Epilogue
. . .
Lila
Five years later
The twins are only three years old and already showing signs they'll be as big as their daddy.
Not that I'm surprised. Everything about Thorne is huge.
His hands. His heart. His insatiable need for me that hasn't diminished one bit since the day I stumbled into his cabin during that blizzard five years ago.
I watch him now from the kitchen window, our two little boys trailing after him in the yard like ducklings, trying to mimic the way he splits logs with a single powerful swing of the axe. My giants. All three of them.
Ethan and Caleb, my beautiful boys with their daddy's strength but my hazel eyes.
Sometimes I catch Thorne just staring at them when he thinks I'm not looking, a reverence in his gaze that makes my heart ache.
For those five silent years before me, he thought he'd never have this.
A family. Children with his dark hair and broad shoulders. Yet here they are—our little miracles.
"Daddy, I do it!" Ethan, always the bolder of the twins, tugs at Thorne's pants leg, reaching for the small hatchet Thorne keeps just for show.
Thorne's laugh rumbles across the yard, deep and rich like honey. He was silent for so long that sometimes I still get goosebumps when I hear it. He swoops our son up with one massive arm like he weighs nothing, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"Not today, little man," he says, his voice carrying to me through the open window. "Gotta get a little bigger first."
Caleb, not wanting to be left out, raises his arms for the same treatment.
My mountain man gathers him up too, one sturdy boy in each arm, and I see his muscles flex under his flannel shirt.
He catches me watching through the window and his eyes darken.
Just like that. Five years together, two children, and still he looks at me like I'm the answer to every prayer he never dared say out loud.
I remember when the search and rescue team came back for me. It had been three weeks after the blizzard. Three weeks of Thorne fucking me into oblivion every night, feeding me by hand, bathing me in his copper tub, and letting me into the fortress around his heart inch by precious inch.
The sound of the helicopter had Thorne moving like a bear protecting its cub. He'd practically shoved me into the bedroom, standing guard at the front door, a growl building in his chest.
"They can't have you," he'd rumbled, his face a mask of primal possession. "You're mine now."
My heart had raced—not from fear, but from the absolute certainty that yes, I was his. Forever. But I couldn't let him scare away people who were just doing their job.
"Let me talk to them," I'd said, placing my small hand on his massive forearm. "Please, Thorne."
The struggle in his eyes had been real. This man who'd lived alone for five years, who'd lost everything once before, was terrified of losing me too. But he'd stepped aside—barely—while keeping me tucked against his side as I opened the door.
Two men in bright rescue gear stood on the porch, relief washing over their faces when they saw me.
"Ma'am, we've been searching for weeks. Your parents reported you missing after the blizzard. We need to get you back to town."
Thorne's arm had tightened around my waist, his body vibrating with tension. I could feel him preparing to throw them off his property, possibly with violence. But before he could, I stepped forward—not away from him, just enough to address the rescuers directly.
"I appreciate your concern and the effort you've made to find me," I'd said, my voice steady and sure. "Please let my parents know I'm safe. But I'm exactly where I want to be—with my fiancé."
I hadn't planned the words. They just tumbled out, perfect and right. Thorne's intake of breath beside me was sharp enough to cut glass.
The rescuers looked between us, confusion evident. "Fiancé?"
"Yes," I'd said, reaching back for Thorne's hand. His fingers had engulfed mine immediately. "I'm staying."
They'd tried to argue, of course. Mentioned welfare checks and proper procedures. But I was twenty-five, of sound mind, and very clearly not in distress. Eventually, they'd left with a promise to relay the message to my parents, along with a number to call when I was "ready to come home."
The moment the door closed, Thorne had me in his arms, lifting me like I weighed nothing.
"Fiancé?" he'd growled against my neck, already carrying me toward the bedroom.
"If you want me," I'd whispered, suddenly shy despite everything we'd done together.
His laugh had been dark and possessive. "Want you? Little girl, I've wanted you since you stumbled through my door half-frozen, looking like a snow angel sent to save me."
He'd tossed me onto the bed with enough force to make me bounce, then covered my body with his. "Say it again," he'd demanded, already tearing at my clothes. "Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours," I'd gasped as he ripped my panties away. "Forever, Thorne. I'm yours."
That's how we got engaged—with me breathless beneath him and him fucking me within an inch of my life, proclaiming he was the luckiest man alive. He'd come inside me so hard that day, filling me up with a savage determination. Nine months later, the twins were born.
Our wedding was small—just us, a justice of the peace from town, and my parents, who'd eventually come around after meeting Thorne.
He'd shaved his beard for the ceremony, revealing a jaw so sharp it could cut diamonds and a face so handsome it made my heart hurt.
When I'd walked toward him in my simple white dress, the naked emotion on his face nearly brought me to my knees.
"You're so beautiful," he'd whispered when I reached him, his voice raw. "My wife."
The beard has grown back since then, thick and dark with streaks of early silver, just like before. I don't care how he looks. I love him with or without it, though I'll admit I love the way his beard feels between my thighs when he feasts on me like a starving man.
Now, I watch him set our boys down and point them toward their toy trucks in the sandbox he built them.
