Epilogue 2
ZACH
Years later
I shouldn’t hover in the doorway like this, leaning up against the frame, but it always warms my heart to see how engaged Ark is with the kids.
The boy seated on the mat with him can’t be more than six years old, with bright blue eyes, just like my man, and Scandinavian blonde hair.
Today, they’re playing Buckaroo, a children’s game that involves a donkey and various items to load onto it without bucking them off.
Facing away from me, Arkin picks up one of the game pieces. “Alright, you know the drill, little man. Before I place this, I need to describe it. Hmm, what do you think a rope is used for?”
The boy blinks at him with eager eyes. “Uh… to tie stuff up? Like horses or donkeys.”
“Very good. Well done, Daniel.” He hands the boy the next piece. “Now it’s your turn. Are you ready? Let’s practice this phrase: ‘Buckaroo is ready to ride.’ Do you remember that strong ‘R’ sound we practiced the other day?”
Arms folded across my chest, I rest my head against the doorframe, barely able to contain my big grin.
Arkin knew early on that he wanted to work as a speech therapist to help children who needed that little extra help, and I have to say—he’s a natural with kids.
It’s truly a beautiful thing to witness this 6’4 tank of a man use his voice, a voice he fought so hard to get back, to help other children grow in confidence and improve their verbal skills.
“Buckaroo is ready to wide…” The boy’s eyes widen. “Uh, no, ride! ”
“Nice catch, lad. You’re getting better at those ‘R’ sounds,” my husband praises.
Yes, that’s correct. We got married two years ago down in Cornwall in a small ceremony with our closest friends and family.
Daniel balances the blanket piece on the Buckaroo’s back, and for a moment, we all hold our breath. The donkey doesn’t buck. Phew! Even I’m invested now.
My husband holds his hand up for a high-five. “Great teamwork. You’re doing awesome with your sounds today. Let’s…” He drifts off when he notices Daniel looking at me.
Glancing over his shoulder, the indents in his cheeks make an appearance. “This is a private session,” he tells me with a flirtatious smile.
As always when he looks at me like that, I have to get my head out of the gutter, especially now that there’s a kid in the room with us.
Arkin turns back to the kid, still crouched, his white shirt stretching tight across his broad shoulders, and starts packing up the game. “That’s all for today, little man. Good job. Keep practicing those ‘R’ sounds over the weekend, and I’ll see you back here next week.” They bump knuckles, and the little kid giggles before running past me to his father, who has just arrived to collect him. I eye them holding hands as they walk down the hallway, wondering if Arkin and I’ll adopt one day or if we’ll stay content as dog parents to our two very loud, very energetic huskies.
Warm fingers wrap around the back of my neck. Lips gracing the shell of my ear, Arkin whispers, “You better not be checking out another man, husband.”
A slow smirk forms on my lips, but I don’t respond either way, content stirring him up a little on this bleak day.
But I didn’t come here to spy on him working. I came here to make sure he was okay. Years have passed since Arkin came back to me, but he still tends to bottle things up, especially where his past is concerned. Some things are easier to keep quiet about, yet those are the things we need to voice the loudest.
Turning around, forcing my husband back a step, I shut the door behind me. There’s no easy way to broach the subject. Rip the plaster off. “How are you holding up, Ark?”
Hands on his hips, Arkin releases a deep sigh, the kind of sigh that deflates his big frame, as if the world weighs him down before he rubs the space between his brows. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
Fuck that.
The latest parole hearing is scheduled for this afternoon. I know Arkin wants to put on a brave face, but I also know he’s hurting. When he’s in pain, I’m in pain.
Stepping forward and palming his cheeks, I press my forehead to his. It’s what we do—how we connect. “It’s my job to worry about my husband. I’m your ocean, remember? Together we’re the anchor. Just say the word, and I’ll kill him for you.”
That draws a tired chuckle out of him. “Honestly, baby, I don’t want to think about my uncle’s latest parole hearing today.”
I gaze into his eyes, pain raging in my chest, but I put a lid on it for Arkin, for the man in front of me who’s been hurt enough.
