Epilogue
Jensen
Alfie kisses me good morning and the bond between us glimmers warmly in response. A bright rosy red radiates from my chest to his. He smiles, leaning down as he drops feather-light kisses all over my face.
“Good morning, my mate.”
“Good morning, alpha.” I giggle, squirming in pleasure.
Alfie looks good all the time. That’s a fact that’s been established pretty much since I arrived in England.
He’s a very, very good-looking man. There’s no getting away from that.
But the way he looks in the morning, unshaved, with messy hair and skin that’s warm from sleep, is something else altogether.
He strokes a lock of hair out of my face and inhales deeply. His eyes flutter closed as our combined scent hits his olfactory region. I know from personal experience that it’s a scent so intoxicating and delectable that even a slight sniff can render one completely lightheaded.
He takes a moment to recover, and then says, “Did you sleep well?”
“Hmm.” I wriggle my shoulders and hips to shift myself under him, “I can’t say I remember all that much sleeping.”
My body still bears the odd ache from my heat—some parts more than others—though I’m mostly recovered now. The delirium and frenzy that followed our mating have lifted. We’ve been clear-minded, or something like it, for a few days.
To say that Alfie is a doting mate is quite the understatement.
He’s yet to let me out of bed and hasn’t allowed me to do anything remotely taxing for myself.
And by taxing, I mean things like feeding myself or turning a page of the book I’m reading.
He’s waited on me hand and foot, and while I’d like to dissuade him from his excessive concern about my well-being, every time I try to tell him that I like doing things for myself, the bond between us sparks vivid white.
White for a white lie. Or “White for a porky pie,” as my lord likes to say.
Left with no better option, I’ve accepted my fate and have started relishing the attention instead of fighting it.
It’s just as well because I find it impossible to resist him.
I’m so ridiculously in love with him that I can hardly bring myself to blink because I can’t stand the thought of not seeing him, even for a split second.
If I heard of anyone else being this whipped, I’d be absolutely disgusted.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asks, getting ready to scan my body for the remnants of slight bruises or muscle aches.
He starts by trailing kisses down my neck, humming when he gets to the mark he buried there.
He kisses the raised skin gently and then runs a hot, sexy tongue over it.
An asterism of stars appears in my field of vision, and I gurgle nonsensically as a brand-new type of pleasure floods my body.
It’s a combination of good things. Every sensual sensation lighting up at once.
The subtle tingle of having my nipples stroked gently, heady pressure on my dick, a deep, dull ache between my legs that reminds me I was made for this man.
I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking about bonds and reading about marks, and while, yes, I was academically aware that marks are sensitive and known to be erogenous zones, I had no idea whatsoever just how erogenous they are.
When I was younger, I dreamed of being marked because, to me, receiving a mark was how all of the best love stories ended.
And who wouldn’t want their life turning out like a fairy tale?
As I got older, my feelings about them became more complicated.
Life happened, my heart took a few dings along the way, and as years passed, I was disabused of the notion that happily-ever-afters are guaranteed.
Or at least, I was left in doubt about whether one was in the cards for me.
Now, when I run my fingers over the imprint of my mate’s teeth on my neck, I feel a sense of rightness, of deep contentment that I didn’t think would be part of my story.
I feel a childish sense of wonder and jubilation when I’m with Alfie.
A crazy kind of excitement that’s completely out of keeping with what’s happening around me.
Last night, he changed our bedsheets before bed and built a nest for us.
When we were curled up in it together, he asked if I wanted to watch a murder-mystery show with him.
I almost passed out from joy.
I mean it, I was so happy that my ears started buzzing and I burst into tears.
Thank goodness Alfie could feel what I was feeling through the bond, or I’m sure he’d have been very puzzled about where the excess of emotion was coming from.
It’s not about murder-mystery shows, or nests, or new bedsheets either.
It’s about experiencing all these normal, everyday things with someone I absolutely love spending time with.
Alfie continues his audit of my body, the way he does everything for me.
With care and the most erotic touch I could ever imagine.
He checks over my arms and legs, massaging my hands and the arches of my feet before stroking darts of arousal into muscles that are still a little stiff from heated clenching and straining.
