Epilogue
CHARLIE
Warm hands smooth down Charlie’s spine, his entire body sagging. Charlie’s always been a vivid dreamer, but even this is intense for Charlie, who sighs when those dream hands move down to his ass and massage.
Everything is warm and hazy, his bed soft beneath him and his face shoved into his pillow.
This is a good dream—experienced hands spread him apart and work him open with such deftness, it feels real.
Maybe this is the natural result of being fucked within an inch of his life last night before falling asleep sticky and full of Eden’s come.
Even his subconscious can’t get enough of Eden, his dream exploding with vivid colors and sensations as Charlie thinks about Eden.
Rich reds and bold strokes of yellow, bright and vibrant and perfect.
Hands move over Charlie’s body, fingers spreading him wide before pleasure spikes so sharply he whines, unwilling to wake from such a good dream.
“You’re not dreaming,” Eden croons, his voice low and gravely, his breath warm on the back of Charlie’s neck.
Turning his head, Charlie squints one eye open and is met with Eden’s sleep rumbled hair. He’s sleep-mussed, his messy hair framing his face combined with a familiar expression of pleasure.
“You’re fucking me,” Charlie murmurs, somehow managing to make it sound like both a question and a statement. Given how sleepy he is, some allowances can be made. It’s not every day you get woken up with an ass full of your sexy boyfriend’s dick.
“Took you long enough,” Eden smirks, rolling his hips. “I thought for sure you’d wake up when I was fingering you, but all you did was moan like the sleepy slut you are.”
Those words make him moan again. He’s never had shame about his enjoyment of sex with anyone and everyone, but there’s something about being Eden’s slut that makes Charlie feel owned and aroused beyond belief.
“This what you wanted, Charlie?” Eden rocks into him, so damn slow Charlie claws at the bed. “Is this how you imagined it?”
“Yes,” Charlie groans, struggling to think straight.
He’d confessed to Eden recently that for all the sex he’d had, he’d never experienced being woken up like this.
That one day he’d love if Eden had his way with Charlie while he was asleep, let him wake up, stuffed full and fucked.
It’s been weeks since that confession though, and Charlie all but forgot about it. Apparently, Eden hadn’t.
“You were so loose already, your ass still wet.” Eden drops a kiss to Charlie’s shoulder. “You like being wet for me, Charlie?”
“Nnnggh.”
“You’re not a morning person, but you could be like this, couldn’t you? Bet you’d happily wake up every day if you could have me fucking you awake.”
“Yes. Yes.” With maximum effort, Charlie manages to get his elbows underneath him, bracing himself to get enough leverage that he can arch his back. He needs more, needs it deeper and harder.
“Greedy whore,” Eden murmurs, biting Charlie’s ear and managing to make the words sound like a term of endearment.
From Eden, it is. He’s never going to be full of purple prose or flowery words, but he claims Charlie, loves Charlie, in the only way he knows how—unfiltered and raw. It’s perfect. Eden is perfect.
“Please, baby.”
Despite his begging, Eden continues to fuck into Charlie so slowly he nearly cries. Arching his back, he tries to slam his ass against Eden’s cock, grunting when Eden’s hands shove onto his shoulders and press him down into the mattress.
“I’m in control. You’re going to lay there and take what I give you.”
“Okay,” Charlie groans, unsure how being tortured to orgasm is the single hottest experience of his life.
More than once, Charlie’s wondered if he has a bit of a degradation or light masochism kink, and Eden has only confirmed those suspicions.
“We should try edging,” Charlie says, turning his face out of the pillow. “Not right now because I might die, but one day. You can edge me until I’m almost crying.”
Eden’s body stills, those big blue eyes of his blinking down at him before Eden thrusts into him while crashing their mouths together in a kiss that’s slightly awkward in its angle yet perfect in its desperation.
There’s nothing slow about Eden’s movements anymore, his nails digging into Charlie’s hips as his pace turns frantic.
“Mine,” Eden asserts possessively, almost as if a part of him is afraid there could be anyone else—as if Charlie could even think about anyone else since the moment he met Eden.
Charlie is still a slut, only from now on he’s Eden’s slut.
“Yours, baby.”
Eden growls, biting Charlie’s bottom lip as he slips out. “I need—”
“Yeah,” Charlie gasps, already knowing what’s coming. “Show me who I belong to.”
Removing his mouth from Charlie’s, Eden inches back until he’s kneeling over Charlie, who turns his head to watch.