After he places his hand on mine, he strokes his thumb over my skin and draws in a trembling breath. “While I wish he would stay in prison forever where he can’t hurt anyone else, that’s not how the legal system works, unfortunately. He’ll walk the streets again. Maybe not now but soon. It’s a fact I have to accept, and it fucking sucks.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice is choked.
“Don’t be sorry.” He wets his quivering lips. “I want to spend today focusing on good things, like us, and the life we’ve built together. After tidying up here, I’ll take you home and make love on the kitchen table. Then, when your legs are jelly and you’re resembling a Picasso painting of bruises and cum, we’re having a long bath.”
“Whatever you want, baby.”
Arkin straightens and kisses my wedding band, rolling it between his fingers. “My sister has invited everyone over for dinner tonight. Apparently, her boyfriend has dug the barbeque out of the garage. Fuck knows how he found it amongst all the stuff they hoard in there.”
They recently moved house, and half their belongings are still boxed up.
“What about your brother?” I ask. “Will he be there too?”
Archie is currently attending university in Scotland. We travel up to see him as often as we can, but it’s a full day’s drive, so it doesn’t happen as regularly as we’d like.
Arkin kisses me once, a soft press of lips, then nods. “Yes, he arrived last night.”
That’s good news. I’m glad he’s back for the weekend. Arkin is very protective of his siblings even now, and he worries about Archie living so far away. It’ll be good for my husband to spend quality time with Archie and Lily-Rose.
“Well then,” I whisper, peppering kisses over his face to make him smile. “I better help my husband tidy so that he can take me home and ravage me on the kitchen table as promised.”
Chuckling, Arkin wraps his muscular arms around me and crushes his lips against mine in a bruising kiss. “Thank you for checking up on me today. I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate all the small ways you care for me. You always go out of your way to ensure I’m feeling okay.”
“Your happiness is my happiness, remember? If you hurt, I hurt.”
Tangling his fingers in my hair, he steals a deep, toe-curling kiss.
His heart pounds beneath my hand on his defined chest, and his soft shirt smells faintly of laundry powder and the cologne I gifted him for his birthday.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he asks, breathing hard, trailing his tongue over his lips to taste the remnant of our kiss.
“Let’s clean up real quick,” he says, gazing at my mouth. “I want to take you home.”
Despite his words, he makes no move to leave, shifting his fingers to my shirt button. Flicking the top one open, he slowly leans down to kiss my collarbone.
His arm wraps around the small of my waist, and he pulls me closer. As his devilish mouth leaves biting kisses on my neck, I almost give in and let him devour me there and then.
“Arkin, we can’t do this here. You could lose your job.”
“And somehow, I don’t seem to care about that right now,” he responds. “Why is it that you always smell so nice?”
I chuckle, sliding out, escaping his gravitational force. “Let’s clean up.”
Five minutes later, as Arkin puts the board games back on the shelf, I wait for him in the doorway.
He turns to me, his wolfish smile making an appearance. The keys swing around my fingers before I clasp them in my fist. “Are you ready to go home now?”
“Lead the way, husband,” he purrs as he gestures for me to exit ahead.
I slip into the hallway, feeling his hungry eyes on my ass.
Chances are we won’t make it home before he pulls the car over somewhere quiet. Like he did last week when we fucked in the backseat.
The spunk is still there, dried into the fabric, but Arkin refuses to clean it because he’s secretly a caveman.
“Are you checking me out?” I tease as we exit into the afternoon rain.
“You bet your sweet arse, I am.” His voice is a low growl. A growl that rumbles like the car’s engine when I turn the ignition.
As we drive out of the parking lot, the wipers swish on the windshield.
Arkin puts his possessive hand on my thigh like he did back in college. Back when I fought my demons and lost.
At the feel of his big hand and the promise of a filthy handjob behind the wheel, my cock swells in no time. The ache is almost too much to fight, but I don’t beg. Not yet. Arkin likes my resistance.
Even the illusion of it.
As his fingers slide higher this time, I don’t ask him to stop.
I was stupid back then. Stupid not to see how fucking special Arkin is and how lucky I was to capture his attention.
For as long as we live, I’ll ensure he never realizes he could do much better than me. I’m it for him. There will be no one else.
What do they say in those romance novels my sister tries to get me to read?
Oh, yeah.
He’s mine!