Epilogue
I watch her closely, vigilant for signs that I'm about to
witness my favorite fucking sight. I feel every part of her against
every part of me, and I lift only my face just to see her. Her
cheeks are flushed the sexiest pink and I feel other signs of her
pleasure against my skin. Her mouth is slightly open, swollen from
our kisses, her eyes shut tight. She's feeling. I love that I'm making her
feel.
But I have to watch
her.
"Look at me, Ror," I
demand softly. She complies immediately, like she always does when
we're like this.
When we connect like this,
when I'm inside her, there's no sign of her defiant nature, or her
snarky sarcasm. There's only eagerness and desperation for more,
mirroring my own.
She moans a strangled
version of my name, and I almost lose control. She's not like other
girls who say the things and make the sounds they think guys want
to hear. No, Rory is all instinct. Her reaction to what I'm doing
to her, how I'm making her feel, and it's an emboldening thing to
hear. Inspiring.
Now that everything is out
there in the open between us, that we are both finally starting to
understand just how committed we both are to this relationship,
there's a new level of intimacy we are only beginning to discover.
Every day that passes I fall deeper in love with her, but I also
feel that fear dissolving. The one that whispers that she could
leave me again. That reminds me that the harder I fall for her, the
more it would destroy me to lose her. But I'm starting to really
believe that won't happen. That she needs me just as much as I do
her.
I wasn't kidding when I
told her I wanted her to be my wife someday. What I didn't tell her
was that I'd ask her now—that it would be a great relief to get a
ring on her delicate little finger, to know with that kind of
certainty that she was mine forever—if I didn't think it would
scare the shit out of her.
"That's it, baby," I
whisper, my voice inexorably husky with lust. I need her to keep
her eyes open. "I want to watch you." But that's not the only
reason.
I want to see when she's
close. I want a warning, because I don't want this to end yet. I
don't care that we have somewhere to be, things to do. I just want
to be inside her as long as possible.
I'd never had a problem
with control. Not since I was an inexperienced fucking kid. But
Rory... she makes me totally lose my senses. My attraction to her
is fucking consuming. I've always had an active sex drive since I
hit puberty, but Rory makes me just utterly mad with lust. She's
fucking beautiful—honestly the hottest girl I've ever laid eyes on, though I
know she doesn't believe it. But it's not just my attraction to
her, or even our inexplicable chemistry. It's a great deal more
than that.
I love that she trusts me.
It is such a fucking turn-on, especially from someone with good
reason not to trust guys. I love that she is so willing—so
fucking eager—to
be vulnerable with me. To let me take control. To touch her how I
want to, taste her, make love to her. It's a gift I can't resist,
and one I don't take for granted. And it's the hottest fucking
thing imaginable.
And when I'm here with
her, intimate like this, I'm completely in the moment. In a way I'd
never been with any of the not-so-few girls I've been with. And
being in the moment, completely absorbed in Rory, it's already
difficult to keep any semblance of control. It's even harder
to stay in your head when you experience the most beautiful, erotic
thing you've ever witnessed. But it's feeling it—her entire body's
reaction to me—that always takes me over the edge.
Nothing has ever felt as
incredible. Nothing ever will.
Rory whimpers in the most
sexy fucking way and I can see she wants to close her eyes again.
Like I said, she's all instinct and that's the instinctual thing to
do right now. But she fights it for me. And that's an even headier
feeling.
This is what I meant when
I said she makes me feel like a god. What could make me feel more
powerful than a fucking goddess giving herself to me like
this?
I would do absolutely
anything for her.
I move faster, because as
hard as I try to focus, my body is taking over. She is fucking
heaven and I have to have her the way I have to have her. It's the
way she wants me to take her. It always is.
Her breaths come quickly
and I know she has no control over the small, sweet sighs that slip
from her open mouth. Her thighs tighten around my hips, and her
mouth opens wider as she stops breathing and starts gasping. I try
to concentrate, because I know what's about to happen and I want
desperately to watch her and at the same time to keep some
semblance of control.
Because like I said, I
don't want it to end yet.
I keep moving, watching
intently as her back arches, thrusting her chest into mine, her
mouth round, her brows scrunched in ecstasy.
Most beautiful fucking
thing I've ever seen.
