Epilogue I
Alannah
The courthouse ceremony was quick and simple. Just the two of us in front of a judge, saying our vows again. I wore the white sundress I’d bought the day before, light cotton with tiny blue flowers and a skirt that brushed just below my knees. Ronin couldn’t stop looking at me the whole time.
It had taken two weeks to get everything we needed before we could marry again.
I would have married him the next day if it had been up to me, but these things take time, so we spent the days leading up to it talking and learning each other again.
We had both changed during our time apart in ways I don’t think either of us expected, but the pieces that mattered were still there.
He was still my Ronin. Still my best friend.
And somehow, after everything, we still fit.
We also spent a great deal of time making love, which I can’t pretend I minded.
Now we’re pulling up the gravel drive to the house. He cuts the engine, then turns to me with a wide smile that makes my stomach flip. “Mrs. Byrne,” he says, his voice low and warm. He lets out a quiet breath, like he still can’t quite believe it. “Finally.”
Before I can say anything, he’s out of the car and coming around to my side. He opens the door and scoops me up like I weigh nothing, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. I let out a startled squeal that turns into a laugh as I wrap my arms around his neck. “Ronin, you don’t have to—”
“I’m carrying my wife over the threshold,” he says, already walking toward the front door. “Feels like I’ve been waiting forever to bring you home like this.”
He pushes the door open with his shoulder and carries me through the house, up the stairs, not slowing once.
My heart is hammering by the time he kicks the bedroom door shut behind us.
Then he stops beside the bed, still holding me against him.
His arms tighten around me like he isn’t ready to let go, and when I look up, I catch that look on his face again.
The one I’ve seen a few times these past two weeks.
Like he still isn’t sure he gets to keep me.
I lift my hand to his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.
His eyes close at my words, and he leans into my palm.
When he opens them again, I can see tears shining there, and my throat tightens.
He turns his face and kisses the inside of my wrist, then lowers me, my body sliding against his until my heels sink into the plush carpet of our bedroom.
I let my hand fall from his cheek to his chest. His heart pounds beneath my palm, and I feel how hard he is against me as I rise onto my toes and kiss him.
The kiss starts soft, but it doesn’t stay that way.
His tongue finds mine, and the groan that leaves him has me answering with a whimper of my own.
I don’t know where the courage comes from, but before I can lose it, I pull away and sink to my knees in front of him.
He looks down at me, his chest rising and falling hard, colour spreading across his cheekbones and down his throat before disappearing beneath the collar of his dress shirt.
“Alannah,” he says, his voice strained as his hands close over my shoulders.
I feel them tighten, then loosen, like he doesn’t know whether to stop me or pull me closer.
I tip my face up to his as I reach for his belt.
My fingers tremble as I work the buckle loose, undo his button, and lower the zipper.
Heat climbs into my cheeks, but I don’t look away.
“Ronin,” I say as I pull his trousers and briefs down over his hips.
His cock springs free, thick and hard, the head already glistening with precum.
I hesitate, suddenly unsure where to begin.
“I want this. I just need you to help me.”
He goes still above me, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
One hand leaves my shoulder and cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lower lip.
His touch is gentle, but the way he’s looking at me is anything but.
Without thinking, I part my lips and take his thumb into my mouth, running my tongue over the pad.
Ronin’s breath catches, and his eyes darken.
“Fuck, Alannah…” He swallows before speaking again, his voice softer this time.
“Whatever you do, I’ll love it. I promise you that. ”
I let his thumb slip from my mouth and reach for him instead.
My fingers close around his cock, hot and heavy in my hand.
I lean forward and press a kiss to the head, his skin smooth against my lips.
When I brush my tongue over the tip, the faint saltiness catches me by surprise.
I take him into my mouth, and a low moan rumbles from his chest, sending a rush of heat between my legs.
I move carefully at first, unsure of myself, but every uneven breath, every slight shift of his hips, every muttered curse makes me a little braver. I begin working my hand in time with my mouth.
His hand closes over mine, tightening my grip as he moves our joined hands faster over him, like he can’t hold back anymore. “That’s it, doll,” he says hoarsely. “Just like that.”
His words spur me on, and I want to drive him half as crazy as he makes me when his mouth is on me.
