EpilogueEmmett
Epilogue:
Emmett
Four months later
HOT WATER CASCADES DOWN my back as Kade presses me harder against the shower wall, his chest flush against my shoulder blades.
My forearms brace against the slick tiles, fingers splayed, trying to find purchase as he drives into me with measured thrusts.
Steam swirls around us, fogging the glass door, creating our own private world where nothing exists beyond the points where our bodies connect.
“You like that?” Kade’s voice is rough against my ear, his breath hot on my neck. “Like feeling me inside you?”
A shudder ripples through me. “Yes,” I gasp as he shifts his angle, hitting that perfect spot. “Fuck, Kade.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating against my skin. “Love it when you swear,” he murmurs, nipping at my earlobe. “Means my Golden Boy is losing control.”
His pace slows to an agonizing crawl, each thrust now deliberate and deep. My cock throbs against the tile, desperate for release. As if reading my mind, Kade’s hand slides from my hip, trailing across my abdomen, fingers dancing along my skin until they wrap around my length.
“Is this what you need?” His grip tightens, thumb swiping over the sensitive head.
I hiss in response, eyes squeezing shut against the dual assault of sensations—his cock stretching me from behind, his hand working me from the front. Water pounds against our bodies, turning every touch into something slick and electric.
“Look at you,” Kade continues, voice dropping lower. “Taking me so well. Always so fucking perfect for me.”
The praise washes over me, heightening every sensation. In these moments, being called “perfect” doesn’t feel like the burden it once did—it’s a celebration, not an expectation. I push back against him, taking him deeper, my body communicating what my throat, tight with pleasure, cannot.
Kade gathers both my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head against the tile. The position forces my back to arch, my ass to pressing more firmly against him. His other hand maintains its rhythm on my cock, his grip relentless.
“Mine,” he growls, punctuating his statement with a deep thrust that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. “Every perfect inch of you. Mine.”
“Yours,” I agree, the word escaping on a broken moan. “Always—fuck—always yours.”
His rhythm falters for just a moment, a tell I’ve learned to recognize. He’s close. The knowledge sends a thrill through me—that I can affect him this way, that my body, my words, my pleasure drives him to the edge.
“Want to feel you come,” he says, his voice strained now, control slipping. “Feel you clenching around me.”
His hand speeds up, matching the erratic pace of his hips. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing me toward a precipice I’m desperate to fall from. My muscles tense, pressure building at the base of my spine.
“Kade,” I warn, the only word I can manage.
“Do it,” he commands, teeth grazing my shoulder. “Give it to me.”
The pressure breaks. Pleasure crashes through me in violent waves, my release pulsing over his fingers, against the shower wall. My vision blurs, legs trembling, only Kade’s body behind me and his hand on my wrists, keeping me upright.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kade chants, his rhythm faltering as he follows me over the edge. His hips stutter, pressing flush against me as he empties himself inside me, his forehead dropping to rest between my shoulder blades.
For several long moments, we remain frozen, breathing hard, hearts racing in tandem. Then Kade releases my wrists, his arms wrapping around my waist as he presses gentle kisses to my neck, my shoulders, everywhere he can reach.
“Morning,” he murmurs, a smile in his voice.
I laugh breathlessly, turning in his embrace until we’re face to face. “Morning to you, too. Some wake-up call.”
“Thought you’d appreciate a proper send-off before my class.” His hands slide up to cup my face, thumbs stroking along my cheekbones. The tenderness in the gesture contrasts with the intensity of moments before, the duality that makes Kade so addictive.
“Consider me thoroughly sent off.” I lean in, capturing his mouth in a soft kiss that deepens, his tongue sliding against mine with familiar ease.
We eventually separate, necessity rather than desire driving us to clean ourselves.
I watch as Kade tilts his head back under the spray, water sluicing down the lean planes of his body.
His hair, even darker when wet, has grown longer over the past few months, curling at the nape of his neck.
It suits him, softening the sharp edges of his face without diminishing the intensity that drew me to him.
“You’re staring,” he says, eyes closed, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Am I not allowed to appreciate the view in my own shower?”
“Our shower,” he corrects, reaching for the shampoo. “And I didn’t say stop.”
It’s been a month since we moved out of our parents’ guest house and found a small one-bedroom close to campus, packed our things, and created a space that belongs only to us. No parents across the garden. Just Kade and me, figuring out how to be together in the full light of day.
We finish our shower, moving around each other with ease. Kade wipes the steam from the mirror with one hand while reaching for his toothbrush with the other. I squeeze past him to grab a towel, my hand brushing his lower back as I do—a casual touch, an acknowledgment of shared space.
Once dried and dressed, we migrate to the kitchen. Kade moves to the coffee maker—the fancy one his dad bought us as a housewarming gift—while I pull bread from the cupboard for toast. Morning sunlight streams through our small kitchen window, turning Kade’s dark hair golden at the edges.
“You want jam or just butter?” I ask, dropping two slices into the toaster.
“Both,” Kade replies, measuring coffee grounds. “And maybe some of that honey your mom brought?”
I pull the jar from the fridge along with butter and strawberry jam. The domesticity of it all still catches me off guard sometimes—Kade and I existing together in peaceful harmony.
“What?” Kade asks, catching my thoughtful expression.
“Nothing. Just…” I gesture between us. “This. Us. It’s nice.”
