Epilogue
JENNA
If Valentine’s Day had feelings, mine would be deeply confused.
Tonight is the complete opposite.
Because tonight, I’m pulling into Oliver Jacobson’s driveway, and my entire body feels warm and fluttery and wickedly alive. I knock once, and he opens the door immediately.
Wow. Just… wow.
Dark jeans, sleeves rolled up, apron loosely tied around his waist. Tattoos on full display. Beard neat and trimmed. Chestnut-brown eyes locked on me like I’m the best part of his day.
“Hi,” I breathe.
“Hey, Princess,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers along my cheek in a soft, reverent sweep. “Perfect timing.” He takes my sweater, hangs it up, then laces his fingers with mine and leads me toward the kitchen.
I stutter-step when we reach the threshold.
The place looks like a magazine spread with candles glowing, music low, a table set for two with a simple but elegant arrangement of blush-pink peonies—my favorite. The air smells like roasted garlic, butter, and something sweet.
My heart squeezes. Hard. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before, at least not without strings. Not without expecting praise or repayment.
“You cooked,” I whisper.
“Of course I did.” He slides a hand to my waist and presses a kiss to my temple. “You deserve a real Valentine’s dinner.”
Heat blooms under my skin.
“Sit.” Oliver pulls out my chair and waits for me to take my seat.
“Bossy,” I tease, settling in.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” He’s not wrong.
Dinner is incredible, a pan-seared chicken with lemon cream sauce, roasted potatoes, sautéed asparagus, and fresh homemade bread. The entire time, he keeps touching me. Small, sweet touches, like his knee brushing mine, his fingers grazing my wrist, his thumb smoothing over the back of my hand.
And every time he does, something inside me melts a little more.
We talk about everything and nothing. Movies, childhood memories, old friends… It’s just like our first date, but even better.
When the conversation comes to a comfortable lull, Oliver says something that catches me off guard. “You know you don’t have to be scared of this.”
I look down at my plate, my chest tightening. “I’m not scared. Just cautious, I guess.”
“You should be. You’ve been hurt by the person you should’ve been able to trust the most. Your heart’s worth protecting.”
Something inside me cracks open at that. Bobby never protected me. He never protected anything. Not my heart. Not our marriage. Not the life we tried to build.
But Oliver… Oliver speaks to me like I’m something precious. Something he wants to earn, not take. Something he’d never take for granted.
When dinner is done, he clears the table while I sip champagne, watching him move around his kitchen like he was born in it. When he turns back toward me, there’s a simmering heat in his eyes. The kind that curls low in my stomach.
Without a word, he extends his hand, and I take it. He helps me from my chair, then pulls me in close. “Let me show you the rest of your Valentine’s present.”
I can feel my pulse fluttering everywhere. “Oliver…”
“Shh,” he murmurs, brushing a soft kiss along my jaw. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
He backs me slowly down the hall, kissing me with every step—my mouth, my neck, the sensitive place behind my ear that makes me gasp. By the time we reach his bedroom, my legs feel like jelly. He reaches behind me and closes the door with a quiet snick.
“Come here.” His voice is low and deep.
I step closer as his hands slide to my hips. His mouth finds mine again in a leisurely kiss that feels decadent and adoring. He isn’t rushing. He isn’t frantic. He’s savoring me. And God help me, I’m savoring him too.
When he finally guides me onto his bed, my breath trembles. “Tell me what you want,” he says, his forehead pressed to mine.
I swallow hard. “You.”
“You have me,” he whispers with a smile, trailing kisses down my throat. “All of me.” The way he says it isn’t casual. It isn’t performative. It’s a promise. A vow. A quiet kind of devotion that hits deeper than words have any right to.
Oliver slips his hands under my shirt, his palms spreading over my ribs, gliding upward with deliberate slowness. Every inch he touches sparks heat across my skin, like he’s waking up parts of me that have been asleep for years.
“Lift your arms,” he whispers against my collarbone.
I do, my breath hitching as he pulls off my top and tosses it somewhere behind him. His eyes sweep over me, hungry and appreciative, yet tender enough to make me ache.
“God, look at you.” He traces the edge of my bra with a single finger, teasing but not touching where I need him most. “So beautiful.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.” He flicks his gaze up, meeting mine. “And because no one has said it enough.”
