Page 61 of The Little Black Rose

I pull my finger free, replacing it with my tongue, fucking her with it until she collapses back against the mattress. Giving her one last, long lick, I push myself up on my arms and crawl over her, careful to keep my weight off her stomach as I push my cock inside her.

She purrs with satisfaction as I fill her, making me smile.

“I love you so fucking much, Ava,” I say, pumping my hips lightly as her inner walls clench tightly around me.

“I love you, too,” she breathes. “So much.”

I start to move faster, pushing deeper inside her as she moans on every exhale. It’s music to my ears, and I hope––no, Iknow––I’ll love hearing it for the rest of my life.

Because I’m never letting her go. Ava Brownwillbe mine for the rest of our lives. I plan to make sure of it.

Epilogue

Ava

I’m exhausted, but sleep is the farthest thing from my mind as I stare down at the tiny being in my arms. I can’t stop smiling and my eyes have turned into leaky spigots that refuse to shut off. I run a fingertip over her silky hair, and a quiet grunt vibrates through her as she suckles at my breast.

I look over at Zeke, and my eyes burn hotter as I watch him stare down at our other daughter in his arms with equal parts love and wonder. She already filled her little tummy, and she’s sleeping peacefully in her daddy’s arms. As if he senses my perusal, he looks up at me with a wide smile.

“I thought you said you aren’t a crier,” he whispers so as not to wake the slumbering bundle in his arms.

“Post-partum hormones,” I say, returning his wide smile.

“Of course,” he says, his eyes dropping to the baby at my breast. “Did you ever imagine they’d be so beautiful and perfect?”

“Of course,” I say, parroting his words. “They take after their daddy.”

Zeke shakes his head as he meets my gaze. “No way. They’re all you.”

I look down at the baby in my arms, her head covered in soft black hair just like her sister’s. But that’s where the resemblance to me ends. I see nothing but Zeke in their little noses and chins, and though it’s hard to tell this soon, I’m pretty sure they have his hazel eyes instead of my dark brown color.

The baby’s mouth pops off my breast as she dozes off, and I pull up my hospital gown with one hand while cradling her with the other. As soon as I get myself covered, there’s a light tap at the door. Neither of us call out, loathe to wake the babies, but that doesn’t deter the knocker from swinging open the door.

Zoey shuffles in carrying a large mylar balloon that says “Congrats” in pink letters, followed closely by Sophie, Jared, and Sam. They’re all smiles as they crowd into the room with wrapped gifts, flowers, and cards. The girls shove their items into the guys’ hands, and Zoey makes a beeline for Zeke while Sophie heads in my direction.

We hand over the babies to their waiting arms, and they both coo and cry as they stare down at the little angels. Sam and Jared set the gifts aside and move in closer, their eyes wide with wonder and something else––something primal––as they watch their women cuddle the newborns.

I look at Zeke, and he returns my grin. Sam and Jared are going to put babies in them as soon as possible.

“So, the surgery went well?” Sophie asks softly, her eyes never leaving the baby in her arms.

“Without a hitch,” Zeke answers.

The C-section did go extremely well, and luckily, the spinal anesthesia hasn’t worn off yet. I know the incision will hurt like a mother fucker when it does. But I’m tough. I can take it.

I hope.

“Ok, so stop torturing us,” Zoey says, meeting my gaze. “You’ve held onto the secret long enough. Tell us their names.”

I glance over at Zeke and smile before meeting her eyes with dead seriousness. “That perfect little angel you’re holding is Bertha. And the one in Sophie’s arms is Bessie.”

They both freeze, their mouths dropping open in perfect synchronicity as they stare at me in horror. I smile sweetly as if the names are truly perfect, but I can’t hold the expression for more than a few seconds. Laughter bursts out of me, and I feel a slight twinge in my lower abdomen.

Shit. No laughing.

Zeke hurries over, his hands gliding over me as he asks if I’m okay. I assure him I’m fine, and he kisses my forehead before turning to the group.

“It’s an inside joke,” he says, chuckling, then points to Zoey. “You’re holding Abigail Rose.”

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