His smile is crooked, a hint of his cockiness returning. “Who’d have thought, right? Mr. Perfect and the family fuck-up, playing house.”
I roll my eyes at the old nicknames, but there’s no heat behind it. “Funny how those labels don’t fit anymore.”
The toasts pop up, and I busy myself with spreads while Kade pours coffee into our mismatched mugs—his, a chipped ceramic monstrosity with a faded band logo; mine, a sensible dark blue one from the matching set I bought when we moved in.
“You didn’t rearrange the living room this week,” Kade observes, sliding my coffee across the counter. “Even though I know it’s been killing you that the couch is off center.”
I accept the mug, feeling warmth that has nothing to do with the hot liquid inside. “And you actually hung up your wet towel this morning instead of leaving it on the floor.”
“Look at us. We’re both growing,” he says, before his expression cracks into a grin. “Though I did leave my socks under the coffee table last night.”
“I know,” I admit. “And I didn’t even have a meltdown about it.”
“My influence is corrupting you,” Kade says, looking far too pleased with himself. “Next thing you know, you’ll be leaving dishes in the sink overnight.”
“Let’s not get crazy.” I push his plate of toast toward him. “Baby steps.”
He laughs, the sound free in a way it wasn’t just four months ago.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds the clink of mugs against countertop and the occasional hum of appreciation from Kade when he takes a satisfying bite.
“I was thinking, maybe we could drive up to see Mom and David next weekend? It’s been a couple of weeks.”
“Sure. Dad mentioned something about wanting to show me his new grill, anyway.” He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, but I catch the pleased undercurrent in his voice.
His relationship with his father has transformed these past few months—cautious respect replacing the wary distance that defined them for years.
“Maybe we could stop by that bookstore Caroline loves, too. Her birthday’s coming up next month. ”
I smile at his thoughtfulness. “She’d like that.”
Kade rinses his empty plate before placing it in the dishwasher—another small victory in our ongoing domestic negotiations. “Oh, and I already took out the trash and recycling this morning,” he adds, a hint of pride coloring his voice. “While you were still snoring.”
“I don’t snore,” I protest.
“You absolutely do,” he counters, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “It’s cute, though. Like a very dignified little puppy.”
I flick a crumb at him, which he dodges. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you suffer me gladly.” He pushes off the counter, coming to stand behind me, arms wrapping around my waist as he hooks his chin over my shoulder. “Admit it.”
“Fine,” I concede, leaning back into his embrace. “Gladly.”
He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, and I feel his smile against my skin. “Speaking of suffering, what do you think about having some people over Friday night? Nothing big, just a few friends. Michaela’s been asking to see the place.”
I consider the suggestion. Few months ago, the idea of hosting a gathering where Kade’s friends and mine intermingled would have seemed impossible.
Our social circles were as different as we were—his, a collection of artsy, free-spirited types who partied too hard; mine, serious students more likely to organize study groups than keg stands.
Now, those boundaries have blurred, our worlds melding in ways I never expected.
“That could be fun. Should we invite Serena?”
Kade tenses behind me, and I laugh at his reaction.
“Relax. She’s dating that guy from her poli-sci class now.
Besides, she and I are friends these days.
” The awkwardness of our failed date faded once she understood the situation.
Now, Serena and I have a standing study session every Wednesday, and she occasionally brings homemade cookies to our apartment—which Kade devours while pretending to be suspicious of her motives.
“Fine,” Kade sighs dramatically. “But if she tries to handcuff you to anything, I’m intervening.”
“My hero.” I chuckle, turning in his arms to face him. “I’ll text everyone later. Small group, though. This place isn’t exactly built for crowds.”
“Having second thoughts about the apartment? We could look for somewhere bigger when the lease is up.”
“No,” I say quickly, honestly. “I love it here. It’s perfect.”
And it is. The apartment is small—a tight galley kitchen, a living room barely big enough for our secondhand couch and TV stand, a bedroom where we have to coordinate movements when making the bed—but it’s ours.
Every corner holds evidence of our merged lives: Kade’s art supplies stacked beside my economics textbooks, his band posters hanging alongside my framed diplomas, his chaotic energy somehow complementing my ordered existence rather than disrupting it.
“Yeah?” he asks, a rare flash of insecurity crossing his features. “Even with me leaving coffee rings on the counter?”
“Even with that,” I confirm. “Though coasters do exist for a reason.”
Kade laughs before his expression shifts to something more tender. He reaches up, thumb brushing across my cheek in a gentle caress.
“Crumb,” he explains, though his touch lingers longer than necessary.
I lean into the contact, and Kade’s hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me forward into a kiss—slow and sweet, unhurried, a promise rather than a demand.
When we part, he presses his forehead against mine, our breath mingling. “You’re going to be late for class,” he murmurs, though he makes no move to release me.
“Worth it,” I reply, stealing one more quick kiss before stepping back. “But you’re right. I should go.”
Kade nods, dropping his arms. “I’ll clean up here. Meet you for lunch at that place by the library? One o’clock?”
“Perfect,” I agree, moving to gather my backpack and keys.
At the door, I pause, glancing back at Kade—his hair still damp from our shower, lip ring catching the morning light, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches me go. The sight sends a wave of emotion through me that steals my breath.
“See you at one,” I say, my voice steady despite the fullness in my chest.
His answering smile is everything—the cocky grin that first caught my attention, softened now by an affection he no longer tries to hide. “Counting on it, Golden Boy.”
The End