EPILOGUE

 

Eight weeks later

 

I’m back to my pre-pregnancy weight.  Well, mostly.  My stomach has deflated and is flat but there’s some loose skin there that the doctor said will shrink and tighten back up with time.  My boobs, which felt like they were going to explode when my milk came in, have settled and are a C cup.  I’m super happy with this, because I always thought my pre-pregnancy B cups were too little, but my during-pregnancy D cups were just too much.  I swear they contributed to more aches in my back than my baby did.

So here I am, standing in front of the floor length mirror in my mum and dad’s bedroom, assessing myself.  The invisible ribbing detail around my waist hides the flabby belly skin, giving the illusion that it’s not there at all, and thanks to the corset, I don’t even have to wear Spanx.  Thank god for that because I ordered some sexy lingerie from the Pleasure Chest. I can’t wait to see Hamish’s eyes when he peels my wedding dress from my body and discovers the black and forest green lace strapless corset, garter and g-string ensemble.  It makes my boobs look insane.

My dress is beautiful.  The designer described it as outback romance.  The soft ivory chiffon and lace detail give it a whimsical feel, and the deep V in the back adds a sexy edge.  My dark hair is softly pulled back in a loose bun at the nape of my neck, and my makeup in spot-on thanks to my beautician aunty, Laura.

Brooklyn and Aubree, my bridesmaids, are both wearing simple champagne-coloured knee-length dresses.  Arabella is wearing a tiny ivory dress similar to mine, but less sexy and more whimsical and romantic.

Hamish’s brother Todd and Oscar are the best men in our wedding party.

Hamish’s family flew in from Tasmania and I met them in person for the first time.  It was kind of anti-climactic, since I’ve been speaking on the phone and Skyping with them for the past year or so.  It was awesome to finally meet them in person though, and they’ve spent the last few days spoiling the crap out of Arabella.

Everyone is currently seated in my parents’ garden, waiting for me to make my grand entrance.  With a huge family and living in a small town, our guest list was never going to be small.  We didn’t want anything too fancy or over-the-top, so we decided on a no-frills wedding and reception at my childhood home.  The other reason for the swiftness of our vows is because Hamish and I decided to save our first time post baby until our wedding night.  The fastest we could get everyone and everything organised was for today, which is eight-weeks after Arabella’s birth, and two weeks past the no-sex guideline the doctor gave us.  Let me tell you, the past two weeks have been hell trying to avoid temptation.

But we did it.

Dad knocks on the door and pops his head through the crack.

“Jesus, Oli,” he gapes.  “You look… God.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” I say, tearing up.  “Don’t make me cry,” I order, flapping my hand in front of my face.

“Come on, then.  Let’s get down there.”  He cocks his elbow out to me and I slip my hand through.  Then we walk outside to the man of my dreams.

To my future.

 

 

“Finally,” Hamish rasps, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he carries me over the threshold.

We’ve said our vows, made it official with a kiss, fed our guests, and left them partying on at Mum and Dad’s house.  I’ve expressed enough milk for Arabella since she’s staying with Mum overnight, and Hamish and I are about to consummate our marriage at the cottage.  Tomorrow, the three of us are flying to Tasmania to spend four weeks exploring the area and hanging out with the Tyler family.

But right now, we’re both way too overdressed.

Hamish lowers me down until my feet hit the floor and then he dives in and sucks on my neck, right above the lace near my collarbone.

“Been wanting to do that all day,” he says.

I tilt my head, giving him more access and threading my fingers through his hair as he walks us backward toward our bedroom, our mouths clashing, nipping, biting.  Tongues duelling, heavy breaths mingling.  We reach the bedroom and he spins me around, deftly unbuttoning the tiny pearl buttons holding my dress in place.  Thanks to the V-back, there aren’t that many so it doesn’t take him long.  Then he spins me around again and I let the dress fall off my shoulder to my elbows.  His eyes turn liquid as he gets the first glimpse of the lingerie underneath.

“God, you’re going to kill me before I get inside you,” he groans.

I let my arms fall down my sides so the dress floats to a pool of fabric at my feet.  Hamish sucks in a sharp breath of air.  His black suit pants look awfully tight around the crotch area, but he does look insanely hot with his white shirt unbuttoned at the top and his champagne tie hanging loose around his neck.

“You look a lot overdressed, Mister Tyler,” I say in my most sultry voice.

“Don’t worry, baby, I won’t be for long.”  He rips open his shirt, sending buttons flying, and then he’s tugging down his pants, kicking his shoes off, and standing before me wearing nothing.  His body is hard from head to toe.  He’s all tanned muscle and toned lines.  His cock is angry, jutting out from his body toward its target.  Me.

I lick my lips as his eyes roam over my body, and then he stalks toward me and pushes me back onto the bed.  Thankfully, I don’t have to fall far because I land with with graceless ease and manage to give myself a slight case of lace burn with the g-string.

“You look like a minx.  A hot as fuck minx,” Hamish growls, eyeing my body appreciatively, and suddenly the lace burn on my arse is forgotten as a different kind of heat rolls through my body.

He peels the lingerie off my body, starting with the corset, then the garter and stocking, and finally the tiny scrap of lace that is the g-string.

He comes down over me and takes a nipple into his mouth.  For a brief second, I say a silent prayer that no milk comes out, but then the thought vanishes as he bites down gently and I moan.  I open my legs wider and he positions himself between them.  I’m hot, and wet, and oh-so ready.  It’s been a long two months and I need him now.  Right now.

“Make love to me, husband,” I command.

“This is going to go fast, baby, but I promise next time I’ll take my time.”

He slides inside effortlessly and we both moan. My eyes roll back in my head and my pelvis tips up as he begins to rock against me.  He moves slow and steady at first.  Then his thrusts quicken.  Every inward glide is deliberate and his cock hits its target each time.  He loops an arm under my leg and the friction of his cock on the tiny bundle of nerves deep inside me, and his pelvis against my clit, has me crying out in pleasure.  Black spots dance behind my tightly closed eyes.  My fingers dig into his shoulders and my body goes lax.  Hamish shifts on his knees and then he’s pounding into me with wild abandon, chasing his own release until he stills and groans, planting himself deep and coming with a vengeance.  With a heavy exhale, he begins to move again.  Slow and lazy, he glides in and out, drawing every last drop of pleasure from our bodies.

“Mmm, my husband is good at the sexing,” I mumble, utterly sated.

“My wife is insanely talented,” he replies, tracing a finger around my pebbled nipple.  Even though it’s only been minutes since we made love, heat starts to pool inside my stomach again and his cock twitches with want.

The sun is just starting to peek over the mountains in the distance when we finally fall asleep, completely exhausted. 

We certainly made up for the past eight weeks, but even if I had to wait a lifetime, I would for Hamish.  That’s the thing about consequences, there’s always a positive on the flip side.  Going from becoming pregnant by a one-night stand—a guy so involved in illegal activity that it got him killed—is a consequence I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.  But it was that situation that led me back home, that led me to Hamish, to my soul mate.

And I wouldn’t change Hamish or Arabella for the world.

 

The End.