44. Epilogue
Epilogue
I Was Made For Loving You – Tori Kelly Ft. Ed Sheeran
C lifftop Haven’s Country Club isn’t the kind of place blokes like me usually hang around. Too polished. Too proper. Stone walls with ivy climbing the pillars, and pink and white lilies everywhere. On the arbour. On the pew ends. Floating in little bowls across the fountain.
Amelia’s touch, no doubt. Bradley told us she wanted them, so of course, he turned the whole courtyard into a florist’s wet dream.
I stand at the front with him, my bow tie choking the life out of me, while Bradley adjusts his cuffs for the tenth time.
His jaw’s locked tight, hands twitching at his sides.
Xavier leans in, voice pitched low enough to stir trouble.
“You’re sweating through your suit, mate.
Blink twice if you’re about to faint, and I’ll catch you. ”
Bradley shoots him a glare that could knock a man dead. “Shut up, Xav.”
Xavier just grins, rocking back on his heels like the shit-stirrer he is. On my other side, Harrison murmurs, “What’s the over-under on him bolting?”
“Three minutes,” I mutter back.
“Two,” Harrison retorts, his lips twitching.
Brad growls. “I can hear you fuckers.”
I smirk, but my eyes are busy scanning the courtyard. Guests filter in—pastel dresses, sharp suits, camera flashes popping. My chest hums with a restless kind of anticipation, like I’m waiting for someone specific. And I am.
“Anyone else feeling nervous as hell, or is that just me? And I’m not even the one getting married,” Sebastian mutters, tugging at the cuff of his suit jacket.
Bradley cuts him a sidelong look. “ You’ll live.”
Sebastian tips his chin toward the crowd. “Yeah, but if you faint, I’m the one stuck dragging your ass off the floor. And trust me, you’re not exactly light.”
Bradley’s mouth twitches, a reluctant smirk breaking through as he shakes his head.
Xavier leans in, draping an arm across Bradley’s shoulders. “Don’t listen to him, brother. You’re solid. Just breathe. Pretend it’s like… lining up for footy. Except instead of a ball, you’re about to commit to eternal love and fatherhood.”
Bradley groans. “You’re not helping.”
“Sure I am.” Xavier grins, tightening the squeeze. “I’m your best man after all.”
Then the music starts. Everyone rises, and a sudden hush rolls over the crowd.
The girls file down first. Isla glides forward, and sure enough, Xavier lets out a soft whistle that earns him a few soft laughs from the front row.
Imogen follows, and Harrison—the idiot that he is—doesn’t bother keeping his whistle quiet.
She bites her lip, fighting a smile, while he looks smug as hell.
Olivia steps into view next, bouquet in hand.
My eyes flick sideways to the boys before landing on Sebastian.
He’s standing straighter now, gaze fixed ahead. Too fixed.
When I glance back, I catch Olivia sneaking a look at him before darting her eyes away. It’s subtle, but not enough to fool me. Noted.
Then, Amelia appears, and immediately, Bradley’s done for.
Lips parting, eyes shining, his whole face softens in a way I’ve never seen.
Xavier nudges him with a grin, Bradley elbows him back without breaking focus.
It’s surreal watching one of my best mates, the guy I grew up with, standing here ready to marry the love of his life.
We’re not the young, reckless idiots we used to be—although Harrison might have something to say about that.
We’re men. Adults, moving into the good stuff. The better stuff.
Amelia floats down the aisle in a full gown of lace, the skirt blooming around her like a soft cloud. She’s glowing. Radiant. But it isn’t Amelia that guts me.
It’s Zoe.
She slips into her seat three rows up, in an emerald dress that hugs every delectable curve like it was made just for her.
Her hair’s curled, swept over one shoulder, green eyes catching the sun and damn near killing me where I stand.
I haven’t seen her all day—I’ve been stuck with Brad since morning—and the sight of her knocks the air from my lungs.
Our eyes meet, just for a second, and I wink.
She shakes her head, but that little smile betrays her.
She’s got me fucked six ways to Sunday, and I don’t even care.
That’s how deep she’s in me.