My legs fall open as his hands travel up my thighs.
“So pretty,” he says to my erection.
I twitch in involuntary response, and he uses the quick jerky movement to catch my dick and suck it into his mouth.
The assault of pleasure is instant. Drenching.
Drowning. Everywhere all at once. He laves my shaft with his tongue, using just enough suction to make me feel like I’m falling through worlds and into a different dimension.
Before I land in an alternate reality, a big, tender finger strokes my opening.
“Are you still sore, omega?” asks a deep velvet voice. He strokes me and sucks me at the same time. With every second that passes, a little more sense leaks out of my body. “Do you need me to kiss this little hole better?”
“Oh yes, alpha!” I might not be at my best right now, but by some miracle, I’m able to lie with conviction. “I’m still very, very sore. I need as much of that alpha venom as I can possibly get. For…for medicinal purposes.”
The bond flares radiantly, and an immaculate white arc glows between us.
My alpha releases my cock with a salacious pop and looks up at me, dark eyes creasing at the corners as they fill with humor.
The things that happen in the bond when he smiles have to be seen to be believed.
Vibrant greens, yellows, and oranges burst to life.
Warm, hazy beams mimic a forest in fall, suggesting that world peace is not only possible in my lifetime, but it’s entirely likely.
He flips me over with an ease that leaves me breathless.
I’m flat on my back one second, and the next, I’m face down on the mattress, ass in the air.
He parts my cheeks and dives in before I have time to catch my breath.
His hot, sexy tongue circles my rim, flicking in and out of me until my head spins and I’m left clawing at the sheets beneath me.
The sounds I make are obscene. Loud and wanton and completely unrestrained.
The sounds the lord makes are no better.
He strokes himself as he eats me. I know that even though I can’t see what he’s doing with his hands. The bond informs me because with each surge of pleasure that flows through him, a new, deeper, wilder rush of ecstasy races toward me.
“Ugh, pants,” I say sadly as Alfie zips up his fly.
Beaumont Craven House is officially open for business today after being boarded up since Alfie and I decided to go off our suppressants and bring on my heat.
It’s been so lovely to have the whole place to ourselves, and so much has happened since then that it feels strange to think of sharing our space with others again.
Alfie nods in dejected agreement as he threads his belt through the loops. “Clothes are the fucking worst, aren’t they?”
He shrugs his shirt on next, buttoning it while keeping an eye on himself in the mirror over the chest of drawers in his bedroom.
He tilts his head, unaware that I’m watching him as closely as I am.
It’s a small thing, but it’s something I noticed him doing in the bathroom mirror as he shaved the first day after my heat lifted.
He turns his head, and his gaze dips down to his neck.
He tries not to smile when he sees his mark—and indented imprint that matches mine perfectly—but every morning when he looks in the mirror, he fails dismally.
Today, I wrap my arms around his waist from behind, pushing myself onto my toes so I can rest my chin on his shoulder. I catch his eye in the mirror, and neither of us moves.
“Does your heart ache too when you look into my eyes?” he asks quietly.
I nod against his shoulder, keeping eye contact. It’s a gentle ache. A deep throb that beats around something brand new. Something completely novel, something I’ve never experienced before, yet it’s something I know innately is the very thing I’ve been looking for all my life.
I hang back when he leaves the room to greet Mrs. Thompson and Sid, though the bond tugs at my chest, urging me to stay as close to him as possible.
Alfie has known Mrs. Thompson and Sid since he was a boy.
They are like family to him, and I want to give him a moment with them that’s just about him.
Despite my intentions, I find myself creeping down the hall, taking care to stay out of view, when the pull of the bond becomes unbearable.
“Congratulations!” Mrs. Thompson’s cry is accompanied by a cheerful clap of hands.
“We couldn’t be happier for you, my lord,” says Sid.
Alfie receives their congratulations with such joy that the bond throws up a series of pinks and riotous yellows. Alfie responds, much quieter than Mrs. Thompson and Sid. I can’t hear exactly what he’s saying, so I inch a little closer to where they are.