Epilogue
Carly
Two Years Later
Two years ago, I was kept in a room, waiting to be sold.
That sentence still feels unreal when I think it.
Two years ago, I thought my life was over before it had even started. I thought I was something that could be priced. Moved. Owned.
The man with the badge is serving time now. Not just him. His whole operation unraveled. Trafficking charges. Federal investigations. Accounts frozen. Properties seized.
Tessa talked. And when she did, the whole thing collapsed.
The girl they pulled out that night? She’s back in college. I get a text from her every few months. Updates. Pictures of normal things. Sunsets. Coffee cups. A dog she adopted.
She moved on.
Just like I did. One step at a time.
Now I’m standing barefoot in the kitchen of a cabin that smells like coffee and cedar, watching my husband rock our son in his arms like he was born knowing how.
Life is strange like that.
We got married less than three months after he broke down that warehouse door.
Everyone said it was fast.
It didn’t feel fast.
It felt inevitable.
When you almost lose something before you even understand what it is, you don’t waste time pretending you’re unsure.
Doc didn’t hesitate.
Neither did I.
The ceremony was small. The Saints. Their ladies.
When he said, “She’s mine,” the way he looked at me made the whole world narrow to just us.
And he’s been mine ever since.
Our son makes a small, impatient sound from his chest.
Six months old.
Doc shifts him gently, big hands impossibly careful.
“Easy, little man,” he murmurs.
It still gets me. The way the most rugged, tattooed, battle-scarred man I know softens the second he looks at his kid.
Doc grew up in foster homes. Different houses. Different rules. No permanence.
I grew up learning not to expect anyone to stay. A mother who left. A father who disappeared long before that.
We were both disposable once.
Now we’re building something that isn’t.
He didn’t just save me that night.
He stayed.
Through the panic that woke me up shaking. Through the days when grocery stores felt too loud. Through the weeks I flinched at footsteps behind me.
He never tried to fix me.
He just stood there. Steady. Patient. Certain I would find my footing again.
And I did.
I visited Tessa once.
Just once.
She didn’t expect it.
The look on her face when she saw me standing on the other side of that glass was almost worth the drive.
She tried to smile. Tried to pretend she still had power.
But she was the one behind bars.
I wasn’t there for revenge.
I just needed to see it.
Needed to see the door closed on her instead of me.
When I left, I didn’t even feel anger.
Just finality.
Doc didn’t ask questions when I told him I was going.
He just said, “You want me there?”
I shook my head.
“I’ve got this.”
And I did.
Now he moves toward me, our son tucked against his chest.
“You’re staring,” he says.
“I’m allowed.”
He arches a brow. “At what?”
“At my husband.”
He snorts softly. “You mean the guy who just got spit up on?”
I step closer and wipe a small line of milk from his shoulder.
“You’re still the most rugged man I’ve ever seen,” I tell him.
“Rugged,” he repeats dryly.
“And carrying.”
“Carrying?”
“Yes. You carry all of it.”
His eyes soften at that.
He shifts the baby into one arm and reaches for me with the other, pulling me against his side.
“You happy?” he asks quietly.
I look around the cabin.
The worn wood floors. The sound of Saints’ bikes in the distance. The baby in his arms. The wedding ring on my finger.
Two years ago I was inventory.
Now I’m home.
“Yes,” I say. “I love you.”
His hand settles at the back of my neck, steady and sure.
“I love you, Carly.”
The house is quiet.
The baby monitor hums low on the dresser. Wind moves through the trees outside, soft and steady.
It’s just us.
He’s already in bed when I turn off the lamp.
On his back. One arm behind his head. Watching me.
I slide under the covers beside him, the mattress dipping slightly with my weight. The sheets are cool against my skin. His heat is not.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then his hand finds my thigh under the blanket.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” I murmur.
“Yeah? I’ve been thinking about you too.”
I roll toward him, my knee brushing his hip.
“Show me,” I whisper.
“On your fours.” His voice is low, a rumble that vibrates straight to my core.
I feel it in my bones, that command wrapped in lust, and my body responds before my mind catches up.
I shove the blanket off the bed, then push onto my hands and knees, the nightgown whispering against my thighs as I turn away from him.
The mattress shifts as he rolls and moves behind me, his fingers trailing up my thigh, higher this time, bunching the hem of my nightgown until cool air kisses my bare skin.
“Fuck, Carly,” he groans, his voice rough and heavy with raw need. “No panties under that gown? You’re killing me.”
His palm molds to my ass, kneading the flesh with a firm grip. Teasing, possessive, but laced with that tenderness that makes my heart stutter.
I glance over my shoulder, catching his eyes in the dim light filtering through the curtains. His briefs are tented, one hand already working the waistband down.
“Maybe I wanted you to notice,” I say, voice breathy, pushing back against his palm. “Wanted you to take what’s yours.”
He smirks, shoving his briefs off completely. His cock springs free—thick, hard, the head already glistening. I feel it nudge my inner thigh, hot and insistent, as he drags the nightgown higher, then lifts it over my head, peeling it away slowly before tossing it aside.
“You’re mine. Every inch. And tonight, I’m gonna remind you how good we fit.”
His fingers slide between my legs, finding me slick and ready. He parts my folds with two fingers, stroking slow from entrance to clit, circling the sensitive nub until I whimper.
“So wet for me already. Love how your pussy gets this greedy, just waiting for my cock.”
He dips a finger inside, then two, pumping gently, stretching me open while his thumb presses my clit.
“Doc,” I moan, rocking back onto his hand, the sheets twisting in my fists. “Please... I need you inside me. Fill me up.”
“You want me?” he asks, voice low, holding himself right there at my entrance. “You want all of me?”
He withdraws his fingers, and I hear him slicking himself with my wetness. Then the broad head presses against my entrance, teasing, not entering yet.
“Tell me how bad you want it.”
I do, words tumbling out in a rush. “I want you,” I breathe. “All of you. Don’t hold back.”
That’s all it takes. He grips my hips, thumbs digging into my skin, and thrusts in with one smooth, deep stroke.
I cry out, the fullness overwhelming, his length bottoming out until his balls slap against me. He’s so big, splitting me open in the best way, and I clench around him, pulling him deeper.
“God, Carly, you feel perfect,” he grits out, holding still for a moment, letting me adjust.
His hands roam. One slides up my back, arching me more, the other strokes my side lovingly.
“Love you like this. Open for me, taking every inch.”
Then he moves. Pulls out slow, almost all the way, before slamming back in. The bed creaks softly, the wind outside a distant whisper compared to our gasps and the slick slap of his hips against my ass.
He leans over me, chest to my back, one arm banding around my waist to hold me steady.
His mouth finds my ear, breath hot.
“I’m not stopping until you come for me,” he murmurs. “I want to feel it. Want you falling apart on my cock. You’re my wife. Mine.”
His free hand slips down, fingers finding my clit again, rubbing in time with his thrusts.
The pleasure builds fast, coiling tight in my belly. I push back to meet him, grinding down, our bodies locked in this intimate dance.
“Harder,” I beg, voice breaking. “Love you... don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He pounds into me relentlessly, cock dragging against that spot inside that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
“Come for me, Carly. Let go. Squeeze that pussy around me.” His words are pushing me over.
I shatter, crying his name as waves crash through me, inner walls pulsing hard around his length.
He follows seconds later, thrusting deep and holding, hot spurts of cum flooding me, marking me as his.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my neck, kissing the skin there softly.
I’m safe. Whole. His.