Epilogue
Caleb
ONE YEAR LATER
The leaves outside our window blaze gold and crimson, dancing in the crisp October breeze. It smells like firewood, cinnamon, and the unmistakable scent of fall settling into the hills.
And I swear, she’s more beautiful than the season itself.
Nya stands in front of the window, her hands resting lightly on the swell of her belly.
Five months pregnant, glowing like something divine, and still somehow mine.
Dressed in a soft knit sweater that stretches lovingly over her curves, she gazes out over the edge of our new porch, where sunflowers still bloom defiantly into the cold.
"You remember last year?" I murmur, stepping up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. I press a kiss just beneath her ear. "Fall festival. You claimed me in front of the whole damn town."
She laughs, low and warm. "You mean when you kissed me like I was already yours?"
"Exactly that," I grin. "I didn’t just kiss you. I marked you. In public."
"I liked it."
"I married you three months later, didn’t I?"
She turns her head to meet my eyes, that wicked little smile tugging at her lips. I kiss it right off her face.
Our home smells like baked apples and the faint traces of sawdust, like it hasn’t forgotten it was born from work and love and a whole lot of muscle.
It took all of us to build this place. The Damned Saints, half the damn town, and Murphy supervising like it was his own kitchen going up.
We broke ground last winter. Nya’s old apartment was too small, and my clubhouse room was never going to cut it for a life built together. So we made something new.
Something ours.
We said our vows in the meadow behind Wild Petals. Flowers everywhere. Nya barefoot and laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. Cassie cried. Reaper held their kid and stared down anyone who looked at my sister too long.
Havoc said he’d bake a cake if Nya ever made me smile.
He kept that promise.
Made our wedding cake himself. Enrolled in a baking class two weeks before the wedding, got his ass handed to him by the instructor on day one.
Said she was tougher than any SEAL drill sergeant he'd ever met. Wouldn’t shut up about her either, all growly and flustered.
We gave him hell for it, right up until the two of them got together.
I rest my hand over Nya’s, both of us cupping the curve of her stomach.
“Charity ride’s next weekend,” I say softly. “If it does even half as well as last year’s, we’ll be able to fund new beds for the shelter, schoolbooks, food supplies for winter.”
“It’ll do better than last year,” she says. “I’m sure of it.”
“You worked hard making toys.”
She hums. “We did.”
I chuckle, brushing my nose against her temple. “You mean you were patient as hell while I fumbled around with yarn and stuffing like a damn bear trying to thread a needle.”
“You weren’t that bad,” she says, grinning.
“I broke two needles and glued a plush elephant’s ear to the kitchen table.”
She laughs, full and sweet. “But you kept trying. That’s what mattered.”
I turn her slowly in my arms, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You still love me?” I ask.
Her brow lifts, amused. “Still? Caleb, I wake up every morning grateful you stole my heart. I love you. More than I ever knew I could.”
God, she says it like it’s breathing.
I pull her closer. “I love you too, Sunshine. More every damn day. This house, this life, that baby growing inside you—you gave me everything.”
“We gave each other everything.”
The words melt into a kiss.
Soft. Deep. Then hotter.
I walk her backward toward the couch. The world narrows to the feel of her in my arms and the soft sound of her breathing. Her sweater stretches tight across her belly, and my palm curves instinctively around the swell, possessive, reverent.
She sinks onto the cushions with a sigh, her eyes on mine, full of warmth and something that looks a lot like hunger.
She doesn’t wait. Her hands are already tugging at my shirt, fingers sliding beneath the fabric, desperate to feel.
“Off,” she murmurs, breath catching as her palms glide over my skin.
I pull it over my head in one move, toss it somewhere I won’t care about later. My hands find the hem of her sweater, and I lift it slowly, dragging it up over her belly, pausing to kiss the soft stretch of skin. She trembles beneath my mouth.
“Beautiful,” I murmur against her. “My whole damn world right here.”
She cups my jaw, eyes burning into mine. “Show me.”
I do.
My hands slide higher, lifting her sweater the rest of the way. She raises her arms, and I peel it off, baring the lace bralette she wears underneath. My fingers skim along the edge, then trace the line of her ribs, her sides, her hips—mapping her all over again.
She gasps into my mouth as I kiss her, deep and slow, like I’ve got nowhere to be.
“We have ten minutes before Murphy shows up to drop off pies for the bake sale,” she whispers against my lips, breathless and teasing.
I grin. “Plenty of time.”
She laughs, low and wanting, and arches toward me as I press her back into the cushions. The bralette joins the sweater, and I take my time kissing every inch of newly exposed skin. Her breasts, the slope of her neck, the place just beneath her ear that makes her shiver.
Her hands slide down my torso, fingers grazing the waistband of my jeans. “Take these off,” she says, voice rough with need.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I shed them fast, along with my boxers, and her leggings and panties are already halfway down her thighs before I even get to them. I kneel between her knees, tug them off the rest of the way, then pause to just look at her.
Laid out. Glowing. Everything I’ve ever wanted, waiting for me.
“You okay?” I ask, brushing her hair from her face.
She nods, but it’s the way she reaches for me, the way her fingers tighten in mine that tells me everything.
“I need you,” she says, raw and honest.
I cover her body with mine, easing between her thighs, careful of her belly, always careful.
Our mouths find each other again as I slide my cock inside her sweet pussy with one deep, slow thrust.
Her moan is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
We move together in a rhythm that’s as old as time. Her nails dig into my back, her legs curl around me, and I lose myself in the feel of her. Soft and wet and mine.
She gasps my name, over and over, each one a prayer.
And when she falls apart beneath me, I follow with a groan that tears straight from my chest, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing her in.
When it’s over, I don’t move.
I stay wrapped around her, inside her, our skin damp and hearts racing.
Outside, the world glows in autumn gold. Sunlight filters in through the windows, casting everything in honey and warmth.
Inside, I kiss her again. Gentle. Grateful.
“I love you,” she whispers.
I brush her lips with mine. “And I love you.”
Always.
THE END
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