches. Beetles, butterflies, and other insects are preserved behind glass and mounted on the walls. Dried flowers hang in bunches by the windows. Books are stacked by the couch and fill the shelves. Everything smells faintly of vanilla.

She still works a few days a month at the café, helping Tracy, and the scent of baked goods still clings to her curls and soft skin.

I cross the room and bend, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. “You ready for bed, sweetheart?”

She turns, looking up at me with those big blue eyes.

“Does bed mean sleep? Or fun?”

I pick her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist. “Bed means fun, then sleep.”

She smiles as I kiss her mouth, velvety and tasting of my wife. “Good, because I’m horny. Let’s make another baby.”

My brows rise. She wriggles out of my arm, gives me a look over her shoulder, and dashes down the stairs. I’m hot on her heels, catching her as she ducks into our room. She yelps as I toss her onto the bed and climb over her, pinning her by the wrists.

“Do you mean that?”

She bites her lip, releasing it. “Maybe we just fuck and see what happens?”

“No birth control?”

She shakes her head. In my sweats, my cock is rock hard. Slowly, I lift her skirt and ease her dress up over her head. Her lovely, curvy body is decorated with deep red lingerie and the silver chastity belt. I hate that she can’t wear it while she’s pregnant. It’s so pretty on her hips.

I bend my head, running the tip of my tongue along the straps that cradle her hips. She moans, lashes fluttering. I bite, feeling her fleshsink under my teeth. Her spine arches. I slide my fingers between it and the bed, tracing the delicate bones.

My wife. My now, my forever.

“I’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart,” I murmur.

She breathes, lifting her hips, begging for my mouth between her thighs. I glance up, and she touches my face, tracing up to the tattoos showing through my hair. I never got any more cover ups. There’s no need. She thinks I’m perfect, and that’s all that matters.

“Eat my pussy, daddy,” she breathes.

I cock my head. “What do you say?”

“Please?”

I unfasten the chastity belt and lay it aside. Then, I bend my head, peeling her panties aside. The soft scent of her pussy reaches my nose. I press my mouth to her sex, sliding my tongue over her. She tastes like heaven, like Freya. Moaning, I eat her until she’s got her thighs clamped over my ears. It doesn’t take her long to gasp and shudder. Wetness drips down my chin, her nails digging into my shoulder.

I lick her clean and take her panties down. Then, I lift her into my lap and unhook her bra, letting her breasts fall free. Every time, they take my breath away. Now, the first time, even when we’re old.

She’s naked except for the soft chains that make her mine. Our eyes connect. We both shudder as I push down the front of my pants and slide her onto my cock.

Her spine arches, her hair tumbling down her naked back. I grit my teeth, controlling the first thrust. I want to feel every inch.

“God,” she gasps. “You feel so good.”

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