Page 43 of Dirty Dillon

Epilogue

Dillon

Five Years Later

The last bedtime story ends, my voice drifting off as our son’s breaths slow into sleep.

It’s been a busy week and I’m hoping everyone can sleep in tomorrow. It’s not likely, but it would be nice. Our kid is an early riser no matter what time you put him to bed.

Checking the windows and doors of our house, I run through my to-do list. The parts I need for the next custom car were supposed to be here Thursday. If they don’t come by Monday, I’m going to have to work a couple of weekends to get caught up.

Cressida had a Chamber of Commerce luncheon today and those always exhaust her. She’s a good mayor, though, taking over for Max after he decided four years was enough and he wants to start making artisan mead. I like his beer just fine, but I don’t know if I’m really a mead dude.

Cherry’s baby shower is tomorrow, which is somehow a couples party instead of a woman-only shindig, but it will be nice to spend some time with my brothers that isn’t Tempest business.

We have a lot to celebrate, too. Not the least of which being Cressida’s dean was finally sentenced this week for his career of shitty actions. We’ve managed to put three assholes in prison in the five years we’ve known each other. Masterson won’t be eligible for parole for seven years. Hamilton is in protective custody because the mafia is still putting hits on him in prison. And now the dean. I hope prison treats him the same way he treated all those young girls.

I’d love to see Chad Hamilton do some time, but so far he hasn’t broken any laws. He’s just an asshole.

He’s been working with Cressida on a foundation to fight sex crimes, so he’s at least trying to mend his ways. Cherry doesn’t even kick him out of the bookstore anymore, but no one wants to spend time with him, either. Max has only hit him three times this year. Progress.

I check the kiddo one more time and tiptoe out of his room and down the hall to our bedroom. The sight that greets me makes my cock twitch.

Cressida is sprawled in our bed, her swollen belly straining the soft cotton of my old t-shirt. It barely covers the pale expanse of her thighs.

My gaze travels the curve of her hips, remembering how they fit perfectly in my hands. How even now, especially now, heavy with our child, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Like what you see?” Her voice is husky, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Very much.” I peel off my shirt and jeans, sliding in next to her. The mattress dips under my weight. “Nice shirt.”

She laughs, the sound melting over me like warm honey. “This old thing?” She plucks at the shirt, giving me a glimpse of the dark furrow between her legs. “I just grabbed the first thing I saw.”

“Is that so?” I trace a finger down her neck, over the swell of her breast. Her nipple pebbles under the thin fabric. “Seems to me you knew exactly what you were doing. It’s no secret I like it when you wear my clothes.”

“You do?” The words end on a gasp as I cup her sex, parting her slick folds. “Dillon...”

“Shh. Remember the first day we met, when you called me ‘sir’ and I told you it wasn’t my kink.”

“Vaguely. I asked what your kink was, didn’t I? I’ve learned about several of them. Hiding any more?”

I smooth my hand over the baby bump while stroking her. “I think I have a new pregnancy fetish.”

“Mmmmm. That’s a good one. What do you like about it?”

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