Kingpin’s Nanny: a Spicy Age Gap Grumpy-Sunshine Romance
Kingpin’s Nanny: Epilogue

23rd December, 10 years later

“Fucking thing!” I hurl the sticky tape across the room just as there’s a knock at the door, and Bella slips into my office. She takes in my furious expression and the tape rolling to a stop on the floor, and her mouth twitches.

“Did it betray you, King’s Cross, the London Mafia Syndicate, and good taste, and deserve to die?” she asks, deadpan.

Bella is wearing a slinky red dress with a subtle pattern that matches the lining of my suit jacket, and my heart pulses as I see it. She’s mine, and I’m hers, and I love the little signs of ownership we have that are outwardly visible. Her wedding ring and engagement ring included, but the ones that take a moment of coordination are even more special. They speak of our continued bond.

But even seeing Bella cannot salvage me from this bad mood.

“No,” I snap. “Worse.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“I can’t replace the end,” I admit, dragging my hand through my hair. There’s a lot more silver in it now. Mainly caused by sticky tape. That and eight children, plus London mafia nonsense that puts the UN Peace Corps to shame.

My wife giggles and picks up the roll of tape. “Shall I help?”

I sigh. “I should have got the shop to wrap it. But oh no, I had to order it online like an absolute idiot.”

Hips swinging, she crosses the room to my desk, and perches on the edge, just in front of my chair and begins to run her nail over the sticky tape, focused on the task.

Since Bella is here, the kids will be with “Aunty” Cath, our amazing nanny who is like a grandmother to them. She’s sixty years old next year, and devoted. The family we were always meant to have. And both of us trust her, so when we need it, there are moments away from the kids, even when we ought to be leaving for an event.

“Mmmm.” I run my hand up her leg. “I’m thinking I should unwrap my present rather than wrap up someone else’s.”

She leans into my touch, and gives a breathy little gasp.

“We…” She swallows as I squeeze her thigh. “Really shouldn’t. We don’t have time before the Maths Club Christmas party.” She reaches for the scissors, and even as I draw a purring moan from her, sliding my hand over her arse, she snips neat sections of sticky tape, tagging each one onto the side of the desk.

“We shouldn’t,” I agree, and pull her to me. She squeals as I get her in my lap and kiss her. She tastes like mulled wine, and I groan.

“We always have enough time for you…” I reach under her silk dress and slip my fingers up the outside of her thigh and into her knickers. I stroke over the soft skin just in from her hip, and I can feel the slight raise of her tattoo there.

My name. And I know without looking that there’s a love bite on her right inner thigh from last night.

In turn, I have new tattoos too. Our children’s names down my lower leg, and Bella’s name on my hip in the matching location to mine on her. And while I don’t get bruises from my wife half as often as she does from me, I treasure them when I do.

“Are you wet for me, little elf?” I shift my hand across from her tattoo and cup her sex, then groan when slick heat drips onto my fingers. “You are. Did you bring me this juicy cunt to enjoy? Such a naughty girl.”

“You make me like this,” she whispers as she leans onto my chest and our lips meet. It’s a slow, sensual kiss at first, but within seconds it’s open-mouthed, and my fingers have slid through her folds to rub over that perfect clit that was waiting for me. With my free hand, I grab her hair and wrap my fist in the silky strands, pulling her head back to break the kiss and reveal her neck.

I love to watch her from every angle as I make her come. Face-to-face is a favourite, but all of her is delicious, and as I feel for the exact place and set up the rhythm that I know makes her crazy I relish every detail of her expression. The little signs of arousal, like her pink cheeks, and the soft sounds she makes as I drive her higher.

“Lucas.” Her gold wedding ring glints as her hands shake on my lapels. “Please.”

“That’s it.” I increase the pressure, knowing she can take it. “I’d love to bend you over this desk right now.”

“Now. Please.” Her begging in that breathy tone breaks my resolve instantly.

I groan and have her off my lap and bent over my desk in a moment. Then I free my erection and plunge into her. No questions, no hesitation. Just parting her soaked, puffy pussy lips and shoving all the way home. She chokes and arches her back, and I grab her hips. The pleasure is so immediate and intense I almost black out.

The first thrust is heaven. The second is even better. Then I’m ramming into her like an engine piston, and I can’t get out words, or let go long enough to tell her to touch her clit.

Thankfully Bella knows that though I prefer to be the one stroking her patiently to orgasm myself, when we need to be quick, I’m happy for her to help. Through lust-fogged eyes, I see her reach between her legs, and I feel her pussy tighten around my cock as she strokes her clit, her hand obscured from my sight but the movement of her forearm frantic.

I can’t get out any words. I just pound into her, using my wife’s perfect body in the way we’ve done hundreds of times before, just like this, and many more in other variations. But there’s something special about these quick, furtive fucks that only serve to relieve our need for each other in the fastest way possible when we know it’s hopeless. I’ll want her again, far too soon.

I always do. I love her too much to not be joined to her whenever I can.

The familiar tension builds at the base of my spine, and my balls pull up.

