Page 45 of The Reluctant Billionaire (Love in London #5)

Epilogue - Aide

A noise from the bathroom has me surfacing from sleep. My knee-jerk reaction is to reach for my phone before I realise it’s Saturday.

Heaven.

My gaze snags on the black-and-white photo on my bedside table: Lotts and me on our wedding day. She’s a vision, obviously. I look like the happiest fucker who ever lived, and behind us, Lake Como sparkles. It never fails to put a smile on my face.

I collapse back on my pillows, folding my arms behind my head, and observe idly that my morning wood game is as strong as ever this morning.

I very much hope my wife comes back to bed soon.

The mere thought of her is enough for me to harden even more, but when she emerges from a cloud of steam, naked and wet-haired and holding a bottle of body lotion, my interest is instant.

‘Need some help?’ I ask, and she smiles seductively.

‘Definitely.’

Jesus, I am so royally fucked when it comes to this woman. I’m her slave. I am totally fucking useless around her. All I can do is marvel at her and be endlessly grateful that she comes home to me every night.

It seems I’m also good at putting babies in her.

I clamber over the bed towards her as she throws the bottle down onto the sheets and stretches, combing her fingers through her damp hair so she can pull it up into a big, messy bun on the top of her head. Happily, this affords me a fucking excellent view.

If I thought the version of Lotta I met two years ago was hot, this version of her is mind-blowing.

Pregnancy has taken those curves that brought me to my knees at the community centre and put them on steroids.

At eighteen weeks along, our baby girl has her stomach swollen into a perfect, smooth, bronzed bump.

Yeah. We’re having a girl.

A little baby girl who I just know will look exactly like her mother.

Told you I’m fucked.

And if Lotta’s bump has me obsessed, don’t get me started on her tits. They are a fucking miracle. They’ve grown three cup sizes already, and I cannot keep my hands off them. Her nipples are bigger, too, and slightly darker. They are quite simply the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

This time, we went bra shopping together. Lotts thought it would be hilarious to go to Harrods, given my experience there, so I humoured her.

Yeah, we saw Audrey again.

Yeah, she remembered me, even though it’d been two fucking years since the incident I’d tried to carve out of my memory.

I know this because she pointed a finger at me and said I remember you while my wife snorted beside me.

Lotta then proceeded to wrap Audrey around her little finger while they went off to the fitting rooms together and left me hanging around the lingerie, trying not to look too much like a pervert.

Afterwards, Lotts informed me that Audrey, disloyal little horror that she was, had recounted the entire story to her and told Lotta she’d never seen a man in such a state. Apparently they had a great laugh at my expense, which I’m sure I deserved.

These days, the only lingerie I buy her is stuff with a lot of holes in it. Stuff that enhances our sex life.

I reach her on my knees and tilt my face up for a kiss.

‘Morning,’ she says right before she kisses me, and that single word is filled with love and affection. She rakes one hand through my hair and scratches my beard lightly with the other.

‘How are my girls?’ I ask, releasing her mouth and crouching so I can kiss my way down between her tits and wish my baby girl good morning.

‘We’re good,’ she says dreamily. Her hands roam downwards, stroking my shoulders. We stay like that for a moment, me with my head bowed in worship against the shapely swell of her belly, marvelling at the fact that my two favourite humans exist in one sublime body.

‘I had an idea,’ she says, and I raise my head to look at her. She’s fresh-faced and glowing, and she’s never looked so beautiful to me as she does in this moment.

‘Yeah?’ I palm her bump, though I can’t feel anything. Lotta’s started feeling some tiny internal flutters—she said they feel like goldfish flipping inside her—but it’ll be a while before I’ll be able to experience our child moving inside her.

‘Mmm-hmm. Sit down here.’

She pats the edge of the bed and takes a step away from me. I plant my arse, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and watching with great interest as she sinks to her knees in front of my angry erection. Even pregnant, she’s graceful.

Blow job , I think as she guides my knees apart so she can close the gap between us. Little beauty. But she reaches past me for the bottle of body lotion and holds it up for me. ‘Lube up my boobs,’ she says, a smile playing at the corners of those luscious lips of hers. ‘You know what to do.’

Fuck, yes. Tit wanks are definitely something my beautiful wife has treated me to in the past, but with her tits so engorged at the moment, they’ve reached another level of pleasure for me. Happily, they’re even more erogenous for her during her pregnancy, so she loves it too.

