Epilogue #2
He fucks me like the bull he is. So fast and hard, as if racing to the finish line.
And I guess he is because I did make him watch me walk down the aisle in this dress.
That I bought specifically for him. I knew it would drive him crazy and make him mad.
And I wanted him to be mad so we could do this.
So he could chase me through the woods in his mask.
My savior from so long ago. A danger to others but a safe harbor for me.
When he chases me through the woods, I feel so safe and free.
So alive.
Not as alive as I feel right now, however. With him pounding into me, fucking me, owning me, possessing every inch of who I am. When I’m close to coming, something he can feel, he pulls me up. He plasters my back to his chest, his hips still going, and I grab his horns and hold on.
“Tell me,” he whispers in my ear again like he’s taken to doing these days.
Not always, though. Just when things get hard for him. When he remembers how they took me from him and how he hurt me so badly that he almost lost me. So even though it’s hard for me to focus with my channel pulsing over his length, I reply, “I am y-yours.”
“And who am I?”
“Mine.”
“Tell me your name.”
“R-reverie.”
“Like a daydream, yeah?”
“Your dream.”
“And what’s my name, darlin’?”
“Arsen,” I moan out. “Like my f-fire.”
That’s all the answers I can give him because saying his name is like magic and I go over the edge. I come around his cock, my orgasm triggering his, and I feel him coming inside of me, his cock jerking and pulsing, shooting his cum. Not into a condom but into me, bare and raw. Because I wanted it.
I wanted it as my wedding present. Apart from this chase through the woods.
Five months ago, we moved back to Black Rock.
I found a volunteer position at a local shelter, and when the fall came, I transferred to a college in town.
Even though life has been good, living in the barn with the man I love, being accepted into a family that I found instead of the one I was born into, I wanted our life to start as soon as possible.
Which is why when one day he mentioned he’d marry me once his parole was over, I put my foot down.
I told him I didn’t want to wait that long.
I’d already been waiting for him to ask me all proper-like and marry me for real this time for months now, so there was no way I was waiting for almost two years. So he gave in.
But then he said we had to at least wait until I finished college to start a family. By then, his new ranch—the one he bought for Rosie way back when—and his horse-breaking business would be running smoothly too. I put my foot down harder.
So here we are, married and trying for a baby.
When we come down from the high, he gently lowers me onto the ground and turns me over. He covers me with his body, and taking his mask off, puts his mouth on mine. He gives me gentle kisses, as gentle as our lovemaking was hard.
“Hey,” I whisper, opening my eyes.
His dark eyes are filled with concern. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That wasn’t too rough?”
I throw him a blissful smile. “It was perfect.”
He watches me smile for a moment before coming down for another lazy, cozy kiss. When that’s over, it’s my turn to ask, “Are you okay?”
His features tighten a bit, but then he says, “Yeah.”
I cup his jaw. “The wedding wasn’t too much for you?”
He swallows. “In the beginning.”
“But then?”
He licks his lips, traces my face with his pitch-black eyes. “Then I saw you walk down the aisle, lookin’ like a dream, and I forgot everythin’ else. The world could be on fire and I wouldn’t have noticed.”
I smile again, relieved. Even though at my insistence he’s seeing someone about his PTSD, I was worried about him in the crowd.
When he proposed to me one night, by his favorite creek—he got me a ring and got down on his knee and everything—I told him that I didn’t want a big wedding, just him and me with his family would work.
But he said he’d already done that once.
He’d already ruined my special day and colored it with blood so he was going to do this right.
And if it meant learning more breathing exercises and suffering through a few hours of being in a crowd, he’d do it.
He’s crazy that way, my husband.
But the ceremony was beautiful. All of his family was there, along with all the ranch hands.
Rad was his best man, and obviously, Peyton was my maid of honor.
But the most memorable part was my husband standing at the end of the aisle, wearing a suit that fit him like a glove and his brown Stetson.
I don’t think there’s another man anywhere who’s more handsome than Arsen.
I wind my arms around his neck and give him a peck on his jaw. “Are you trying to sweet-talk me?”
“Depends.” He kisses me back. “Is it workin’?”
“Yeah. For a hardened cowboy with a record, you’re a fast learner.”
“What can I say, that’s because for a naive little college girl, you’re a good teacher.”
“I love you.”
“You’re my life,” he says, and I love that more than those three words because it’s his way of declaring his love for me. And only he knows how to love me right.
“Happy wedding day, husband,” I whisper, smiling.
He hums and kisses me again. Softly, gently. Until I run out of heartbeats and breath. But I’m still able to say, “Till death do us part.”
He stares at me a beat before rasping, “Nah, not even then. Because even death can’t tear me apart from my wife.”