The ceremony was a blur. Vows, rings, the grand kiss—all gone before I could clock them properly. Now, we’re all packed into the reception hall, the air thick with laughter, light spilling across tables heavy with food, flowers, and enough champagne to keep half of Wattle Creek drunk for a week.
Xavier and Harrison are already on their second round of shots, their voices carrying above the band.
Bradley, of course, hasn’t moved more than a foot from Amelia all night.
Right now, he’s got her twirling across the dance floor, and she’s laughing so hard she nearly stumbles over the hem of her gown. And me? I’ve got Zoe.
I grab her from behind, digging my fingers into the curve of her ass. She squeals—half yelp, half laugh—and the sound makes a ripple of laughter break out around us. I catch her mouth before she can protest, kissing her hard and shamelessly, like the whole damn room isn’t watching.
Then I pull her straight onto the dance floor with me just as the band starts to play “Tennessee Whiskey”.
Chris Stapleton’s voice curls low over the speakers, and soon the others all follow suit.
I sway Zoe slowly, holding her close enough to feel the way her body hums against mine.
At one point, I glance toward the tables and catch Olivia with Callie perched on her lap, her curls bouncing as she claps along to the music.
“C’mon, Mitchell,” Zoe calls out, grinning. “Come dance with us.”
Olivia shakes her head, smirking. “No thanks. His hands seem plenty full already.”
That earns her a laugh out of me, which only makes Zoe swat my chest before biting her lip like she’s trying not to laugh too.
The girls pile on, calling for Olivia to join.
She rolls her eyes, stands, and makes her way over with Callie on her hip, swaying her gently to the music.
Then Grace Mitchell appears with her arms outstretched.
“Give me this princess,” she says, scooping Callie into her arms. “Go on, have some fun. Dance.”
Olivia huffs a laugh. “And dance with who?”
“With me, little Mitchell.” I don’t even need to look to know who it is. Sebastian Daniels.
Olivia arches a brow as he steps forward, hand outstretched. “You? Since when do you know how to waltz?”
He smirks. “Since always. Don’t let the badge fool you, sweetheart.”
From across the floor, Bradley’s voice cuts in. “Better watch those hands, Daniels.”
The group bursts out laughing, Olivia included, though she keeps a careful distance as they start to dance—polite, all smiles, nothing lingering. Me? I’ve got no interest in polite. I lean in close, my lips brushing the edge of Zoe’s ear.
“You feel that, Freckles?” My hand presses firmer at her hip, pulling her against me. “That’s how hard you’ve got me right now.”
Her sharp inhale is my reward, her body pressing back against mine despite the protest on her lips. I kiss the curve of her neck, slow and deliberate, and the chorus of groans and wolf whistles is instant.
“Oh, get a room!” Xavier hollers.
“Second that!” Imogen laughs, raising her glass.
So I do exactly that. I grab Zoe’s wrist, tugging her off the floor. She stumbles after me, muttering, “What are you—”
I don’t answer. Just steer her toward the far end of the hall, past the linen closets, until I find a dark corridor.
My pulse is pounding, and I couldn’t care less if half the wedding sees us vanish.
I need her. To be buried inside her. Now.
She barely has time to scold me before I press her to the wall, lifting the hem of that emerald dress.
Her gasp echoes through the empty hallway, nails biting into my shoulders.
“Michael—”
“Shh,” I murmur against her throat, dragging my tongue along her skin. “Dance with me later. Right now, I need to fuck you.”
Her breath stutters, but her hips arch anyway, like her body doesn’t care that her mouth wants to argue.
I kiss her hard, tongue pushing past her lips, claiming every inch like I’m starved for this.
My hand fists in her hair, tugging her head back, exposing her neck.
“You look so fucking good tonight. I’ll try my hardest not to ruin this dress. ”
She gasps, whispering, “Not here. Oh my God, Michael—”
I glance around and spot a door off to the right.
I wrench it open and push her inside. The room’s a storage space—shelves lined with folded tablecloths and crates of champagne.
Not exactly romantic, but I couldn’t give a shit.
I press her against a stack of linen, mouth on hers again as I shove her dress higher.
