Epilogue
Ifocused on my breath. In through the nose, slow and deep, out through the mouth in a steady stream.
The mat I’d set up on the back porch was warm under the balls of my feet, the late-afternoon sun painting everything gold. Kai's cabin—our cabin now—still felt like a gift, even after more than three years of marriage. I'd come to Iron Peak to house-sit for three weeks and never left.
Mountain pose felt different now—my center of gravity had shifted, my belly round and heavy at four months. But the stretch still sang through my hamstrings and the long line of my spine.
I closed my eyes and let the world narrow to the rhythm of inhale, exhale, the soft creak of the cabin settling behind me, the distant trickle of the creek.
Footsteps. Quiet at first, then deliberate. I knew that rhythm.
I didn’t open my eyes. Didn’t move.
Strong arms slid around my waist from behind, careful not to press too hard against the swell of my stomach. Kai’s chest pressed to my back, warm and solid, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder. The familiar scent of pine, clean sweat, and him wrapped around me tight.
“Don’t move,” he murmured, voice low and rough against my ear.
It was the same command he’d given me so many times before, and it always carried a tender edge.
His left hand stayed splayed across my lower belly—protective, reverent—while his right drifted lower.
Fingers skimmed the waistband of my leggings and slipped beneath the elastic, beneath the soft cotton of my panties.
He found me already slick, already wanting, and circled my clit with the slow, deliberate pressure he knew would unravel me.
I sucked in a breath. My arms trembled, but I held the pose.
“Good girl,” he whispered. “Keep holding it.”
The challenge lit me up the way it always had.
My thighs shook. My breath came shorter, shallower.
He didn’t rush—never did—just stroked in lazy, perfect circles, occasionally dipping lower to gather more of my wetness before returning to that sensitive bundle of nerves. Heat coiled tight and fast in my core.
“Kai—” His name came out half moan, half plea.
“Don’t move,” he said, firmer now. “Hold the pose, Em.”
I tried. God, I tried. The pressure built like a storm inside me, every nerve ending alive and sparking under his touch.
My muscles burned from the effort of staying still.
I could hear the distant birdsong, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, but it all faded against the wet sounds of his fingers moving against me, the hitch in his own breathing as he took me toward orgasm.
His thumb pressed just right, sending jolts of electricity straight through my core, making my toes curl against the mat. The excitement thrummed in my veins—not just from his touch, but from the openness of it all.
The porch overlooked the yard, the trees thin enough that anyone in the cabin next door could glance over and see us if they were awake.
Eunice's old cabin had new owners now—a couple from Denver who'd bought the place two years ago when Eunice finally moved to Italy to be closer to her sister.
They were weekend escape artists who slept in late, especially midweek like this.
I was fairly sure we were safe, but that slim chance of being caught?
It sent a forbidden thrill racing through me, sharpening every sensation, making my skin flush hotter, my pulse pound louder in my ears.
What if they stirred early? What if a curtain twitched?
The risk made me clench tighter, desperate for more.
But when the first hard wave crashed through me, my knees softened. I leaned back against my husband of almost three years with a broken cry as pleasure pulsed through every limb. White-hot and relentless, it rippled from my clit outward in shuddering waves that left me quaking.
Kai kept touching me through it, drawing it out with those expert circles, his low growl of approval vibrating against my back until I was trembling and gasping. My hips rocked instinctively against his hand, chasing the fading edges of bliss.
When the aftershocks finally eased, leaving me slick and sensitive, I twisted to face him. His eyes were dark and wide with hunger, jaw tight with restraint, the muscles there twitching as he held himself back.
I smiled, slow and wicked. “Think I’m ready to try a new pose.”
Before he could answer, I lowered myself carefully to my knees in front of him, the mat soft under my shins, my belly brushing lightly against my thighs. My fingers went to the button of his jeans, then the zipper, tugging both denim and boxers down in one motion.
He was already hard, thick and heavy in my hand, the vein along the underside pulsing under my fingertips. I leaned in and took him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head—salty and smooth—before sliding down as far as I could, feeling him fill my mouth.
He groaned—low and guttural, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest like thunder—and his fingers threaded gently into my hair. Not guiding, just holding on, knuckles brushing my scalp in a way that sent shivers down my spine.
“Fuck, Em,” he rasped, voice gravelly and thick with need. “Just like that. So good.”
I worked him with slow, wet pulls, savoring the way his thighs tensed under my palm, the way his breath hitched in sharp, uneven bursts. I could see the corded muscles in his forearms flex as he struggled to hold back, could hear the soft, ragged exhales mingling with the distant creek's murmur.