Her cry as she comes is only a second before she clamps around my length. I ram home harder as she pulses, then my orgasm slams into me as hard as I’ve been fucking her. It surges up from my balls and through my cock. I shoot my hot come deep inside her, right against her cervix. And fuck, but after ten years and eight children, you’d think I wouldn’t care about breeding Bella, but you’d be wrong.

I can’t speak or more than grunt my ecstasy, but I fucking love filling her up. She’ll smell like sex for the rest of the day, and when we look at each other there will be that secret between us.

I might be getting her pregnant right at this moment.

Her pussy drags more and more out of me.

We’re both breathing hard as I withdraw and straighten my clothing. Bella doesn’t move, collapsed as she is on my desk. I pull up the scrap of white cotton over her hips and flip down her skirt. Then I grab her by the throat and pull her upright, jerking her flush against my chest.

“I needed that.” I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her to me.

“Not as much as I did.” She turns and looks up at me, pure mischief on her face.

“You are the most distracting little elf.” There was me thinking I’d instigated that. Ha. I’m putty in my wife’s hands. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She closes her eyes.

“But you are a very naughty girl.” I lower my voice to a rasp. “And you’ll pay for being a tease, and making us late. You’re going to soak through your knickers and leak my come down your leg all through the party, aren’t you?”

Her eyes fly open. “I should clean⁠—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I growl into her ear.

She shudders with delight, and I run a possessive hand down her front, lingering over her breasts.

We breathe in unison, and I smile at the red and white of her outfit. Not quite like Santa, but a nod in that direction.

Then she looks back at my desk, and tilts her head. Picking up the Secret Santa present I was wrapping, she furrows her brow in confusion. “Lucas, you’re sure this is for Secret Santa?”

“Quite certain.”

With a snort of laughter, she puts it down. “Who is it for?”

“You’ll replace out at the London Maths Club Christmas lunch.”

“Spoilsport,” she says happily, and cranes back to kiss the side of my neck. Pure happiness washes over me. Bella and I had a Spring wedding almost ten years ago, with Ivy as a bridesmaid, and Bella looking breathtaking in white silk. Since then, it’s been a blur of babies, birthdays, and perfect Christmases. I can never believe my luck.

My wife and kids make everything good.

“Mafia Christmas party, then I’m going to take you to bed properly later, and make you scream for that stunt you just pulled,” I promise Bella. “Now wrap the present like a good girl, and be quick. If we’re late I’ll tell everyone it’s because I had to discipline my naughty little elf.”

“You’re far too protective to do that,” she giggles as she reaches for the wrapping paper and covers the gift in five seconds flat, with an efficiency that stuns me anew every time I see her do it.

“True,” I admit. “You’re mine and I don’t share. Not even subtle details.”

I take her hand and interlock our fingers, and we leave my office like that. Together. Always.

A few minutes later, the whole family is in the front hallway where I first saw Bella. The winter sun isn’t as strong as the summer when it highlighted her like the angel she is, but it touches all twelve of us now.

Bella, Aunty Cath, and I are ushering everyone out the door when Sylvie’s plaintive cry comes from near my knee.

“Daddy!”

I juggle eighteen-month-old Willma in my arms to look down at her.

Sylvie looks up at me, eyes shimmering with tears. “I haven’t got my bunny ears!”

Oh fuck. A crisis of the bunny ears headband. They are critical to Sylvie’s emotional stability, and we cannot go without them.

“Where are they?” We have a lot of organisation with so many of us, but apparently that cannot overcome the chaos of one of my middle daughters.

“The playroom.” Her lip wobbles.

Danger, danger. I really should have been helping get the kids ready to go out rather than allowing myself to be distracted by the excruciating Christmas tradition of Secret Santa, and my wife luring me into fucking her.

“I’ll get them for you.” I know how important these things are, even as I glance at Wilma, who will inevitably cry if I put her down. I head towards the stairs, which will be quicker than the elevator for just two flights.

“It’s alright, Dad,” Ivy says, ruffling Sylvie’s hair. “I’m on it.”

“Thanks.” The gratitude comes from bone-deep. Or at least cartilage deep. My first daughter has a special place in my heart.

“No worries,” Ivy says and whistles for her dog—she managed to persuade us to give her a puppy by the third Christmas of asking—and they take off upstairs in a cloud of glitter. Ivy has tinsel in her hair and wrapped around her waist, and her dog has tinsel on his collar. I suspect they’ll match the outfits of her friends, the other children of the London mafias. I really shouldn’t have agreed that the dog could go to a London Maths Club event, but Ivy assured me her pup would be better behaved than most of the Bratva boss’ sons. That had the ring of truth, to be honest.

Willma gurgles, and I jig her in my arms a bit. Seconds later, the all-important bunny ears are on Sylvie’s head, and we pile into the car. A scratch of regret gets through my skin that I have to spend time with anyone who isn’t my family.

“Fucking Christmas,” I grumble under my breath. Christmas is good for filthy sex with my wife, and nothing more. I refuse to believe otherwise.

“Dad!” Ivy laughs and elbows me, then cuddles her dog closer on her lap. “You love Christmas!”

“Hmmm.” She’s far too perceptive for a sixteen-year-old.

“You smile for all of December. Don’t pretend!”

“Lies.” I rub my face to hide my grin.

I suppose Christmas isn’t so bad.