Epilogue
A few months later
T here’s a house on the hill, of course. Because Tim won’t let us live above a noisy, smelly bar forever. There’s a wedding. And a dress. A ring. There were vows, and sex…
Good lord, the sex only gets better with practice.
“Tuck your damn head in.” He carries me across the threshold, almost bashing my skull against the doorframe as we pass through. “Aubree! You’re being a pain in my ass.”
“I’m tired!” I’m dead weight. Lazy and languid, but he’s strong enough to carry us both. “I’ve been up since four o’clock!”
“Your leave started three days ago.” He stalks through the hall and cuts left to stride upstairs. Past artwork Tiia gifted us over the last few months. And furniture Christabelle shipped across from New York. Because apparently we can’t be trusted to furnish our own home, seeing as how Tim is… well, he’s Tim. And I’m a workaholic. Allegedly . “No one made you take that phone call this morning.”
“It’s like the bat signal!” I wrap my arms around his neck and tuck myself in closer when the wall comes perilously close to my head. “Minka called. Dead body needed to be processed. It’s hardly my fault. ”
“You were already on leave.” Emerging at the top of the stairs, he turns left again, moving along a wide hall and past bedroom doors that’ll someday, probably, be filled with a kid or two. Because if good and evil can create Tim, then what magic will come when we mix him and me?
“You had a nine o’clock appointment with the salon,” he grumbles. “Hair and makeup. Ya know, for that wedding you nagged about, and the photos you want on the mantle. Either you wanted the pretty hair, or you didn’t.”
“I got there in the end.” I pepper my lips along his neck. Biting, then soothing. Nipping, then sliding my tongue across to cover the pain I left behind. “And we got married. We got the photos.”
“And I got the bride.”
“Exactly!” I choke out a laugh when he turns into our room and my knee slams against the doorframe. “Ouch!”
“Tuck it in,” he taunts, taking my bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling. “I’ve been up since four, too. You wanna be carried over the threshold, then you’ve gotta help me out.”
“You’re making it not romantic!” Though I laugh; this was the most romantic day of my life. Because when most others say love, Tim describes the air in his lungs. When others make a vow to wed, he makes a vow to live. For me. For himself. For the family we make and the traditions we’ll pass down. “You’re supposed to seduce me now.” I slide my fingers into his hair and grin when a pair of emerald eyes, the same color as the clip in my hair and the chain around my neck, come to mine. “All the great literary pieces speak of how a person’s wedding day is about romance. And us . You’re supposed to deflower me now.”
“Deflower.” He tosses me onto the bed and follows me to the mattress, his knee settling between my legs and his hands dragging the long, white fabric of my gown up to expose my thighs. “I already did that.”
“Rude.” I firm my lips and look up at the ceiling, if only to rob him of the chance to look into my eyes. “You could at least pretend I’m pure and you’re dying to get a taste.”
“I am.” He brings my dress up and exposes my panties. Goosebumps sprint across my flesh, sending shivers along my spine and a breathy exhale from my lungs. He takes my hand, like he does so often these days, and presses my palm to his cheek.
When most others say I love you , he’d prefer to let me feel it. Hear it.
“What am I thinking right now, Aubree Grace?”
I roll my eyes. “I already told you; I don’t read minds.”
He chuckles. “Take a wild guess. First one’s free. ”
“You’re thinking…” I open my legs wider and tremble when his cock, rock hard and hidden behind his zipper, crushes my core. “That you want to get to sleep early. Rest up in time for our flight tomorrow.”
He grinds closer and smirks. “Not quite. Try again.”
“You’re thinking… you adore the ground I walk on and when we leave for our honeymoon tomorrow, you’re gonna distract me for the whole flight by giving me a foot massage.”
He peels the front of my gown down, popping my breast free, and suckles on my pointed nipple. “Close. One more guess, then I’ll just show you. Since clearly, you’re not as gifted as you make out to be.”
I fist his hair and yank his head back, only to swim in the depths of his hungry eyes. “You’re thinking, ‘ Thank God, today is finally here. I’ve been counting down every minute from the moment we signed those divorce papers so that we could marry again . This has been the longest month of my life .’ You’re also thinking about calling me a slut and fucking me until I cry.”
He reaches between us and slips two thick fingers past my panties, burying them inside my pussy and stealing a cry of desperation from the depths of my lungs. “I never filed the divorce papers, just so you know. We signed, and I said I did. Because you wanted the wedding, but there wasn’t a single moment we were divorced.”
“I know.” I drop my head back and whimper. “Shit,” I hiss, my first release washing into his hand and messing up our bed. “I always know.”
“Good.” He tears my panties down and buries his tongue between my legs. “Because I’m helplessly, insanely, ridiculously head over heels obsessed with you. Now open up, Aubree Grace. I wanna see.”
A vigilante killer and a homicide cop falling in love. What could go wrong? Grab Sinful Justice and read all about the Malones from Copeland City.
What happens when the world champ is desperate to spend time with a woman who is unavailable, complicated, and far too shy for her own good? He trains her how to fight, of course, and enjoys every sweaty second they have inside his gym. Go back to the beginning of Emilia’s world and read the story where it all began.