Epilogue
Wolf
Two Years Later
Wolf’s hands are on the counter, braced like he’s thinking.
He does that sometimes. Stares out the window over the sink, jaw tight, shoulders broad.
My husband.
The word still feels like a victory.
I come up behind him and slide my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades. He smells like soap and smoke and something that’s his. Like home.
His body stills for half a second, then relaxes into me.
“Morning, angel,” he murmurs.
I smile against his back. “You were leaving without a kiss.”
His low laugh rumbles through him. “Was I?”
He turns slowly, like he wants me to watch every inch of it. His hands land on my waist, warm and firm, and he lifts me onto the counter like it’s nothing. Like I’m something he’s allowed to have.
I wrap my legs around his hips without thinking.
His eyes darken.
“You sure you want to start this?” he asks, quiet.
Two years in, he still checks.
I nod. “Yes.”
His mouth finds mine, and the kiss is slow at first, deepening until my breath turns uneven. His ring brushes my skin as his hand slides up my side, and I shiver at the familiar pressure, the possessive steadiness of him.
He breaks the kiss just enough to speak against my lips.
“You’re looking at me like you want trouble,” he murmurs.
My cheeks heat. “I’m married to trouble.”
That gets me a real smile. Quick. Dangerous.
Then he kisses me again, harder, and his hand cups the back of my neck, holding me in place like he’s done pretending he can behave.
My fingers slide into his hair. I tug lightly.
He groans, low and rough, and it goes straight through me.
“Wolf,” I breathe.
He kisses my jaw, then the side of my throat, mouth warm against my skin. His other hand settles on my thigh, thumb stroking slowly, making me squirm on the counter.
He lifts his head, eyes locked on mine.
“Tell me what you want,” he says.
I swallow, pulse hammering. I don’t pretend to be shy with him anymore. He burned that out of me. He taught me to take up space.
“You,” I whisper. “Right now.”
His jaw flexes. His grip tightens, and he presses closer until I feel how much he wants me.
He leans in and kisses me again, slow and punishing in the best way, as if he’s going to make me say it twice. His hand slides along my thigh and the heat in me sharpens, bright and demanding.
I make a small sound, and his mouth curves against mine like he likes hearing it.
“Angel,” he breathes, “we’re going to make a mess on my counter.”
I bite my lip, meeting his gaze. "Then make a mess."
His eyes flash with heat, and he doesn't waste time. His mouth crashes back to mine, tongue thrusting deep, claiming every inch.
I kiss him back just as fierce, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.
One hand fists the hem of my shirt, loose and oversized, barely skimming my thighs. He yanks it up, exposing my bare pussy to the cool kitchen air. His fingers trace the slick folds slowly, parting me until I gasp into his mouth.
"Fuck, angel," he growls against my lips. "Already soaked for me."
I rock my hips toward his touch, chasing the pressure. His thumb circles my clit, firm circles that make my thighs tremble around him. He watches my face the whole time, possessive hunger in every line of him.
"Wolf, please," I whimper, hands fumbling at his jeans.
The zipper rasps down, and I shove his jeans and underwear low enough to free his cock.
Thick, hard, veins pulsing under my palm as I wrap my fingers around it and stroke.
He hisses, hips bucking into my grip.
"That's it. Touch your husband."
His free hand pins my wrist above my head against the cabinet, taking control. His other hand keeps working my pussy, two fingers sliding inside me now, curling deep.
I moan loud, head falling back. He pumps them slow, stretching me, thumb still grinding my clit. The wet sounds fill the kitchen, obscene and perfect.
"You take my fingers so good," he murmurs, voice rough. "Gonna take my cock even better."
He pulls his fingers free, brings them to my mouth. I suck them clean without hesitation, tasting myself on his skin, eyes locked on his.
"Good girl," he says, and the praise hits like fire. He lines up his cock at my entrance, rubbing the head through my wetness, teasing.
"Beg for it."
"Take me," I say, no shyness left. "Please, Wolf. Fill me up."
He thrusts in on one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt.
I cry out, walls clenching around his thickness. He's so deep, stretching me full, and he holds still for a beat, letting me adjust.
Then he starts moving. Slow at first, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. The counter digs into my ass, but I don't care.
"Mine," he grunts with each thrust. "This pussy is mine."
"Yes," I gasp, legs locked tight around him. "All yours. Harder."
He gives it to me, pace picking up, hips snapping.
"Close," I pant. "Wolf—"
"Come on my cock," he orders, hand slipping between us to rub my clit fast. "Milk me dry."
It shatters me. Orgasm rips through, pussy spasming around him, soaking his shaft. His name tears out of me, my nails raking down his back. A heartbeat later, he comes apart too.
We both breathe ragged, him braced over me, forehead to mine.
"Mess made," he says, smirking.
I laugh breathlessly, pulling him down for a lazy kiss. "Worth it."
“You’re mine,” he says, quiet.
I smile, dazed. “I’m yours. Your wife.”
His low laugh rumbles out of him. “And I’m not letting you go.”
I brush my thumb over his ring and kiss him once, soft.
“Good,” I whisper. “Because I’m right where I belong.”
***
THE END