Seeing Eden like this—delicate fingers curled around his flushed cock, jerking himself roughly as he stares at Charlie’s back, covered in marks from last night—he feels owned.
He knows that’s the point. There’s a small, still broken part of Eden that only feels safe when he’s got Charlie like this.
He needs to claim and mark, like a child with a favorite toy, afraid someone might take it.
He won’t say it, but there’s something reverent yet fragile in the way Eden later touches the marks he leaves.
One day, he might be able to say the words but for now his hands and mouth, and his dick, tell Charlie what Eden can’t yet verbalize—that he loves Charlie.
“You ready?” Eden asks.
“You know I am. Come on. Do it. Show me who I belong to, Eden. Whose am I?”
“Mine,” Eden whines, his release raining down on Charlie’s back in thick spurts, painting his back and ass.
The moment he’s finished coming, Eden bends down to lick him clean, leaving Charlie trembling with need when he ends up with a tongue and finger in his ass.
It’s not long before Charlie’s coming—his prostate stimulated while Eden messily tongue fucks him, proving to be more than Charlie can resist.
Rolling out of the wet spot he’s made, Charlie holds his arms open while struggling to catch his breath.
Like a cat, Eden crawls into his arms, hiding his face in Charlie’s neck the way he always does after.
Dirty talk and dirty fucking is no problem, but cuddling brings out the bashful side of his boyfriend, and Charlie knows better than to tease him now, instead drawing his fingers up and down Eden’s back.
“What are you painting?” Eden murmurs between open mouthed kisses to the side of Charlie’s throat.
Charlie hums, unsure what kind of pattern he’d been imaging as he drew his fingers across Eden’s skin. He wants to paint him later and can already see the canvas in his eyes. It’ll be beautiful and sharp—just like Eden.
“Something pretty,” Charlie answers.
“You better not mean me, asshole.”
“I would never call you pretty. I don’t have a death wish.”
“You were thinking it though, you fucker.”
“Mind reading one of your talents now? I should add that to your list of boyfriend qualifications. Eden Montgomery—known to fuck your brains out, unlimited sass, will provide cuddles under duress, and can read minds.”
“Shut the fuck up, Charlie.”
“What fun would that be?” Charlie laughs, pretending he can’t feel Eden’s smile hidden against his throat. “Speaking of fun, I bought—”
“You two better not be fucking,” Andrew yells, knocking on the bedroom door twice. “I told you we’d be here at ten, and it’s five after. That was a very large buffer.”
“We’re not fucking,” Charlie yells back.
The door opens and Andrew groans, covering his eyes. “What the fuck?”
“I didn’t say we weren’t naked, just that we weren’t fucking.”
“I hate you so much.”
“Hi, Andrew,” Eden says, entirely nonplussed.
He flicks Charlie’s nipple before rolling out of bed and making his way to Charlie’s dresser, withdrawing one of Charlie’s shirts without asking.
The fact that he’s in a place to feel so comfortable in Charlie’s home, and his clothes, does something stupid to Charlie’s heart, and he knows he won’t make it much longer without begging Eden to be his forever.
“You two are incorrigible. Do you do anything but fuck?” Andrew sighs, hands still over his face.
“We bicker,” Charlie answers, copying Eden by throwing on a shirt and a clean pair of boxers.
Knowing they’re about to have a house full of people, he reluctantly puts on pants too, picking his most obnoxious pair of flowy linen pants with a bold geometric pattern that he knows Eden hates, hoping Eden might take them off him at some point later.
As soon as he’s pulled his pants up, he turns to face Eden, watching with rapt attention as Eden fits himself into a very sexy black mini skirt with a ribbon hem that shows off his long, pale legs.
The fact that he’s wearing one of Charlie’s paint-stained old t-shirts with it makes Charlie want to howl and drag him back to bed to leave his own marks.
He’s beginning to understand why Jason gets so weird when Emerson wears his hoodies because seeing Eden’s much smaller frame swimming in his own clothing definitely has him feeling turned on and also uncharacteristically possessive.
“You don’t have time to fuck again,” Andrew snaps, his temper unusually short.
Likely because he’s got that huge holiday party with the owner of the hockey league this weekend.
He claims he isn’t nervous, but judging by the intensity of his behavior this week that’s not true, so Charlie decides not to tease him further, at least not today.
“I didn’t say anything about anything,” Charlie tries, hands held up in surrender.
“You didn’t have to, I can see it in the way you’re looking at Eden.”
Charlie doesn’t bother asking how he knows—like he wants to eat him alive, like he wants to keep him, like he can’t get enough of him. All of it’s true.