Epilogue Part Two Ivan #2
I take my time with him, kissing every inch of skin I can reach, learning him all over again even though I've memorized him.
His responses are familiar—the hitch in his breath when I find that spot below his ear, the way his hips lift when my hand trails down his stomach, the soft sounds he makes when I wrap my fingers around him and stroke slowly.
"Ivan. Please."
"Please what?"
"You know what." He pulls me up for a kiss, biting at my lower lip. "I want to feel you. I want you inside me. I want—"
He doesn't have to finish. I reach for the nightstand, where I stashed the supplies earlier, and he watches me with dark, hungry eyes.
I open him up slowly, carefully, one finger at a time, watching his face, watching the pleasure chase away everything else. His body welcomes me easily now—we've done this enough times that we know each other's rhythms, each other's needs, what makes each other fall apart.
"Ready?" I ask when I can't wait anymore.
"I've been ready since the beach." He wraps his legs around me, pulling me closer with his heels. "Come here. I need you."
I push inside him slowly, and we both groan at the sensation. This never gets old. No matter how many times we do this, it always feels like coming home, like finding something I didn't know I'd lost.
I move slowly at first, savoring the feel of him around me, the way his hands grip my shoulders, the way he whispers my name like a prayer, like a promise. Then his heels dig into my back, urging me faster, and I give him what he wants.
"Yes," he gasps. "God, yes, just like that—don't stop—"
We move together, finding a rhythm that builds and builds, the headboard knocking gently against the wall, our breathing ragged in the quiet room. I angle my hips to hit that spot inside him, and Jay cries out, his back arching sharply off the bed.
"Close," he manages. "Ivan, I'm so close—"
I wrap my hand around him and stroke in time with my thrusts, and that's all it takes. He comes with a shout, spilling hot over my fist, clenching around me so tight I have no choice but to follow. I bury myself deep and let go, pleasure crashing through me in overwhelming waves.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, sweaty and satisfied, too wrung out to move for a long time.
"Okay," Jay says eventually. "Now we should probably shower."
I laugh and drag myself out of bed, pulling him with me.
The shower is small and the water pressure is questionable, but neither of us cares. We wash each other slowly, trading lazy kisses under the spray, and by the time we're done, I'm half-hard again.
"Seriously?" Jay grins, glancing down. "Already?"
"What can I say? You have that effect on me."
We end up back in bed, slower this time, Jay on top, riding me at his own pace while I watch him come apart above me. It's softer, sweeter, the desperate edge worn away. Just two people who love each other, showing it the best way they know how.
We fall asleep wrapped around each other, the sound of the waves drifting through the open balcony door like a lullaby.
The next three days pass in a blur of sunshine and salt water and happiness.
We wake up early every morning—Jay's internal clock doesn't know how to be lazy—and take our coffee out to the balcony to watch the sunrise. The sky goes from black to gray to pink to gold, and every single time, Jay watches it like it's the first sunrise he's ever seen.
Maybe, in a way, it is. The first sunrise he's watched without fear weighing him down. The first one where he wasn't just surviving until the next day.
We swim in the Gulf until our muscles ache, until we're exhausted in the best way. We build an elaborate sandcastle that Caleb would be proud of, complete with a moat and towers, then let the tide wash it away without regret.
We eat at a different restaurant every night—grouper and shrimp and oysters so fresh they taste like the ocean itself. Jay eats like every meal might be his last, except now it's not desperation driving him. It's appreciation. It's joy. It's the simple pleasure of good food.
On our last morning, we wake up before dawn one more time. We take our coffee to the balcony and sit side by side, watching the sky lighten over the water.
"I don't want to leave," Jay admits quietly. "I know we have to. I know we have jobs and responsibilities and a life waiting for us back home. But I wish we could stay here forever. I wish we could freeze this moment."
"We can come back," I remind him. "This doesn't have to be a one-time thing. We can save up, take a trip every year. Make it our tradition."
"Our anniversary trip."
"Exactly."
He leans against me, and I wrap my arm around his shoulders. The sun breaks the horizon, spilling gold across the water, and the seagulls start their morning chorus.
"Ivan," Jay says quietly. "Thank you again for everything. For bringing me here. For making my safe place real." He turns to look at me, and his dark eyes are bright with emotion. "You saved my life. You know that, right? I wouldn't be here without you. I'd be dead."
"No, I just showed up. You did the hard work. You're the one who chose to get sober, to go to meetings every single day, to build a new life from nothing. I just loved you through it."
"That's not nothing."
"No. But it's not everything, either." I cup his face in my hand, running my thumb across his cheekbone. "You're so much stronger than you think you are. You always have been."
He turns his head to press a kiss to my palm. "We make a good team."
"The best."
We sit in comfortable silence, watching the sun climb higher, the day brightening around us. Our last day in paradise.
I think about everything we've been through.
The foster homes, the abuse, the years apart.
Jay drowning in alcohol and despair while I desperately tried to find him.
The night I found him on that bathroom floor, thinking I was too late.
The long, hard road of recovery. The meetings, the setbacks, the small victories that added up to something bigger than both of us.
And now here we are. Married. On our honeymoon. Watching the sunrise over the ocean in a place Jay only ever dreamed about when things were unbearable.
I reach out and cup his face in my hand, turning him to look at me. His dark eyes meet mine, and I see everything in them—the pain of our past, the hope of our future, the love that carried us through all of it.
"Years ago, you taught me how to survive," I tell him. "Now I want to spend the rest of my life teaching you how to live. Really live."
Jay's breath catches. His eyes fill with tears, but he's smiling—that beautiful, unguarded smile I fell in love with. He pulls me into his arms, holding me tight, and whispers into my hair.
"Deal," he says. "Let's teach each other."
And we will.
We'll wake up every morning and choose this life we've built together.
Because that's what love is.
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Here is a sneak peek of my next book, Stormy, coming out in March 2026.