Epilogue
Angus
The second we pull off the main road and into the gravel drive of The Honey Pot, Luna turns to me with narrowed eyes.
“This isn’t the feed store.”
“Nope.”
“You said we needed fencing wire.”
“Lied.”
Her lips twitch, suspicion giving way to amusement. “So what is this?”
“A surprise.”
I park beneath the old oak tree near the inn’s side entrance. The Honey Pot’s all golden light and dark timber, a place built to last through ten generations and a dozen bad winters. A carved wooden sign sways on its chain above the porch— Rooms Available— and the scent of barbecue and warm peaches curls out from under the eaves.
Luna climbs out slowly, absorbing it all. “The Honey Pot,” she reads. “Didn’t you say?—”
“I promised you a beer you’d like on our wedding day.” I circle to her side and take her hand. “Figured we owed ourselves a couple of nights away. No goats. No broken fences. No raccoons in the grain bin. Just you and me.”
She blinks, surprised softness blooming in her eyes. “You planned this?”
“Booked it last week. Called in favors with Henry and Shay to wrangle things back home. Told Tom not to burn anything down.”
“And you think that’s a plan that’ll work?”
I grin. “Let’s call it optimistic delegation.”
Luna’s laugh—the one I fought so hard to earn a few months ago—resonates through my ribs.
We head inside, and the moment the door shuts behind us, we’re wrapped in the warmth of the place. Polished floors. Low lighting. Music from a jukebox playing Sweet Home Alabama. The smell of oak and spice and something slow-cooked to perfection hovers in the air. It's not fancy—it’s rustic and cozy. A place that remembers things and honors history without pretending it didn’t hurt.
The man behind the bar lifts his head. Broad as a barn door, with the calm intensity of someone who could skin a bear and recite poetry in the same breath.
Emmett Furbane.
He sees me and grins. “Angus.”
“Good to see you, Emmett.” I gesture to Luna. “This is my wife, Luna.”
Emmett’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “You finally found someone who’d put up with you?”
“Pretty much,” Luna says, stepping forward with a smile and offering her hand. “I’m Luna.”
He shakes it. “Welcome. Don’t worry if the walls creak. Old place likes to whisper when it’s happy.”
I smirk. “Only thing creaking tonight will be the bed. Hopefully.”
Emmett grins. “That’s my cue to leave you to it. Dinner’s smoked brisket with cornbread and peach slaw. First beer’s on the house.”
We settle at a table in the corner, low-lit and tucked out of the way. Luna’s eyes drift toward the bar and the hand-carved shelves lined with old bottles.
“This place feels like a secret,” she whispers.
“It’s ours now,” I say. “Our secret.”
Our beers arrive in mason jars. Rich amber and brewed right here. I watch her take a sip. Her nose scrunches. Then her eyes widen.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “You were right. It’s delicious.”
She takes another sip, letting it sit on her tongue a second longer this time. “It’s smooth, but there’s a bite. Like… molasses and burnt orange? But then there’s this smoky thing at the end like someone roasted caramel over cedar.”
I grin. “Told you it was good.”
“Don’t get cocky. You still owe me cornbread.”
I raise a brow. “You’ll get it. And dessert, too, if you’re good.”
Her cheeks flush a little. “What if I’m not?”
I lean in close. “Then I’ll have to improvise.”
Dinner’s damn near perfect—brisket like it was slow-danced over fire, slaw with a bite of sweetness that lingers, and cornbread that melts on the tongue. Luna eats slowly, savoring each bite, eyes soft and lips curved in a smile that makes the whole trip worth it.
Afterward, we climb the narrow stairs to our room. The key is old-fashioned brass and weighty. The room is even better—planked wood walls, wide windows, a bed big enough to roll around in, and soft lamplight casting golden shadows. It smells like cedar and clean linen with a trace of woodsmoke from the stove downstairs, and we stand there and breathe it in for a minute.
Luna kicks off her boots and flops onto the bed with a sigh. “I could stay here forever.”
I toe off mine and stretch out beside her. “We’ve got two nights.”
“That enough time to make a dent in your plans?”
I roll over and brace one arm above her head. “Guess we’ll find out.”
She reaches for me first, fingers sliding under my shirt. I groan low in my throat as she drags her hands up my chest, nails scratching enough to wake up every nerve.
“You planned this,” she says, kissing the corner of my mouth. “You brought me here. Fed me. Bribed me with beer.”
“Mmhm.”
“And now?”
I reach down, cup the back of her knee, and slide her leg around my waist. Her skin is like hot satin, hot against my palm. “Now I show you how much I love being married to you.”
But Luna surprises me.
