Epilogue
REESE
Istumble across my old notebook while cleaning out the bottom drawer of the end table. It's been months since I've even thought about it. My infamous bucket list that started this whole wild ride with Ramsey.
Curling up on our bed, I flip it open, smiling as I see all the crossed-out items. But these aren't my neat little check marks. These are heavy black slashes that practically tear through the paper. Ramsey's work, for sure. He's always been possessive about everything, even my stupid list.
I'm about to write down a new idea when I notice something on the next page. Ramsey's handwriting—sharp and aggressive, pressing so hard into the paper I can feel the indentations on the other side.
REESE'S REAL BUCKET LIST (by the only person who knows what you truly need):
1. Stop thinking you can hide anything from me. I see everything.
2. Accept that your body belongs to me now. No more teasing other men.
3. Let me fuck you in the dance studio after hours. I want you bent over that barre.
4. Call me Daddy when you come. Every. Fucking. Time.
5. Wear my cum inside you all day. No cleaning up.
6. Remember who made you scream so loud the neighbors called the cops.
7. Stop pretending you don't like it when I'm rough.
8. Marry me.
P.S. I crossed out all that vanilla bullshit because this is what you really want. I've watched you long enough to know. Don't bother denying it.
I slam the notebook shut, my face burning hot. That arrogant, presumptuous, completely fucking correct asshole.
The front door opens and closes. Heavy footsteps in the hallway.
"Find something interesting?" Ramsey's voice is low behind me, and I know without turning that he's leaning against the wall, watching me with that predatory look that makes my thighs clench.
"Your aggressive writing ruined my notebook." I try to sound angry, but my voice betrays me, coming out breathless.
"You left it where I could find it." He steps closer, and I feel the bed dip as he sits behind me. "That's practically begging me to look."
His hand slides around my throat, not squeezing, just resting there—a reminder of who's in control. Always in control.
"Number eight," I whisper, my fingers tracing over his aggressive handwriting.
His breath is hot against my ear. "Save the best for last. But we can start checking off the others tonight."
"You're insane," I say, but I'm already leaning back against his chest.
"Only about you." His teeth graze my earlobe. "Always have been. Always will be."
And the scary thing is, I wouldn't want him any other way.
"Keep reading," Ramsey says, his voice low and commanding against my ear. His hand slides from my throat to my shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to make my breath catch.
I flip the page, not sure what to expect. What I find makes my heart stutter.
It's a letter. Not just any letter—a fucking Blackwood declaration of obsession. His handwriting is smaller here, more controlled, like he was forcing himself to slow down and think about every word.
Reese,
I knew it wasn't just obsession the day I carried you through that field. You were so fucking small in my arms, bruised and bleeding, and all I could think was MINE. Not in the way I'd thought before. Different. Deeper.
When I found you running from that piece of shit, something in me broke. Or maybe it fixed itself. I don't know. I just remember the sound of the tire iron connecting with his skull. The way it felt like nothing and everything at the same time. The way you looked in your sister’s arms.
That's when I knew I was fucked. That's when I realized I was more like Penn than I ever wanted to admit. That Blackwood blood doesn't just run hot. It runs possessive. Violent. Consuming.
I stayed away because I had to. Because the thing that woke up in me that day wanted to own you in ways that would've scared you. I've spent four years fighting it, trying to protect you from the worst parts of me.
But I'm done fighting now.
You're it for me, Reese. The only fucking thing that matters.
I'm going to marry you. I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name, just mine.
And if you want, I'm going to put babies in you.
Give those little hellions Riot, Ransom, and Rebel some cousins to corrupt.
But even if it's just us, you're enough. You've always been enough.
This isn't a choice anymore. It never was. It's just what happens when a Blackwood loves someone.
Your Phantom
I look up, my eyes wet, my throat tight. "Jesus Christ, Ramsey."
I trace my fingers over the part about babies, feeling something twist deep in my belly. "You want kids? With me?" I never really thought about kids. I mean I did in the sense I love my nephews and baby niece, but it felt like kids weren’t part of my plan.
He takes the notebook, tosses it aside, and pulls me onto his lap so I'm straddling him. His hands grip my ass hard enough to bruise. "I want everything with you. Always have."
"Even when you were watching me from the shadows like a fucking creep?" I tease, but my voice breaks.
"Especially then." His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping against my pulse.
"I've watched you so many times," he says, his voice dropping to a rougher pitch as his hands slide up my back.
"You little fucking creep," I say, but my body betrays me, a rush of heat flooding between my legs because just like the first time he told me, I’m so turned on by it.
His mouth curls into a predatory smile. "Creep? Yes. Fucking? As much as you want." His hand squeezes my ass hard. "But little? Nah, baby. Nothing little about me." He rolls his hips up against me to prove his point.
"Oh hell," I breathe, grinding down against the hard ridge in his jeans.
His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. "Watched you dance when you thought no one was looking. Watched you touch yourself with my name on your lips. "
My face burns. "I did not."
"December 12th. You were wearing those little pink shorts. Came three times." His teeth graze my collarbone. "I have the footage if you want proof. Jacked off so many times I'm surprised my dick didn't fall off."
"And now?" I run my hands up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.
"Now I get to touch what I used to only watch." He flips us suddenly, pinning me beneath him on the bed. "And I'm never fucking stopping."
I stare up at him, at the raw hunger in his eyes, and realize I should be terrified. Instead, I'm soaking wet. "I want babies with you," I blurt out.
He freezes above me, his eyes widening slightly.
"Not now," I clarify quickly. "In a few years.
I want...I want time with just us first. I want to do every filthy, depraved thing you've been thinking about doing to me since sophomore year.
I want you to ruin me completely before we bring kids into this.
But someday, I want little Blackwoods running around. Yours and mine."
Something dark and possessive flashes across his face. "How many years?"
"Three? Maybe four? Enough time for you to fuck me in every possible way."
His hand wraps around my throat, thumb pressing lightly against my pulse. "Your wish is my fucking command, star." He leans down, lips brushing mine. "You could tell me to get on my fucking hands and knees and bark like a dog for you, and I would."
The thing is, he would do this if I asked. If I commanded. He’d carve out someone’s heart I’m sure. He would do anything I ask him to, but all I want is for him to love me.
"I’ll keep that in mind. But for now just love me, protect me, and fuck me until I speak in tongues."
Next thing I know I’m face down in the duvet, and he does just as I ask.
That’s the thing about being with a Blackwood; they fight and they fuck but they love harder.
Obsessive, all consuming love that will drown you.
It’s addictive, and I’m a junkie for it now.