The End Zone
She comes so hard, her sweet cunt clutches the fingers I shove into her in a death grip. I almost stumble backwards from the impact of shooting my own load between her thighs, the scent of her juices, our sweat and our sex mingling together in the air like a perfect cocktail. I grab her jaw in my hand and guide her lips to mine, planting an all-consuming kiss to seal this fuck on the right note.
“I love you, Jolie. You’re my world, my universe, the air I fucking breathe. I will never cheat on you, and next time you pull a stunt like this, I will punish you with unfulfilled orgasms. You better believe it.”
With that, I turn around and stalk out of the bathroom, leaving her to collapse on the floor to regroup.
I can feel her gaze on my back.
It tells me I redeemed myself.
That she is in love.
I look down at my deflating cock, tucking it back into my briefs as I turn the shower on for us to share together. As I wait for the water to warm up, I think back to the last time we had such crazy sex. I vaguely remember she was acting weird, too.
I swivel my head back to watch her, and the penny drops.
It was right after we found out Elle was coming for us.
“Baby,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“After the shower I’m going to go buy you a pregnancy test.”
Two weeks after
Boy, do I regret drinking those few sips of wine the day Sage came back from Colorado for me.
“Show it to me again.” My husband snatches the ultrasound photos from my hand. Oh, God. If guilt was water, I’d be drowning. No matter that I drank two weeks ago, and my doctor told me that I was perfectly fine, and that it didn’t matter—I still feel incredibly guilty. Funny thing is, I am on the pill. I wasn’t planning on getting pregnant again anytime soon, but it just happened. I wasn’t on antibiotics or anything. But as my OB/GYN said, “There’s always that small percentage. And you fell right into it.”
We look at the ultrasound photos again. Our baby looks like a bean. Or a peanut. Whoops, now I’m hungry again. Pregnancy really is a magical thing.
“Do you think it’s going to be a boy or a girl?” Sage looks up at me, his eyes shimmering with joy.
I smile. “It’s fifty-fifty.”
“What fifty does your gut tell you? That’s where the baby is. It must know.”
“A boy,” I tell him. He smirks, dragging me to sit on his lap. Elle appears from her room, skating across the shiny floor of our house. She comes to a halt beside us, flips her bangs away, and grins.
“Guess what, Daddy?”
“What, baby?”
“Mommy said I can have a cock.”
Sage’s face turns from smiling to stunned. He twists his head to me, still talking to our baby girl. “Baby, you will not be getting a cock any time before I’m six feet under.”
“Sage.” I slap his chest lightly, giggling.
He grins. “She means a chicken, right?”
I nod. “I made the same mistake.”
Sage pinches my waist. “That’s because you’re horn—” I flick his ear, so he catches himself, “horribly imaginative.”
“I think so, too. By the way, you know what else you are going to get, baby?” I turn to my sweet, beautiful daughter who looks just like her father.
“What?”
“A brother or sister.”
Her mouth falls open, and I can’t help but laugh.
She frowns. “But…I’m still getting a cock, too, right?”
Sage and I both laugh, and I bury my nose into my husband’s delicious neck. There is only one word floating in my head right now, but it’s the only one that matters.
Mine.
Surprise Bonus Content
This year started out on an amazing note for me. I was humbled and excited with all the love you have given Midnight Blue, my rock star romance, which came out on January 17th. My readers are much more than just readers. They are my tribe, my home, the people who make me push myself harder with each book. I have therefore decided to treat you to a little extended epilogue from Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1). If you haven’t read the novel yet, please skip this part. If you have, I hope you enjoy.
Thank you for your continued support and passion for the written word. You make the world better. Well…at least mine!
Love,
L.J. xoxo
Extended Epilogue: Vicious
“Kneel.”
There’s menace in this voice, and I grew to love the man who carries it like a loaded weapon. Every word is a sharp edge of a knife, sinking into my skin.
Kneel.
Sit.
Open your mouth.
Touch yourself.
Repeat after me: Vicious, I’m yours.
Most married couples fall into a blissful, albeit drowsy domestic routine of laundry, family dinners, and Netflix.
Most married couples are not Vicious and me.
We were different from the beginning. A yin and a yang, fighting over which color took more space, black or pink. We started out as enemies, and I think that, although we are still crazy in love, we will always be rivals on some level. We will always be passionate, and angry, and desperate.
We will always be us.