Over His Knee (Part Seventeen) by Hannah Ford

Author:Hannah Ford [Ford, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-12-05T18:30:00+00:00

Epilogue

THREE YEARS LATER

The alarm on my phone goes off and I reach over and turn it off with a groan.

From next to me, Grayson groans as well, then reaches over and pulls me close.

“Is it nine already?” he grumbles.

“Yes.”

“Hit snooze.”

I snuggle into his arms, enjoying the warmth of his shirtless body. “You realize you used to get up at 5 am every morning? No questions asked.”

“You’ve made me soft.”

I giggle and turn over, running my hands over the defined six-pack abs and the muscles of his chest that are honed in the gym, only this time from workouts 7pm instead of 5 am, workouts that take place only after our daughter is safely in bed but before we curl up on the couch together to watch a movie, before more often than not we end up in the Cell.

My husband is many things, but soft is definitely not one of them.

“We have to get up,” I say. “We’re gonna be late.”

He pushes my hair back from my shoulders and kisses me softly on the back of my neck. “How can we be late if everyone is coming to our house? We’re already here.”

“We won’t be ready. We still have to cook.”

“They can wait.”

“Grayson!” I say, pretending to be outraged, but secretly wishing he were right, that we could stay in bed. This morning Paisley and Kovax, Daniel and Emily and Tucker and Rosemary are coming over for brunch. “They haven’t seen Olivia in a few weeks, and they miss her.”

Our daughter is ten months old now, a rosy-cheeked cherub who’s always happy and giggly. She just took her first steps yesterday, tentative and shaky, her face morphing into a shocked look of surprise and then delight when she tumbled to the ground.

We are totally, irrevocably in love with her.

And so is everyone around us, which means they get antsy if it’s been too long since they’ve seen her.

“What time are they coming?”

“Ten.”

“Plenty of time.” His hand slides up under the oversized t-shirt I’m wearing, cupping my breast before his hands splay out across my stomach.

Immediately, heat floods my skin and my limbs go soft as I let myself melt against him. If I had any worries that having a baby or being pregnant would lessen his attraction to me, I needn’t have – if anything, our sexual connection has only grown. We spend our nights in the Cell and our mornings in our bed.

He can never get enough.

And neither can I.

“You just had me last night,” I squeal as he flips me onto my back. I hold my wrists up and show him the red marks there to prove it.

“Last night was forever ago,” he says, nipping at my neck.

My body is already responding, and we make love tangled in the blankets of our bed, slow and soft. Our bed is for slow and soft, the Cell is for hard and fast.

I love both of the ways he fucks me, love all the different sides and facets and damage and contradictions of my husband.

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