Epilogue
EPILOGUE
ALEXANDER
R ain muttered against my window, London stretching out in its dreary-dayed greyness beyond the amassing droplets.
‘Elmo,’ I groaned, pushing the cat’s ass off my chest, far too close to my face for comfort. ‘It’s not time to get up.’
‘Aw, Elmo, come here cutie-pie,’ Francesca said, scooping his black furry body against hers.
Purring like a tractor, Elmo tucked himself against my girl, blinking at me like he’d become the king of the bed.
Chopsy little fucker.
Rolling over, I scratched him under the chin, knowing he would melt, letting me snuggle closer to the two of them.
‘Morning, sweetheart.’
‘Mmmm,’ Francesca murmured, tipping her face to mine to graze my mouth with her own. ‘Morning.’
Twisting a strand of her silken hair around my finger, I tugged gently, enjoying the way her pupils flared.
‘What’s the plan for today? She asked, pouting as Elmo hopped down from between us. I scooped her against me and ran my hand down under the covers, cupping her ass.
‘Lay in bed all day and ravish you.’
‘I do like a good ravishing.’ Francesca smiled, tipping her hips to grind herself against me. ‘Although I’m also very hungry.’
Right on cue, her stomach gave an almighty grumble.
‘I still can’t believe you’re here,’ I said, marvelling at each freckle across her pretty nose.
‘Two whole months of you.’
Warmth flushed through me and I kissed her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. Having her in my bed felt like a dream even after the month she’d been there. Between our sporadic, heat filled visits in France, it was glorious to take a slower pace with her in my home. Months stretching ahead, a growing vat of memories behind.
‘Let’s walk in the park, stop and grab breakfast at that cute little cafe you love.’ I said, dragging the duvet off of us to a mock protest on her part.
Her tiny pyjama shorts rode right up her delectable ass, and I leaned down, sinking my teeth into the tan flesh.
‘Alex!’ she squealed, wriggling against the bed. When I stood, I grinned at the red circle on her skin, marking her as mine.
‘Pretty girl, I needed to see a mark on you. Look how lovely it is…?’ Taking her by the hand, I stood her in front of the full-length mirror, her hips facing me, but her torso twisted so she could see. Trailing my fingers down her back, I watched her taking in the toothy circle.
‘I like it,’ she admitted.
‘Good girl, I love having my mark on you.’
‘Why?’ Her voice was breathy as she turned her face to look at me.
‘Because you're mine.’
A blush crept into her cheeks. ‘And are you mine?’
‘Devastatingly so.’
Without any warning, she sank her teeth into my neck, a flush of endorphins making my eyes close at the heady pain and pleasure mix. I gripped her ass as she bit down, sending sharp pain ricocheting through me.
‘Happy?’ I asked, when she broke away, admiring the circlet on my neck.
‘Ecstatic!’
I couldn’t help but laugh, trapping her against my chest and biting her neck, matching the mark she’d left on me. When she whimpered, I grew hard, still as eager as ever for her.
We walked hand in hand through the park, coats zipped high against the wet autumn chill. I held the umbrella above us in my other hand, marvelling at Francesca the entire time. Through paths and along bush lined walkways, under ancient trees and passing numerous dog walkers, similarly bolstered up against the weather.
I’d never walked in the rain on a Sunday morning pre-Frankie. I’d have rolled myself up like a bed-rot burrito and wasted the day. But with her, even the rain didn’t dampen my spirits. I’d follow her no matter what, and no matter where.
Thankfully, I knew exactly where she wanted that place to be.
She’d fallen for London the moment her feet touched the pavement. Yes, she’d come to learn from a renowned cake artist, but the city had snapped her up in all its mish-mash of style. It tugged at her, the way she tugged at me: with an all consuming obsession.
‘I hope they have fresh scones,’ Frankie said, half walking and half dragging me to the east end of the park, where the Pavilion Cafe sat. The paint peeled, and the seats wobbled, and it was rarely sat in by anyone other than us early on a Sunday. Most people picked up a coffee or tea to go while walking the dog. To be honest, it looked downright shabby. In need of some TLC.
‘Hopefully, a little burnt with heapings of cream.’ Frankie’s nose crinkled when she looked back at me like I’d grown two heads. I shrugged. I happened to like them a little crispy.
‘Heathen,’ she muttered, before bestowing me with a sunny smile, a raindrop dripping from her nose. I moved the umbrella further over her, trying to keep her excited self dry.