“You know what I’m gonna do to you?” I murmur, grinding against her, my cock straining against my zipper. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk back to the dance floor. Then I’ll pull you out there anyway, make everyone wonder why you’re smiling like that.”
Her laugh breaks on a gasp, and she clutches at me, eyes wild. “You’re insane.”
I smirk against her mouth, biting down on her lip before I drag back. “Insanely into you. Now turn around and bend for me, baby.”
My palm cracks against her ass as she turns around.
She lets out a strangled moan, and it’s all the invitation I need.
I press her back softly, guiding her down, then I lift her ass and give her exactly what I’ve been craving all damn night.
She groans, hips arching as I move her underwear aside, line myself up, and sink in hard.
Her gasp ricochets off the shelves, nails clawing at the wood for something to hold onto.
“Fuck, Freckles,” I rasp, forehead pressed to the back of her neck. “So tight. So fucking wet. This pussy’s mine.”
“Michael—” Her voice splinters, somewhere between protest and need.
“Say it. Tell me who’s fucking you.” I don’t give her time to respond. My hips snap, pounding into her, the shelves rattling with each thrust.
Her head tips back, mouth open, eyes clenched shut. “You. Michael—fuck.”
“That’s it.” My teeth graze her ear as I slam harder, rougher, taking every ounce of her. “Mine. Every fucking inch of you.” I drive harder, chasing the sound of her cries. The rhythm is messy, frantic, skin meeting skin in sharp, desperate slaps that echo off the storage room walls.
“Don’t stop,” she gasps.
“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it.”
She bows under me, body shuddering as her climax rips through her, clutching around me so hard it nearly undoes me.
I drive through it, chasing my own release, until it claws its way out of me with a guttural groan.
I bury myself deep, filling her, every muscle burning, until the world finally comes apart.
Her hair’s wild, her back now damp with sweat, her lips swollen from my earlier kisses.
I can’t stop the smug grin twisting my mouth.
We sag against the shelves, both of us wrecked.
My release is still pulsing inside her, and the realisation slams into me like a brick to the chest. No wonder it felt so heightened, so raw—so fucking good.
I fucked her bare. No barrier. No protection.
Just me inside her, the way I’ve thought about since the second I first imagined fucking her.
And fuck if it doesn’t twist something darker, more possessive in my chest. My cum in her. My mark, filling her, making me want to stay buried forever. “Fuck,” I mutter, pulling back just enough to see her face. “No condom.”
For a second, panic spikes. I’ve never been this careless before. Zoe, though? She’s eerily calm. Her chest is still heaving, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. She twists just enough to glance at me, and her voice is quiet as she says, “You look more terrified than I feel.”
I huff a laugh that doesn’t sound like one. “Shouldn’t you be?” My pulse is hammering. Why isn’t she panicking? Why am I the only one worried? I shouldn’t be. Not with her. Not when she’s the woman I already want to spend the rest of my damn life with.
If she fell pregnant right now… hell. I’ve never given much thought to being a father—not with the shit upbringing I had—but if Harrison can break the cycle, then maybe I can too. Maybe I deserve that chance. And maybe I want it more than I’m willing to admit.
She reaches for the box of tissues on the shelf, but before she can use it, I snatch the box from her hand, toss it aside, and slide my fingers back inside her instead, pushing my cum deeper.
Her moan is one of shock and helplessness—torn from her throat before she can bite it back.
“Michael,” she gasps, nails digging into my arm.
My breath is harsh against her ear. “Much better. Where it belongs,” I rasp.
Her laugh breaks out, laced with a whimper. “That was way more attractive than it needed to be.”
“Good,” I breathe against her ear, curling my fingers just to hear her gasp again. “Because you’re not wiping me away that fast.”
She swats at me after a moment, muttering under her breath about how insufferable I am. I finally let her clean herself up. She smooths the emerald dress back into place, eyes still hazy, lips curved like she’s trying not to smile.
“So… storage closet quickies now?” she teases.
I tuck myself back in with a smirk. “Best wedding tradition we’ve ever kicked off.”
Her laugh follows me as I catch her hand, threading my fingers through hers. Together, we slip back toward the reception, both of us trying, and failing, to look a hell of a lot less guilty than we are.