She pushes me back, eyes glittering. Climbing into my lap, she straddles me, anchoring her hands on my shoulders. Then she kisses me—fierce and hungry like she’s still starving and I’m her favorite meal.
“Let me,” she whispers against my lips, already working at the buttons of my shirt. “You always take care of me. Let me take care of you.”
God.
I stop breathing.
She peels my shirt open, palms sliding over my chest like she’s claiming every inch of skin. My cock is already straining in my jeans, but I don’t rush her. I can’t. I’m caught in the way she looks at me—eyes dark and full of heat, her need raw and reverent.
Her hands go to my belt. She unbuckles it, popping the button and dragging the zipper down so fucking slowly it’s torture. My hips twitch, and she grins wickedly. Knowingly. My jeans and boxers are shoved down enough to free me, my cock flushed and straining, heavy in her hand.
“I’ve thought about this,” she says huskily. “About what you taste like. How you’d sound when I made you fall apart.”
Jesus.
“You like teasing me?” I growl, fisting the sheets beside me as her lips brush my tip.
“I like owning you,” she murmurs.
Then she wraps her lips around the head and slides me into her mouth.
My head slams against the pillows.
Fuuuck.
Her mouth is everything—wet, hot, skilled. She’s not shy about it either. She moans as she takes me deeper, using her tongue to draw slow circles while her hand strokes the base. She’s devouring me like she’s memorizing every inch.
“God, sweetheart, just like that. Fuck, you feel so good,” I pant, my hand threading into her hair. “You were made for this. You look so fucking pretty with your lips around my cock.”
She hums at that—low and pleased—and the vibration tears through me. She adjusts her angle, and suddenly, I’m hitting the back of her throat.
“Shit, Luna,” I groan, hips jerking. “You keep going, I’m gonna come down your throat.”
She flattens her hand on my stomach, holding me down as she releases me with a pop.
“Not yet,” she says, voice thick with control. “I’m not done with you.”
Fuck. That alone nearly finishes me.
She works me with her mouth and hand until I’m right on the edge—tortured and aching. Then she slows, lips gliding up with one last suck before she pulls off completely.
Her eyes are glazed with lust as she wipes her shiny lips with the back of her hand. Crawling up my body, she kisses me, open-mouthed and filthy, like she wants me to taste myself on her tongue.
“You trying to kill me?” I rasp, my voice wrecked.
She smirks, dragging her fingers over my chest. “Just reminding you who you belong to.”
I growl low in my throat, flip her onto her back in one smooth motion, and pin her wrists above her head. My voice is rough, raw—stripped bare. “I belong to you, Luna. Every damn piece. Mind, body, soul. You own me.” Dipping my head, I murmur against her skin, “Now let me show you exactly what that means.”
I yank her T-shirt over her head and toss it. No bra. Just perfect, bare skin begging for my mouth.
“Goddamn, look at you,” I whisper, palming her breast and thumbing her nipple until she gasps. “You’re stunning. You know that? My dream woman with a beautiful, filthy mouth.”
Her leggings are gone in seconds, her panties ripped down to her knees. She’s soaked, slick and ready for me, and I can’t help it—I sink two fingers into her.
“You were dripping for me while you sucked my cock, weren’t you?” I ask, voice low and rough. “So fucking wet from making me lose control.”
She moans, hips grinding against my hand. “Yes… yes, I love watching you fall apart.”
I kiss her hard as I guide the head of my cock to her entrance. She’s warm and tight, already fluttering around me as I slide inside.
The sound she makes is wrecked and desperate.
And I lose my mind.
We don’t make love—we fuck, deep and filthy and frantic. Her nails rake down my back, her legs wrapped around me as I drive into her again and again, whispering all the dirty things I’ve dreamed of saying:
“You feel that? How deep I am inside this perfect cunt? No one else gets this, Luna. No one but me. You were made for my cock. Say it. Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours!” Her answer is a breathless scream as she comes around me, clenching so hard I see stars.
I follow with a roar, spilling into her, hips jerking as I bury myself to the hilt.
We lie tangled after, breathless and shaking. Her skin is dewy with sweat, her hair a mess of waves across my chest. Her fingers trace lazy circles on my abs.
“Best date I’ve ever had,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her temple. “We’re making this a tradition.”
“Every anniversary?”
“Every single excuse we can find.”
She hums in approval, curling tighter into my side. The room is warm. The bed smells like sex and her shampoo—vanilla and roses.
And her?
She’s everything.
My whole damn world and the reason my life makes sense. But I need to test the theory further. For science, of course.
Suffice it to say we don’t leave that room for two whole days.
* * *
Thank you for reading!