He says something I can't hear, and they nod solemnly before trudging off to play.
Always obedient when it comes to their daddy.
They worship the ground he walks on, and who can blame them?
He's everything a father should be—strong, protective, loving.
I turn back to the vegetables I'm chopping for dinner, but I feel him before I see him.
The air changes when Thorne enters a room.
It gets thicker, charged with something primal.
The floorboards creak under his weight as he approaches, and then his heat is at my back, his massive hands sliding around my waist.
"You were watching me," he murmurs against my ear, his beard tickling my neck. "I could feel your eyes on me, little girl."
Even after all this time, that name makes me shiver. I'm twenty-seven now, a mother of two, but to him, I'll always be his little girl.
"I like watching you with our sons," I admit, leaning back against his solid chest. "You're so good with them."
His hands slide up to cup my breasts through my thin cotton shirt. They're fuller now after nursing the twins, more sensitive. He knows this and uses it against me mercilessly.
"They're down for their afternoon playtime," he says, his voice dropping to that register that means only one thing. "Which means Daddy gets some playtime too."
My core clenches in anticipation. "The boys—"
"Are fine in the sandbox for twenty minutes," he finishes, already turning me around to face him. His eyes are dark with want. "And I need you, baby. Need to be inside you."
Five years together and he still makes me weak in the knees. I reach up to touch his face, feeling the rough texture of his beard against my palm.
"What's got into you?" I ask, even as he lifts me onto the counter, pushing my skirt up my thighs.
His grin is wolfish. "Been thinking about putting a little girl in you," he says, and my heart skips a beat. "A daughter with your eyes and your smile."
"A daughter?" The idea makes my womb clench. We'd talked about having more children someday, but I didn't know he was thinking about it so soon.
"Mmm," he hums, spreading my thighs with those big hands of his. "Been dreaming about it. A little princess for Daddy to spoil." His fingers find me already wet through my panties. "Fuck, baby. Always ready for me, aren't you?"
I can only nod as he rubs slow circles over my clit. My head falls back against the cabinet as pleasure blooms between my legs.
"Tell me you want it," he demands, pulling my panties aside. "Tell me you want me to put a baby girl in you."
"Yes," I moan as one thick finger slides inside me. Then another, stretching me. "God, yes, Thorne. Give me another baby."
That's all it takes. He unzips his jeans, freeing his cock—massive like the rest of him—and lines up with my entrance. There's no more foreplay, no gentle build-up. He knows I don't need it. Not when he looks at me like this, like I'm everything he's ever wanted.
He pushes in with one powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burns so good, my body immediately clamping down around him.
"Fuck," he growls, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "Still so tight for me. So perfect."
He starts moving, hard and fast, each thrust jolting me back against the cabinets. The wooden spoons hanging nearby rattle with the force of it.
"Look at me," he commands, and I force my heavy eyelids open. His gaze pins me in place. "I'm going to fill you up, little girl. Going to flood your sweet pussy with so much cum, there's no way it doesn't take."
His filthy words make me clench around him, and he groans in response.
"You like that? Like the idea of me breeding you again?" His hand slides up to my throat, not squeezing, just holding. A reminder of his power, his ownership. "Answer me."
"Yes, Daddy," I gasp, using the name I know drives him wild in bed. "I want it. Want you to breed me."
Something feral takes over his expression.
He can never control himself when I call him daddy.
He pulls out suddenly, making me whimper at the loss, but then he's flipping me over, bending me over the counter.
He kicks my legs wider, and then he's back, slamming into me from behind with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.
"Mine," he grunts with each thrust. "All fucking mine."
One hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back while the other reaches around to work my clit in tight circles. The dual stimulation is overwhelming. I can feel the pressure building rapidly, my thighs starting to tremble.
"That's it, baby," he encourages, his rhythm never faltering. "Come on my cock while I fill you up."
His words push me over the edge. I come with a cry that echoes through the kitchen, my inner walls clamping down on him like a vise. He groans, his hips stuttering, and then he's pressing so deep inside me I swear I can feel him in my throat.
"Fuck, FUCK!” he roars as he comes, his cock pulsing inside me, pumping me full of his seed. He collapses over my back, his weight pressing me into the counter, both of us panting.
After a moment, he gently turns me back around, still buried inside me, and kisses me with surprising tenderness.
"I love you," he murmurs against my lips. "More than anything in this world except those boys out there. And the little girl we just made."
I laugh softly, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Pretty confident, aren't you?"
His smile is smug. "Never failed yet, have I?"
He hasn't. He swore I’d be pregnant, and I was—with twins. Something about his virility and my fertility just works.
He kisses me again, deeper this time, his hands cradling my face like I'm something precious. When he pulls back, his eyes are soft with an emotion that still makes my heart skip.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
"For what?"
"For staying. For giving me a reason to speak again. For our sons." His hand drops to my belly, still flat but maybe, just maybe, already nurturing new life. "For everything."
I cover his hand with mine. Five years ago, I stumbled into this cabin lost in a blizzard. I had no idea I was stumbling into the rest of my life, into the arms of a man who would love me with a ferocity that takes my breath away.
"No," I whisper, pressing my forehead to his. "Thank you for keeping me."