Rounding the corner, we saw the somewhat ramshackle pavilion come into view. As we got closer, Frankie noticed that it was shut, the door padlocked and a piece of white paper in the window.
‘Oh no. It’s closed,’ she complained. ‘So much for our scones.’
‘What does it say?’ I asked, walking forward and encouraging her along with me.
‘Under new management, closed for refurbishment. Aw, Alex! It’s my favourite little spot in London. Where will we go now?’
Putting the umbrella down, I wrapped an arm around her. ‘We can stay right here.’
‘Yeah, but where will we have coffee?’
I turned her to face me, rain gathering over her freckled cheeks. ‘Right here, honey.’
Confusion furrowed her brow, and she spoke slowly, like I’d suddenly lost my mind. ‘It’s not open.’
Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a key on a pretty pink ribbon.
‘What is this?’
‘Your key.’
‘To your house?’ Her eyes flicked to the pavilion, before coming back to me. A flicker of hope and disbelief in her eyes.
‘No, darling, to your very own cafe. If you want it.’ Nerves bubbles in my stomach, hoping I hadn’t read too much into her comments about what she’d do with the place if it were hers. I’d listened, hooked on every word, for the past few Sundays, revelling in her dreams.
For a heartbeat, Frankie stared at me, her mouth forming the words your very own cafe silently. Then she let out an almighty squeal, half bowling me over as she threw herself at me. Her mouth covered mine in a half-shriek, half-rain soaked kiss, excitement pouring from her.
‘You’re happy?’ I asked.
‘Beyond happy. I can’t believe you did this for me! Can we go in? Please?’
‘It’s all yours babygirl, we can do whatever you like.’ I put her feet back on the floor and went to unlock the door, keeping the key in my palm.
We tumbled into the sound of the rain pitter-pattering on the roof, like the sound of a thousand miniature cantering pony toys. Chairs sat upturned on rickety tables, but the kitchen area and serving station had been cleared.
Francesca twirled in the centre of the room, eyes wide as she took the space in with fresh eyes.
‘I can’t believe you did this. How did you do this?’
‘Old Marge wanted to retire. She had no interest in trying to compete with social media marketing, and no budget to do the place. I’ve rented it for a year, and she’ll give it to you for a great deal if you want to keep it. I know you were only staying in London for three months originally, but you can always hire some help when you need to go on your courses if you want to, and I’ll be your labourer to get it exactly the way you dreamed.’
‘I love it. I love you. I can’t believe you arranged this.’ Her waterline shone as she beamed up at me.
‘You’re not mad that I took over?’
‘You know I love it when you play boss.’ Damn . The twinkle in her eye made me weak.
Then her brow furrowed again, and she caught her lower lip with her teeth.
‘What is it?’
‘I can’t stay. I want to. Here with you and Elmo. I don’t want to go home.’ The sweetest quiver filler her voice.
Placing the key into her hand, I grinned. Her face lit up when she looked down at the ribbony pile in her palm.
‘Alexander,’ she breathed.
‘Babygirl.’
‘Is this real?’ She fingered the sparkling ring, her tears escaping in shining streams.
‘As real as the ground we stand on. As real as the way I’ve been totally, insanely obsessed with you since the moment I met you. As real as the fact I know, deep inside me, that I cannot live without you. Here, or in America.’
She gave a sniffle, her lips breaking into a smile.
‘And I want you to be my wife, Francesca. Forever. Me and you against the world.’
My stomach churned while I waited for an answer, desperately hoping she would say yes. Needing her to say yes.
‘I love the shit out of you, Alex.’
She pressed herself to me, her tongue in my mouth in a heated, passionate kiss. I lost myself in her, threading my fingers into her hair as she gasped. Forcing me back against the wall, her touches grew messier, needier. Pulling her soggy skirt up, and unzipping my trousers, she pulled me inside her.
We moaned in unison, my hips thrusting in quick, harsh jerks.
‘Francesca,’ I murmured against her lips.
‘Yes,’ she said, wrapping her boots around my ass and pulling me tighter.
‘Will you be my wife? I need to know who I’m fucking.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was a desperate whimper. ‘I want to marry you. Now fuck me already.’
I didn’t need to be told again. With a surge of pure joy rising in me, I turned us around, bending Frankie over one of the rickety tables. Sliding inside her, I filled her pretty cunt, stretching her wide with my dick. It never failed to excite me seeing her pussy stretched to bursting for me. And I’d have her as mine for the rest of our lives.
‘Mine.’ Thrust. ‘My wife.’ Thrust . ‘Mine forever.’