Capture Me

Epilogue

Thalia

I walked—more like waddled—to the living room and slowly sat down on the couch to relieve my sore lower back. The sigh that escaped my lips as I leaned my torso on the back-rest of the sofa was unpreventable.

Two years, huh. Days had flown so fast since reuniting with Ryder, maybe because of how hastily-paced his life that he swept me into was, or it could be that every day with him was not enough for me to express how much I love him. Or I was too happy to be with him that I often lost track of time. Either way, I was with him, it was all that matters.

My eyes roamed the high ceilings of the house that me, and Ryder planned and built together with the big help of an architect and an engineer of course.

The large chandelier glittered with white light from its bulbs, several feet below it was the grand staircase that led to the rooms on the second floor and flowed down just a few feet from the big oak double doors.

The red long gown hugged every curve of me that it made it hard to breathe and move, let alone walk with my ankles and flats-clad feet aching every time I took two steps.

We were invited by mom and dad—Ryder's parents—to attend their thirty-fourth anniversary. The hope and wish that someday we would be able to celebrate our fiftieth, sixtieth, and eightieth anniversaries had me tearing up. The future us with wrinkled faces sitting on the bench on the porch, looking over our playing grandchildren made it worse.

Man, these hormones are making me crazily emotional.

The thud sound not far from me made me stop my—whatever thought process I was doing and looked to the direction it came from. One of the double doors of the main entrance opened and my dashing husband walked in. He was sporting a black tux and a bow tie, add the fact that his eyes were smoldering as he closed in my direction had my body warming up in a delicious way.

"Are you ready, baby?" His deep voice seemed to caress my breasts down my waist, and farther south that all I could do was bite my lower lip while eating him up with my eyes.

I want him. Screw going to the event.

He stopped a foot from me, "Nope, stop that." Ryder took a deep breath. "If you don't quit looking at me like that, baby, we will not be able to attend the event."

I don't care, just come here and fuck my brains out, I wanted to say but I knew it wasn't right. Even when I wanted him real bad.

"Looking at you like what?" I feigned innocence, even though I was already feeling the warmth on my cheeks slowly spreading. "I was just admiring my gorgeous husband." That and more.

"Oh? But you were looking at me like you want me to make you scream with my tongue or my cock."

Mmmhm. All this dirty talking was working me up. "Please just come and help me up or else we'll be late." I reached up for his stretched hand and pulled myself up.

"I didn't think that being pregnant will make you so horny. I should knock you up often." He chuckled when I smacked his arm.

Ryder filed for a retirement upon learning about my pregnancy. We didn't hear any news of it for several months until he received the approval email on my second trimester. It seemed that the higher ups were reluctant to let him go but thankfully, they permitted his application.

Our son—Dean, we decided to call him—was on his eighth-month in me. Being a first time mother-to-be, I thought the only difficult parts upon entering this phase were the sleepless nights, the growing weight of the baby, and the disarray of hormones. Oh, boy, but I was in it for a surprise because I never thought that excretion was also one of them. In the beginning of my last trimester, it felt like Dean was playing fist-bump with my bladder—more like punching it—and the sudden feeling made me pee a little every time. When taking a dump, it felt like the baby could come out anytime when I tried to push my poop out. Another was finding the best comfortable position when sleeping, I was always at ease in my husband's arms, so I did just that, but then he told me—jokingly, I think—that I was getting heavier and that he might lose his arm because of the lack of circulation.