Epilogue #2
Not wanting to give up one of my beloved neck bandanas on such a special day, Emile the tailor designed a shirt just for me, complete with a built-in scarf, light and narrow, meant to wrap neatly around my neck.
It leaves my chest uncovered, putting on full display the gold chain Francis gave me as a wedding present.
It’s made from thick, woven links, a pattern of knots that symbolise the strength of our bond, the permanence of our family. I can’t wait to wear it, forever.
I’m just about to take off my T-shirt and start trying on the carefully laid-out pieces spread across the bed, when I hear a knock at the door and jump.
“Jack? Are you in there?”
Francis? Oh God. What’s he doing here already?
Before full-on panic sets in, I press my back against the door to make sure he can’t just walk in.
“Francis!” I squeal, flustered. “Don’t you dare come in here!
I’m trying on the suit for our wedding, and you know you’re not supposed to see it!
It’s bad luck!” I add, my voice a little shriller than I’d like, but honestly, if there’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of, it’s that my future husband is not getting a glimpse of this outfit until the moment I walk down the aisle.
Weirdly enough, Starkey goes quiet for a second, totally out of character, before bursting into laughter so loud it makes the door vibrate. Clearly, he’s leaning against it on the other side.
“If you really don’t want me to see it, I’ll give you ten seconds to hide everything,” he warns, between chuckles. “After that, I’m coming in, even if I have to break the door down.”
“What? Wait, no!” I stammer, outraged, scrambling to fold everything up as neatly as I can. Of course he’s serious. Typical Francis.
And sure enough, as I’m panicking and trying not to crumple the fabric, I hear him start counting from the hallway.
“Ten… nine… don’t think you can get away from me, cunning little fox… eight… seven… We’ve got the house to ourselves, and I’ve made sure no one’s coming back for at least a couple of hours…”
“And… the cake?” I ask, even more frazzled, frantically trying to tuck away the last piece without ruining it. Ugh, my fiancé can be so infuriating sometimes.
“The cake’s already in the kitchen,” he replies, still counting, “along with the candles and the box of building blocks you asked me to pick up as the birthday present. Relax, McAvoy, everything’s under control.”
He chuckles in that typical way of his that drives me absolutely mad, then continues, with a tone far less playful: “Tell me, little cunning fox, you’re still wearing those leggings from this morning, aren’t you?”
“Uh… yeah, of course. Why?” I ask, genuinely curious, while finally managing to close the lid of the box. I stretch carefully onto my toes and push it back into the wardrobe.
“And you’ve brought a spare pair, haven’t you?” Francis goes on, his voice so low and husky it sends a warm flutter straight to my core.
“Time’s up,” he suddenly says, but whatever he’s planning to do, I beat him to it. I fling open the door and answer his question head-on.
“Of course I brought another pair, you know perfectly well I can’t skip my warm-up, even if the world were ending. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why this sudden obsession with my wardrobe reserves?”
“Because…” he murmurs, advancing on me with a predatory gleam in his eyes, then lifting me effortlessly in a move so quick it makes me wrap my legs around his waist without even thinking, “…I think it’s about time I kept that promise I made to you, tear them off you and make love to you until you forget your own name. ”
He’s already gasping with anticipation, and as I take his face in my hands and kiss him deeply, pouring everything I have into it, I’m fully aware that I’m one hundred percent on board with his plan.
My erection is pressing painfully against the fabric of my leggings, and all it takes is a whisper in his ear, “Then do it.”, to completely unleash my doctor. For all his fierce words, he was, as always, waiting for my consent.
Always so careful, so respectful, so considerate, and I love him desperately for that.
But right now, I don’t need his caution.
What I want is to feel him fall apart inside me, to feel him shatter from the sheer need to have me, so I can piece him back together using nothing but the strength of my desire, the burning intensity of my love, my passion.
A fire that doesn’t destroy but rebuilds us, every time.
My words are enough. He grabs the thin fabric covering my arse and tears it in one sharp, desperate motion.
Then, caught in the same frenzy that’s taken hold of me, he lifts me onto the console and drops to his knees. My cock is nearly spilling out through the torn fabric of my leggings and silk briefs, and he takes it into his mouth, making me see stars.
As I start thrusting deeper into his throat, my movements ragged and desperate, he suddenly stops. He wipes the saliva from his lips with the back of his hand, then gives me that wicked little smile, shaking his head ever so slightly.
“Patience, little fox,” he murmurs. “It’s too soon to come.” He grabs my shoulders and turns me around, pressing himself up against my back. I can feel the full weight of his erection through his jeans, hot and insistent, and then his hand slides under my shirt.
He teases my nipples with maddening precision, then leans in to kiss my neck, slow and deep, no doubt leaving a trail of love bites everyone will see tomorrow.
His voice is low, thick with desire, as he whispers, “Want me to get you prepped, sweetheart? Are you ready for me?”
“Please…” is all I manage to whisper, arching my hips towards him, needing him to understand just how much I want this, how much I want him.
That’s when Francis pulls a small packet of lube from his jeans pocket.
He tears it open with his teeth and begins to prepare me, slowly, carefully, just like he always does.
Every touch is precise, deliberate, full of that quiet tenderness he never fails to show me.
Even now, when I’m so turned on I wouldn’t care if he were rougher, he stays gentle.
Francis is always mindful. Always making sure I’m okay.
That’s who he is, his love never comes with conditions.
And when he finally pushes inside, easing into me bit by bit, I feel that overwhelming, impossible-to-describe sense of wholeness, that deep, breathtaking fullness only he can give me.
He waits, gives me time to adjust to the stretch, to him, until a small nod from me is all he needs to start moving.
I meet him thrust for thrust, our bodies falling into the same rhythm like we’re dancing to music only we can hear. It’s instinctive. Natural. Like we were made for this.
And when we reach the edge, together, when we fall apart in each other’s arms with gasps and moans perfectly in sync, I know I’m feeling the most devastating, magnificent thing in the world.
We stay tangled up like this, wrapped around each other, for a moment, unhurried, as if we’re one and the same, until, little by little, Francis slips out of me.
I go to get up, thinking I should at least grab a towel so we can clean ourselves up, but my doctor catches me by the wrist and pulls me gently back down to him, guiding my head to rest on his chest, his fingers threading through my sweat-damp hair.
“Not yet, McAvoy…” he murmurs. “Stay a bit longer… right here, where you belong, resting above my heart.”
Bloody hell. This man can be infuriating, but then he says things like that, so impossibly sweet, and before I know it, my eyes are stinging.
“Better make the most of it…” I reply, half-laughing, half-teary, overcome with emotion. “Tomorrow you won’t be able to call me McAvoy anymore. Actually, this might be the very last time. Since we’re only hours away from our wedding, I’m giving you permission to use your name from now on.”
Francis tilts his head to get a proper look at me. “Really, Jack? Are you absolutely sure? No second thoughts about giving up the family name?”
“None,” I say, without a flicker of doubt. “From now on, call me by your name.”
He smiles, deeply satisfied, and slides a hand behind my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. Just before our lips meet, he whispers a single word:
“Starkey.”
And I whisper it back, now and forever:
“Starkey.”