Epilogue Ophelia #2
I kiss him then, hard enough to bruise. He tastes like beer and sweat and the sour, metallic tang that is only his. He kisses back, taking control, pinning me with his hips against the edge of the bench.
“I like watching you grow things,” he says, voice hoarse. “You’re beautiful when you’re making something live.”
I snort. “You’re a fucking poet.”
He shrugs, nips my bottom lip. “I’m just telling the truth.”
I reach behind me, grab the bottle from the table, and press it to his chest. “Drink. You’re starting to get sentimental.”
He takes it, but instead of drinking, he slides the bottle under my shirt, dragging the cold glass across my stomach. I gasp and squirm, but he holds me steady, grinning like a devil.
“You don’t like that?” he teases.
“It’s freezing, Caius.”
He pushes it higher, over my ribs, until the chill stings in a way that makes every nerve light up. “You can take it,” he says.
He’s right. I can. I always do.
He sets the beer back down and pins me in place, one hand on my hip, the other tracing lazy circles over the skin he just iced. “I could fuck you right here,” he whispers. “Would you let me?”
The answer is yes. Always yes. But I make him work for it. I arch an eyebrow, lips curling in a smirk. “You’re going to get dirt on your knees.”
“Not the worst thing I’ve had on them,” he says, and the look in his eyes is hungry, dark. “But if you want to move this inside, I can be persuaded.”
I pretend to consider it, then shake my head. “No. Here. I want to be filthy.”
He grins wider, then kisses me again, slow this time. His hands map every inch of me, tracing the places that make me shudder, the scars that haven’t faded yet. He’s not gentle, but he’s careful. Like he knows how easy it would be to break me, but he’d rather keep me whole.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard, because I believe it.
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
His phone buzzes, interrupting the moment. He ignores it.
For a second, the rest of the world disappears. It’s just the heat, the dirt, the taste of him on my tongue.
He slides his hand further down, two fingers pressing just enough to make me whimper. He knows exactly how to touch me. He always has. His fingers curl, hitting that spot and just before I come, he pulls them out and yanks my leggings off, unzipping his pants.
“Say you’re mine,” he teases me with the tip of his cock, running it over my clit.
I meet his eyes, steady. “I’m yours.”
He slides in, slow and perfect, and I bite his shoulder to keep from screaming. The greenhouse is glass, after all. Don’t want to scare the guards.
He fucks me slow at first, then harder, both of us gasping, bodies slick with sweat. I wrap my legs around his hips, drag him closer, and dig my nails down his back. He loves when I scratch. He loves when I leave a mark.
He comes with my name in his mouth, then holds me so tight I can barely breathe.
When it’s over, we collapse onto the bench, tangled and shaking.
He kisses the top of my head, then says, “You’re going to be the death of me.”
I laugh, chest still heaving. “I hope so.”
He looks at me, dark eyes bright. “I fucking love you, O.”
“Ditto,” I say.
We sit there, catching our breath, until the sun shifts and the light breaks through the glass in new patterns.
He keeps his arms wound around me, his hands roaming my skin. We have all the time in the world to just enjoy this moment. Then he climbs on top of me, sliding his cock into my still soaked pussy.
Slowly, he drags the tip of his nose up my neck, inhales, then presses his mouth to the place where my pulse beats loudest. He sucks a mark there, slow, deep, and the ache goes all the way down to my core.
I make a sound and tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling until his head tilts back and I can see the rawness in his eyes.
He grins. “You want more?”
I answer by grinding on him, rolling my hips until he groans. He’s hard as a rock, throbbing, and every time I shift, it’s like my body can’t get enough. I hook my ankles behind his ass, locking us together.
“Greedy,” he says, but his hands are already under my shirt, palming my breasts, pinching until I yelp. He covers my mouth with his, devours me, tongue slick and ruthless. I bite his lower lip, draw blood.
He shoves the bench back, so hard it skids on the tile, and lifts me in his arms. I wrap around him, holding tight, feeling the sweat and dirt mixing on our skin.
He sits me down on the potting table, pushing aside seed trays and garden tools until there’s just enough space for the two of us.
I feel the cold edge of a trowel against my thigh, the grit of soil grinding into my ass. It hurts. It’s perfect.
He moves inside me, slow at first, then faster, every thrust making the whole fucking table rattle. I grab his shoulders, dig my nails in, and drag them down his spine until I feel the wet bloom of blood under my fingers. He hisses, then bites my neck again, marking me as his.
He fucks me harder, hips snapping, arms caging me in. I love the way he gets when he’s like this—out of control, almost scared of what he’ll do, but unable to stop. He’s so careful with me the rest of the time, but here, now, he can break me if he wants to.
And I want him to.
I claw at his back again, rake my teeth down his throat, leave a trail of red.
His hand wraps around my neck, squeezing until I can only breathe through a pin hole.
My legs start shaking as my core tightens and the wave starts to approach.
He groans, shudders, then slams into me one last time and comes, heat flooding me until I’m shaking again, the air shattered with both our moans.
My pussy is aching, both in pleasure and pain, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’d fuck him a hundred times a day if that’s what we needed.