How did I live without
this? How could I have almost let her let me go?
God, she is utterly riveting.
"Fuck, Ror," I tell her.
"You are fucking... fuck." Not so eloquent, I know, but
there is no actual word to describe her beauty. Her fucking
perfection.
"You are fucking perfect,"
I try to explain with a low groan. She is
fucking perfect.
I move even faster as she
comes down from her high, and kiss her deeply. I love her like this
too—completely drunk from the aftershocks. She is lax and open and
she lets me utterly plunder her mouth, matching my vigor.
Fucking yes.
My lips move down her
neck, licking her, tasting her skin and the light, sweet sweat.
This is my third favorite taste in the world, right after her
mouth.
Rory throws her head back
when my tongue makes contact with that spot she loves just under
her ear. I can already hear the subtle change in her breathing,
telling me she's gone from satisfied to needy again.
But needy is how I want
her. Because I intend to deliver.
And I do. I take her
harder now—she’s more than ready for it—and within minutes I have
her moaning and crying out my name again. This time the sensation
is too much. The way she contracts around me takes me with her and
I nearly pass out from the force of it.
Nothing has ever felt as
incredible. Nothing ever will.
We lay tangled together,
each struggling to catch our breath, but my fingers play lightly
over her hip, unable to stop touching her.
"Sam…" Rory tries to get
my attention, but I keep my face buried in her neck.
I know she's going to
chasten me for distracting her. We don't have that much time and
now we're all sweaty and disheveled.
She giggles and swats my
ass with her palm.
I groan in feigned
annoyance. "I don't want to move," I tell her.
"We have to. We have to
get my things over to the dorm and then get all the way back uptown
by seven!"
She's right. But I still
don't want to get off of her. I don't even want to pull out of
her.
But I've made us deviate
from our schedule by almost two hours. She's supposed to be moving
into her dorm today and she hasn't even met her R.A. yet. She was
supposed to check in with her by noon, which was over three hours
ago. After a summer of spending most of her time in my apartment,
most of her stuff is already here. I convinced her to leave most of
it here since she'll be sleeping here more often than not, but we
still have a few things to move. I'm hoping that over time I'll get
those things back to my place anyway. I want her living here. I
don't want to have to think about whether or not she'll come over
after class, or if I'll have to head downtown to sleep on her thin
twin mattress in a room the size of a prison cell.
After we get her settled
we have to make our way back uptown for dinner. We're meeting my
parents and Bits. After my father helped me with Rory—including
intervening with the judge, which was unbeknownst to me at the
time—we kept in touch. It just happened. He'd call me about this or
that, and we'd end up talking about other things.
Our relationship is far
from perfect, but we are getting to know each other in a way I
never thought possible.
It was Rory who convinced
me to tell my parents I knew about them. And then a few weeks later
my mom told Bits. She took it a lot better than I had. Tonight is
the fourth, or maybe even the fifth family dinner we've had since
then—always at Harry Cipriani—and Rory's been present at every
single one.
Needless to say, now that
he's gotten to know her a little, my father understands why I was
so intent on keeping her safe.
Rory's also been in touch
with her father, but only via a few emails and it's all still very
uncomfortable. I try to be supportive, but mostly I wish I could
just tell her she should forget the bastard ever existed. But I
guess that would be hypocritical. She's still unsure about the
whole thing, and I won't push her one way or the other. Either way,
I know she can handle it. My girl can handle anything. And she
knows that if she needs me, I'm here, no matter what.
Rory and I shower together
quickly, a domestic dance we've yet to perfect. It's hard to get
things done when your greatest obsession stands naked and dripping
wet only inches from you. It's only because I've just had her that
I can resist. Well, that, and the fact that Rory can tell the
moment I'm considering making us even later and she hops out of the
shower before I can give into temptation.
I grab for her anyway,
growling as she skirts just out of my reach and wraps an oversized
white bath towel around her perfect body, cloaking it from my very
hungry view.
Rory grins in triumph.
She's been doing that a lot lately. Grinning, smiling, smirking…
she's fucking radiant.
I shut the water and dry
myself off. Rory's already pulling on her jeans, her white lace bra
barely covering the world's perkiest tits.
"My face is up here," she
reminds me with another smile.