He unclasps my bra slowly, like he’s unwrapping a rare gift. When it slips down my arms, his breath stutters. Then he leans in and kisses the soft swell of my breast, just one gentle press of his lips that makes my knees go weak.
“Oliver…”
“Mmm?” He kisses higher, closer to the peak, but not quite there. The tease is maddening.
“Touch me,” I beg. “Please.”
He smiles against my skin, dark, knowing, and wickedly patient. “I am touching you.”
“You know what I mean.”
He lifts his head, brushing a thumb along my cheek. “I’ll give you everything you want, Princess. But I want to take my time and explore you first.”
His mouth finally closes over my nipple, warm and sinful. My back arches, a soft moan spilling from my lips as he gently sucks, his tongue flicking lightly before he pulls away to give the same attention to the other.
“You taste sweet,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
My hands find his shoulders. “Oliver…”
He makes his way down my chest and my stomach with small, lingering kisses that make my thighs tremble.
By the time he reaches the waistband of my leggings, my breath is shaking.
Then his fingers hook inside the fabric before he drags it down my legs, watching my face the whole time, like he’s memorizing every reaction.
When my pants reach the floor and I’m standing before him in nothing but thin lace panties, he groans. “Come here.”
He guides me to the bed, gently laying me down. So gently it steals my breath. Then he kneels between my legs, his hands sliding up the insides of my thighs until he reaches the lace.
“Open for me,” he whispers.
Without thinking, I do what he commands. My body is willing and compliant and already his.
He smooths his palms over my thighs, his thumbs grazing the sensitive skin where leg meets hip. His eyes are dark, hungry, and locked on me with piercing intensity. “You’re shaking.”
“I need you.”
Oliver leans down, nipping just above the lace of my panties. Then he pulls them aside and slides his tongue through my wet slit. I gasp, sharp, needy, and desperate.
“Oliver… Oh my god—” I squirm, the pleasurable sensations almost overwhelming.
“Don’t run from it. Let me make you feel good.”
He licks me slowly, relishing my taste while mapping every inch, every delicate part, every place that makes me moan and drag my nails along his scalp. Then he presses his tongue against my clit, subtle at first, then firmer, deeper, until I’m grinding against his mouth.
“Stay still,” he orders, pinning my hips with his forearm. “Or I’ll stop before you come.”
I whimper as he circles my clit with controlled precision that has tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. “Oliver… please…”
“Is that what Princess is supposed to call me?” His gaze meets mine over the mound of my pussy.
“Daddy, I need to—”
His breath fans over me. “Not yet.”
He slides two thick fingers inside me, curling just right until my back arches off the bed. The burn, the stretch, the fullness… I nearly come right then.
“Don’t,” he warns, thrusting his fingers deeper, then adding one more. “Not until I say.”
“Daddy, please!”
He licks faster, and I gasp louder. My thighs tremble uncontrollably.
“You’re perfect,” he groans against my flesh. “So fucking wet.” His mouth closes around my clit again and he sucks harder.
“Daddy—”
“Now,” he growls, and my body explodes.
Pleasure crashes through me in waves that steal my breath, my vision, my voice. I clutch his shoulders, his hair, the sheets, anything to anchor myself as he keeps licking me through every tremor, every shiver, every aftershock.
When I finally collapse onto the bed, panting and trembling, he kisses my swollen pussy lips and rubs faint circles over my throbbing clit. Then he moves up my body until he’s hovering over me, braced on his forearms as he lets me taste myself from his glistening mouth.
When he pulls back, his breathing is uneven and his pupils are blown wide. “I need to be inside you, Princess. Mark you from the inside out.”
A tremor zips through my entire body. “I want that too.”
The corners of his mouth curl into a smile. “Show me.” He rises from the bed, then stands beside it. Silent. Waiting. Watching for my next move. Nerves churn in my stomach, but the way he looks at me makes me feel emboldened, sexy, and desired.
He takes a step back when I sit up, and I instinctively follow him until I drop to my knees on the floor.
I can feel my heart racing in my chest, but my mouth waters at the thought of tasting him for the first time.
I’ve already seen how big his cock is, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to take all of him.
But something about Oliver tells me this isn’t about how well I can suck his dick.
It’s more about surrendering to him, to what’s growing between us.
Allowing myself to be loved and treated the way I’ve wanted for so long.
I glance up at him as he watches me intently. “So fucking gorgeous on your knees for me, Princess.”