Epilogue Tommas
epilogue: tommas
TOMMAS
There were still moments when I walked through the front door and barely recognized the place. Not because I’d forgotten it, of course—but because of how much it had transformed.
The unfeeling penthouse we’d once used like a fortress was now warm, light-filled, and lived in. Kit’s touches were everywhere—velvet throw pillows in colors I didn’t know the names of, soft rugs that made your bare feet sink in, open shelves full of cookbooks, and tiny vases with fresh flowers she swapped out every few days.
She hadn’t just moved in—she’d made it hers. Made it ours.
And somehow, without even trying, she’d turned this place from a house into a home.
I leaned against the doorframe to the living room and smiled. She was curled up in one corner of the sectional, legs tucked under her, a romance novel in hand. One of those spicier ones, judging by the blush creeping up her cheeks and the way she was biting her lip as she flipped the page.
I crossed the room quietly and sat beside her, close enough to brush against her hip. She didn’t even look up—just smiled and kept reading.
Marco wasn’t nearly as subtle. He plopped down on her other side with zero shame, stretching out dramatically with his head in her lap like he owned the place.
“Whatcha reading, Angel?” he asked, not bothering to hide the grin in his voice.
“Book four of the one you guys were all teasing me about last week,” she said, lifting a brow without looking away from the page.
“Ohhh, the one with the shirtless hockey player on the cover? I still say I have better abs.”
“You’re terrible,” she muttered, cheeks pink.
“Terribly interested in that mark right there,” Marco murmured, dragging his fingertip lightly over his mark, the top edge just peeking out at the edge of her neckline.
Kit shivered, her breath hitching just enough to make me smirk.
Her eyes flicked toward me in warning, but it was too late. I leaned in from the other side, capturing her wrist and brushing my lips over the bite I’d left behind. I pushed the word “mine” through the bond and felt her pulse flutter under my touch.
She tried to keep reading. She really did.
But the more we toyed with our brands, the lower her book sank and the higher her pulse rose.
Her eyes narrowed even as her breath hitched.
“Are you two done?”
“Not even close,” I told her, then trailed wicked little kisses up her arm to the crux of her elbow.
She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. “I was reading.”
Marco smirked. “And now you’re not.” My brother stole her book, shoving it behind one of the couch cushions as if it offended him. “We’re much better entertainment, anyway.”
She laughed, and the sound was pure fuckin’ music. “You’re both ridiculous.”
“Possibly,” I agreed, wrapping an arm around her waist. “But you love us, anyway.”
“Unfortunately,” she sassed, but there was no heat behind it. Just fondness and the kind of affection that made my damn chest ache.
I shot Marco a look. He caught it and grinned, and together, we shifted. Moved. Surrounded her.
She yelped as I tugged her down into the pillows, laughter spilling out of her as we followed, lips and hands and heat.
We didn’t let her go for a long time after that.
And when her moans replaced the ones printed on the lines of her book, when her eyes darkened with hunger and her smile turned sinful, when her hands clutched at us like lifelines—we gave her everything.
And me?
I was so fuckin’ gone for this girl in that completely wrecked, head over heels, twisted up in her—body and soul, completely whipped, and hopelessly in love kind of way.
And there wasn’t a damn thing in this world I’d trade for the way she broke me open and made me hers.