Epilogue
Ava
The sun filters through the trees, casting warm golden streaks across the tall grass where the blanket is spread. It’s late afternoon in Lovestone Ridge, the kind of quiet summer day that feels like a deep breath after the storm.
Venom is stretched across the edge of the picnic blanket, kitty paws in the air, belly exposed like the lazy menace he is.
Chaos is crouched nearby, eyes fixed on a butterfly with the kind of single-minded focus only a cat can pull off.
And Muffin—our enormous, slobbery, fiercely protective mutt—is lying beside me like a weighted blanket with a heartbeat. He thumps his tail lazily every time I shift.
It’s been a year and a half.
One whole year since Mason “Viper” Kellen rescued me from that basement. One year since he carried me out of that nightmare and into something that looks a hell of a lot like a future.
We married just weeks after he proposed.
Neither of us wanted to wait. There were no fancy plans.
Just a courthouse, a patch, and a promise.
And now? We live in a bigger cabin we built together up in the ridge, one with wide windows and a deck that wraps around the side, perfect for watching thunderstorms or making out under the stars.
We’re trying for kids now. It hasn’t happened yet, but the trying has its moments.
My stepfather, Richard Smith, is rotting in prison, serving time for kidnapping, assault, and a laundry list of things he thought he got away with. The woman who helped him is locked up too. Turns out she had a history of running "errands" for men like him. She won’t be walking free any time soon.
Nadia moved to Lovestone Ridge not long after I did. After her own adventure, if I can call it that without my stomach dropping into my shoes. But maybe she was meant to find him. She found the love of her life, and now she’s safe. That’s all that matters.
A shadow falls over me, and then Mason lowers himself onto the blanket beside me. His cut’s draped across his lap, and he’s shirtless beneath it, golden skin kissed by the sun.
He’s got a bottle of lemonade in one hand and a smirk playing on his mouth like he knows exactly how good he looks.
“You think Chaos is ever gonna catch that butterfly?” he asks, watching the cat with lazy amusement.
“Not a chance,” I say, smiling.
He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple, then settles on his back with a soft grunt. His arm finds its way around my waist, pulling me into him like gravity. Like I was always meant to be tucked against his side.
I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, his hand drawing slow circles on my hip.
“Good day,” he murmurs.
“Perfect,” I whisper back.
The cats doze. Muffin snores. And for the first time in my life, I feel full.
Safe.
Wanted.
Loved.
Home.
Later, back home, the sun has dipped low, casting the cabin in a moody, golden haze. The scent of pine and rain clings to the walls, to the sheets, to him.
I’m halfway to the bedroom when I feel his hand curl around my waist.
“Bend over,” he growls, voice like gravel. “Stomach flat on the table. Now.”
My breath catches.
I turn to look at him, but the expression on his face makes my knees weak. Pure heat. Possession. Hunger that’s been simmering behind those eyes all damn day.
“Mason,” I whisper.
He steps closer, all heat and leather and coiled tension. “Now, baby.”
I move.
The dining table is solid wood, cool beneath my palms. I bend over it, heart pounding, anticipation humming through every nerve ending. Behind me, I hear the soft sound of his belt sliding free. Then the quiet thud of his boots hitting the floor.
Clothes follow. Mine and his.
Rough fingers skim up the backs of my thighs. He doesn’t rush. Just palms my ass, spreading me open, running his thumb along the seam of me.
“You been wet for me since the ridge?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“I could smell it on you.”
He sinks to his knees behind me, mouth hot and wicked. He devours me like he’s starving. Tongue stroking deep, nose brushing my clit until I’m panting, my hands clawing at the table for something to hold.
Then he rises. Lines himself up behind me.
“Hands flat. Don’t move,” he growls.
I nod.
A second later, he thrusts in, deep, hard. My cry echoes through the room. He doesn’t let me adjust, just sets a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against mine. One hand fists in my hair, the other grips my hip tight enough to leave marks.
Every stroke knocks a moan out of me. The table creaks beneath us. He’s relentless, filthy with the way he talks. Telling me I’m his. That I was made for this. That no one will ever touch me again.
My body burns. The orgasm builds fast, sharp and wild.
“Come on, Ava,” he grits out. “I feel you tightening.”
I shatter with a scream, legs shaking, hands slipping on the wood. But he doesn’t stop. Keeps going, chasing his own release until he groans my name, spilling deep inside me with a final thrust.
We collapse over the table, breathless, his weight warm against my back.
After a long moment, he presses a kiss to the nape of my neck.
“I love you,” he murmurs. “You’re mine. In every damn way.”
And I am.
Every bruised kiss. Every rough thrust. Every whispered promise in the dark—he makes sure I never forget it.
“I love you too,” I whisper. “Forever.”