The thrill of exposure hit me again—out here on the porch, in broad daylight, with the neighbor's cabin just a glance away.
My heart raced with it, a delicious mix of adrenaline and arousal, imagining eyes on us even though logic said we were alone.
It made me bolder, made me suck harder, hollowing my cheeks until his hips jerked forward involuntarily.
“Em—” His voice cracked, rough and desperate. “Stop. Not yet. I want inside you.”
I pulled off with a soft pop and looked up at him through my lashes, my lips swollen and tingling. “Direct me.”
He helped me to my feet, steadying me when my legs wobbled, his hands warm and sure on my arms. “Get in position. Whatever works best.”
I didn’t hesitate. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my leggings and panties and shoved them down my thighs, kicking them aside with a soft rustle.
Then I turned, braced my hands on the mat, and eased into downward dog.
I arched my back a little extra, presenting myself as I felt the cool air kiss my exposed skin.
The vulnerability of it all—bare from the waist down, ass up, the sun warming my back—sent another spike of excitement through me. So exposed, so open to the world, that neighbor's empty window like a silent witness.
Kai stepped in close behind me. I felt the blunt head of him nudge against my entrance, teasing, sliding through my wetness without pushing inside—up and down, circling my clit with the tip until I was dripping, aching.
I whimpered, rocking back, chasing him, the mat creaking under my shifting weight.
“Patience,” he said, but his voice was strained, edged with a growl that told me he was as desperate as I was. “You’re so wet for me, baby. So ready.”
I collapsed forward onto my forearms, then spread my knees wider, opening myself completely, the stretch pulling at my inner thighs. “Please, Kai. Now. I need you.”
He dropped to his knees behind me, the thud of his body hitting the porch vibrating through the wood. One hand gripped my hip, fingers digging in just enough to anchor me, while the other reached around to find my clit again, hands rough and perfect against my oversensitive skin.
Then he slid in—slow at first, inch by torturous inch, letting me adjust to the stretch, to the fullness that bordered on overwhelming with my pregnancy-swollen body. I felt every ridge, every vein as he filled me completely, until he was buried deep, our bodies locked together.
We both groaned—mine high and needy, his a deep, satisfied rumble that echoed in my chest.
He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, seated fully inside me, his fingers circling my clit in the same lazy rhythm from before while his other hand stroked over the curve of my belly, tender and possessive.
“You feel incredible,” he murmured, breath hot against my neck. “So tight around me. Mine.”
And then he started to move—long, deep strokes that hit every perfect spot, dragging against my inner walls in a way that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
I could hear the slick sounds of us, skin slapping softly against skin, his grunts growing harsher with each thrust. The porch creaked rhythmically beneath us, the birds quieting as if they knew to give us space.
That ever-present thrill of being seen buzzed in the back of my mind, making my skin prickle, my moans louder than they should be—daring the world to notice.
His gaze never wavered. Mine didn’t either.
“Come for me again,” he said, voice low and commanding. “Let me feel you.”
The rhythm built fast. Too fast. My arms shook again, and my breath came in short, desperate pants, the pressure coiling tighter with every circle of his fingers, every plunge inside me.
He pressed harder against my clit, matching the thrust of his hips, and I came—clenching around him in rhythmic pulses, crying out his name in a voice that cracked and echoed across the yard.
The pleasure was sharper this time, amplified by the fullness, by the risk, waves crashing through me until I saw white.
He followed right after, hips jerking erratically, a rough sound tearing from his throat—a mix of groan and growl—as he spilled inside me, hot and deep, his fingers tightening on my hip as he rode it out.
For a long moment we stayed like that, breathing hard, connected. Then he eased out gently, helped me lower to the mat, and stretched out beside me. I curled into his side and he pulled me close, one arm around my shoulders, the other hand resting possessively over our baby.
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “I really should take up yoga.”
I laughed, breathless and boneless. “Told you it has benefits.”
He chuckled—the low, rare sound that still made my heart skip after four years of marriage—and tucked me tighter against him.
The sun dipped lower, painting the porch in soft amber.
My laptop sat inside on the kitchen table, closed for once—no briefs to review, no contracts to draft for the folks in town who'd started coming to me for legal help after I passed the bar.
Iron Peak's first and only lawyer, they called me, though sometimes my payment came in the form of casseroles and firewood.
Somewhere nearby, a bird called. The creek kept its quiet song. And for once, neither of us said anything else. We just breathed. Together.