Yeah. I know what to do. I shake the bottle upside down and open it, feverishly squeezing a huge blob of lotion onto my hand with a wet farting noise that makes Lotta laugh.

‘You in a hurry?’

‘For you?’ I reply. ‘Yep.’

I toss the bottle and rub my palms together before putting them on her tits.

Fuck, they’re glorious.

They’re heavy and ripe in my hands. I smear the lotion over them before scooping.

Weighing. Smoothing the crease underneath.

I work over her nipples with my thumbs as I let my mouth brush over her hair, and she groans below me.

I drag a hand between them, making sure that space is nice and slippery for my cock.

If I wasn’t dangerously close to blowing already, I’d happily do this all day, or for as long as Lotts let me.

‘I think they’re good to go,’ she says with a laugh, and I kiss her head smilingly.

‘Oh. Yeah.’

Then she’s edging forward on her knees and I open my legs as wide as I can, shuffling my arse to the very edge of the bed.

I plant my hands behind me so I can move my weight backwards, gazing down and watching in rapt fascination as my wife takes her gorgeous tits in her hands and squishes them around my rock-hard dick in a slick, pillowy cradle that’s total nirvana.

I grit out a strangled fuck as she starts to move, because it’s like nothing else, this.

Being surrounded by her flesh.

Seeing my dick disappear as it’s swaddled in the greatest tits I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.

Hearing her moans as she wanks me off. Watching her work her tight nipples with her thumbs as she goes.

Having the unique pleasure of my wife bend her beautiful face and stick out that little pink tongue to lick at my angry, desperate crown when I thrust it up near her mouth.

Yeah, I manage to thrust, but she’s doing most of the work here, and it’s a sight I’ll take to my grave. The pleasure building through my balls, my dick, is so great I’m tempted to let my eyes drift closed, but I don’t want to miss a thing.

For some reason, I have a flash of memory.

Of Lotta, when I first met her on that volunteer project—high maintenance and inappropriately dressed, but with tits I would have got on my knees for, right from the start.

She had me mesmerised from that first day, but I’d never have guessed she’d be kneeling in front of me in our bedroom, my diamonds sparkling on her fingers and my baby growing in her womb, grinding those magnificent, greased-up tits up and down my dick.

The thought has me shuddering extra hard through the next exhale. What she’s doing is perfect— so fucking perfect —but I need to be inside my wife. I crave that closeness. That certain knowledge that she’s mine, and I’m hers, and we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

With restraint I barely knew I possessed, I whisper I want to fuck you, sweetheart , and I haul her up from her knees.

LOTTA

I swear there are tears in Aide’s eyes, and awe on his face, as he sweetly helps me up. He stands with me, holding my slippery boobs and my little baby bump tight against the hardness of his body as he kisses me hungrily.

He gets emotional like this sometimes. More often since I got pregnant. I swear he’s got more pregnancy hormones than I do swirling around in that huge body of his.

But when Aidan Duffy trusts you enough to get vulnerable with you, that’s gold, and there’s no side of him I love more than my giant softie.

I take his hungry, adoring kisses as his cock jerks angrily between us, and then I turn and clamber onto the bed, crawling a little further away than is strictly necessary, before I stop on my hands and knees and look over my shoulder.

Yep. The awe is still there. He’s so sweet it kills me.

‘Come get me, honey’ I sing-song, and on he jumps. But instead of ramming his dick straight inside me, as I expected, he crouches behind me, nudging my knees apart, spreading my cheeks with his hands and burying his face in my centre.

Oh Jesus. I am such a lucky bitch.

My husband’s tongue is as taut as it was when he kissed me just now, his licks just as ravenous as he slices through my flesh.

He tongue-fucks me for a few seconds before taking pity on me and finding my clit.

The sensation of his mouth on me, his beard abrading me, is so perfect I practically shoot off the bed.

But the grip of his strong fingers is tight on my bum, so I get my outlet with a low, agonised moan as I attempt to grind my pussy against his face.

He chuckles against my flesh, pleased at having reduced me to this, before ramping up his ministrations.

It’s so perfect. God, he’s perfect. His grip eases so his hands can roam over my bum in a way that’s loving and proprietorial in equal measure, and then he truly lets me have it.

He slides a couple of fingers inside me, his tongue growing even more taut, and it flicks at my clit with military precision.