I take him deeper, gagging when he reaches the back of my throat, but the rough sound that leaves him makes me try again.
I push myself to take a little more each time as his hand keeps mine moving over him.
His hips start to thrust, and his breathing turns ragged.
Then his free hand threads into my hair and pulls me back firmly.
I sit back on my heels, lips wet, breathing hard.
“Enough,” he says, his voice low as he looks down at me. “I want to come inside you.”
He’s been like this since that first night, since I told him I could imagine building a family with him. That’s why he hasn’t let me use my mouth on him before. He’s wanted to come only inside me, where it might make that family real.
He doesn’t wait for me to respond before pulling me to my feet and walking me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed.
He strips off his shirt and shoves his trousers and briefs the rest of the way down, then reaches for me.
His fingers find the zipper at my side and pull it down slowly.
He slips the straps from my shoulders, and the dress falls away, pooling at my feet.
My bra quickly follows. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, voice low and rough.
His hands trail down my sides, thumbs brushing just under my breasts before circling my nipples, teasing them until they tighten under his touch.
“Been thinking about getting you out of this dress all day.”
“Take the rest off,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “I want to see you.”
I hook my thumbs into my panties and take my time drawing them down my legs, feeling his eyes on me the whole way.
The moment I step free, he catches me around the waist and lifts me onto the bed.
I fall back across the mattress, and he comes down over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head.
His chest heaves above me, his green eyes dark and wild.
Then he slants his mouth over mine and kisses me, his tongue moving against mine.
I feel the head of his cock press against my entrance.
He holds himself there, teasing me with just enough pressure to make me lift my hips toward him.
Then he pushes into me slowly, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I’m so wet for him, but I still feel every inch stretching me open, my breath catching against his mouth when his hips meet mine.
He gives me no time to adjust before pulling back and driving into me again, each deep thrust making the headboard bang against the wall.
Since I came home, we’ve only made soft, careful love.
There’s nothing careful about this. He fucks me like he’s been starving for it, like he needs to feel every part of me wrapped around him.
One hand leaves the mattress and grips my hip, his fingers digging into my skin as he holds me where he wants me.
Every time he bottoms out, I feel it everywhere.
His mouth moves over my neck, my collarbone, my breasts—biting, sucking, claiming.
The pressure builds low in my belly, winding tighter and tighter.
“Mine,” he growls against my skin as his hips slam into mine. “My wife. My fucking girl.”
The words and the thick drag of him inside me push me over the edge. I come screaming his name, clenching around him so hard he curses and follows me over with a low, guttural groan. His hips jerk with each pulse as he fills me, and he doesn’t stop moving until he’s given me everything.
Neither of us moves right away. He stays buried inside me, his face tucked against my neck while I run my hand over his back.
When he finally pulls out, I turn onto my side, and he wraps himself around me.
His chest is warm against my back, and his hand rests over mine.
I lace our fingers together, then bring his hand to my lips and kiss his wedding band.
Ronin had asked me to let him choose our wedding rings. Before he did, he made sure I would be all right with another Claddagh, knowing what the old one had meant to me and that it belonged to Fia now. But I never could have guessed what he’d chosen for himself.
I look at his ring now, warm gold against his skin, the Celtic knot whole again.
The jeweller mended it as best he could, but two fine lines still mark where it had been cut apart.
Ronin told me he liked it that way. Said the knot was still there.
Still joined. It didn’t matter that you could see where it had broken, only that it had found its way back together.
I cried when I slid it onto his finger.
Ronin’s breath warms the side of my neck, and then his mouth is at my ear. “Mmm, Mrs. Byrne,” he murmurs, low and rough. A thrill runs through me at the name. His lips brush just below my ear, then move slowly down the side of my neck to my shoulder. “Again,” he whispers.
A laugh slips out of me. “You’re insatiable.”
His mouth curves against my shoulder. “Only for you.”
Then he turns me onto my back and moves over me, one hand cupping my face. His mended ring rests against my cheek as he kisses me, and I pull him closer.
Today, we made new vows. Not to forget what broke or pretend it never hurt, but to choose each other anyway. Like the knot on his finger, still joined even where it had been cut apart.
And this time, whatever comes, we’ll hold together.