When he finally lets go, he doesn’t step back. He grabs me and sits in the dirt, pulling me into his lap, cradling me.
We sit there, sticky and filthy and perfect, until the sweat cools and the heat starts to fade.
“Cigarette?” I say, half-joking.
He laughs, then actually fishes out a pack from his pocket. “You’re such a bad influence.”
I pluck one from the pack, stick it between my lips, and wait for him to light it. He does, eyes never leaving mine, and the way he looks at me—hungry, proud, almost feral—makes me flush all over again.
I take a drag, exhale, then hand it back to him.
“You know,” he says, “I always thought I’d end up alone. Or dead.”
“Still might,” I remind him, but I nudge his thigh with my knee, softer than I mean to.
He grins, takes another pull, then sets the cigarette on the lip of the table.
“Not if I can help it,” he says.
There’s a silence, but it’s the good kind. The kind where you don’t have to fill it with anything, because everything that needs to be said is already floating in the air between you.
I reach for his hand, the one with the tattoo crawling up his wrist, and turn it palm up. There are marks there, old and new. I trace them with my thumb, one by one, memorizing the map of him.
“You get any sleep last night?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Enough.”
“Liar.”
He shrugs again, but doesn’t argue.
I press my finger to the newest scar, a thin red line just above the wrist bone. “This one’s new.”
He studies it like he’s seeing it for the first time. “Had a run-in with one of Slade’s guys.”
I frown. “They’re supposed to be protecting us.”
He chuckles. “They are. I just needed to remind them whose house this is.”
I don’t ask for details. I know what he’s capable of, and what he’ll do to keep me safe. There’s no point pretending otherwise.
Instead, I lean in and kiss the scar. Then the next one. Then the next.
He watches me, eyes gone soft.
“You’re a fucking angel,” he says.
“Wrong,” I correct him. “I’m a survivor.”
He kisses me, slow this time. Gentle. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I rest my head on his chest, listen to the thud of his heart.
“What are you working on?” I ask, because I know he’s been busy, and because I want to hear him talk about the future instead of the past.
He runs his fingers through my hair, slow and soothing. “Building another business,” he says. “Import-export. Legal, mostly.”
I laugh. “Mostly?”
He shrugs. “Old habits die hard.”
I poke his ribs. “What about your father’s empire? The Board?”
He makes a face. “They can rot. I’m done with all that. This is ours. Just you and me.”
I like the way that sounds. “And the guards.”
He rolls his eyes. “Necessary evil. At least until I’m sure they’ve lost our scent.”
“Maybe I’ll start training them. Make them weed the garden or something.”
He laughs, really laughs, and the sound fills up the whole greenhouse.
I close my eyes, savor it.
For a minute, everything is perfect.
But perfection never lasts. Not in this world. It’s all just stolen moments until the next problem we have to solve.
And that’s okay.
Because we’re together and together we’re immovable.
The sun shifts, the shadows moving across the glass. I see the silhouettes of the guards, black shapes against the silver light. They’re always there, always watching.
Caius senses the change in me, the way my shoulders tense, the way my breath shortens. He pulls me closer, arms locking around my waist.
“You’re safe, baby girl. I promise on my fucking life.”
I hop off his lap as he moves to stand and he helps me up, sets me on my feet, and brushes the dirt from my legs. His hands linger, thumbs tracing circles on my skin.
“Shower?” he suggests.
I shake my head. “No. Let’s stay dirty a while longer.”
He kisses me, then slings an arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the house.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Starving.”
He grabs the beer from the table, pops it open, and hands it to me. I drink, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. He grins, takes a swig, then swings the door open and lets the ocean air rush in.
We walk back to the house together, two filthy animals in love, and I decide that this is as close to happiness as I’ll ever get.
Inside, the kitchen is warm and bright, the windows fogged from the furnace heat. I drop onto a stool at the counter and watch him move—barefoot, shirtless, scarred and beautiful. He grabs bread and eggs, slices a tomato with the kind of precision that makes me laugh.
“You’re a menace,” I say.
He winks. “But I’m your menace.”
I watch him, memorize the curve of his shoulders, the way his hair falls over his eyes when he bends to the fridge. I want to remember every detail, in case it’s ever taken from me.
He plates the food, sets it in front of me, then pours two mugs of hot chocolate.
We eat in silence, but it’s a good silence. The kind that feels right.
When we’re done, he pulls me into his lap, tucks my head under his chin, and just holds me.
I could stay like this forever.
But nothing lasts forever.
The sun starts to dip, painting the sky with streaks of red and gold. I watch the light change, and try not to think about the darkness that always comes after.
I feel him tense, just a little, and I know he’s watching the horizon for threats I can’t see.
He’ll never stop. Neither will I.
But for now, we have this.
We have each other.
And if the world comes for us again, we’ll fight back.
Together.
He kisses my temple, soft, and I close my eyes.
“I love you, O,” he says, voice thick with emotion.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I love you too, Cai.”
He holds me tighter, and through the glass, the ocean glimmers.
Beautiful.
Perfect.
Ours.