Epilogue 2 — Marcus
ONE YEAR LATER
“Mmm…”
A groan rips out of me as pleasure sparks down my spine. For a second, I feel like I’m dreaming.
It’s like that time when I had my cock against Preston’s red ass after I whipped him senseless. The fat, round tip pushing inside—
“Come on, open your eyes, baby.”
I blink as he groans around my length, the vibration of his voice coupled with the wet warmth of his mouth making me grunt.
“There you are.” His head peeks from between my legs.
The grogginess of sleep slowly vanishes as I make out the scene in front of me. I’m in our bed as Preston lies on his stomach, gorgeously naked, the snake wrapped tightly around his right side, his hands squeezing my rock-hard cock.
Sunlight slips through the curtains of our penthouse in New York, making his messy locks shine in a golden hue, his eyes so green, they appear molten.
“You need to watch this.” He licks his lips, then wraps them around my dick.
“Jesus fuck…” I groan, my hips lifting a little as he feeds his mouth more of me.
God. It feels good.
The way he moves his tongue, so unsure and yet so enthusiastic, swirling it around the crown, licking the underside, is hypnotizing.
Then he sucks. Hard.
My eyes roll to the back of my head. Christ. That feels so fucking good.
The sounds alone nearly push me over the edge, but then I remember something important.
Fuck.
I sit up, my abs contracting in protest as I fist his hair and pull him away.
I’m breathing harshly, the sound echoing in the air. “You…you don’t need to do this, Pres.”
Hands still around my length, he drops a wet, noisy kiss on the crown and grins. “I want to. Let me suck your cock, baby. I’ve been dying to.”
“But—”
His expression falls. “Unless you don’t want me to?”
“Of course I want you to. I’m barely talking right now.” I stroke his hair. “I don’t want to trigger you.”
“Even if it means never getting your dick sucked again?”
“Yes, even if it means that. You’re more important to me than sex. Besides.” I smile. “It’s not like I can’t bend you over right now and make you scream.”
He chuckles. “You love bending me over.”
“And you love screaming.”
“No denial here.” He sucks my crown in his mouth, then releases it with a pop. “I’m okay, really. You’ll never force me or choke me with your cock. I trust you.”
“Fuck, baby, you sure?”
He nods eagerly. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, and today is perfect, so let me, okay?”
“Okay. You feel weird, you stop. Deal?”
“Deal.” He pushes me away. “Now lie back and enjoy me.”
“I always enjoy you—Mmm.” I groan when he spits on my dick, just like I always do to him, and then shoves me back in his mouth.
“Oh, baby. You’re making it so wet and sloppy for me?”
He chokes out a noise, squeezing me and moaning softly against my sensitive skin.
And fuck me.
The sounds of his suction and moans, the view of his head bobbing up and down on my cock, send me over the edge.
He’s so fucking hot, it’s impossible to last.
“Like that…yes…I love your hot, wet mouth, baby.”
He slides my cock in and out of his mouth, taking me deeper and deeper, until I’m basically fucking his throat.
“Not so deep, Pres…oh fuck.”
He moans, his suction harder until I’m coming undone at the seams.
“I’m coming…get me out of your mouth—”
He takes me all the way back and squeezes my balls, making me burst down his throat. Spurts and spurts of cum fill his mouth, and I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows it all.
But there’s just so much cum, some of it trickles on either side of his mouth as he pulls me out.
Then he climbs up my body, until his face is inches away from mine, his hair framing his features like my fucking fairy prince. My hand goes instinctively around his hip as he squeezes my cheeks, then he spits my cum in my mouth, and kisses me senseless.
It’s so filthy and fucking hot.
My hand fists in his hair as I kiss him hungrily at first, then tenderly until he’s sighing softly.
He pulls away too soon, lying on his arms on my chest with that glint in his eye. “Happy birthday, baby.”
“Fuck.” I stroke his hip and his hair. “You did that because it’s my birthday?”
“I mean, I’ve wanted to do it for a while, but I thought it’d be a nice way to wake up on your birthday.”
“It’s more than nice.” I lift my head and stroke my nose against his. “But don’t feel the pressure to give me a blowjob.”
“No pressure. I truly enjoyed it.” He rubs his erection on my lower stomach. “Expect to wake up with my mouth wrapped around your cock many times in the future.”
I chuckle. “Give me a second, and I’ll take care of that for you.”
“Mmm. This is enough for me.” He buries his head in my neck and wraps his arms around me.
It’s tight, but not as tight as a year ago. It’s more grounded, more like how Preston has come so far.
It’s not that he’s “fixed” now, but he’s much better at managing episodes instead of drowning in them.
Instead of becoming self-destructive, he’ll call and whisper, “I need a hug.”
To which I abandon everything to be by his side.
And when I hug him, he breathes with me instead of battling through the panic.
He’s no longer hallucinating Dr. Duret or Lenin and, instead, has this Dr. Fenwick, whom he tolerates but still bitches about on the regular.
Dr. Fenwick this and Dr. Fenwick that.
And because he’s stabilizing more, he’s on less destructive meds and no longer goes through the numbing drugs that Julian Callahan used to make for him.
A year ago today, I held him in my arms as he nearly bled out, but now, he’s snuggled in my embrace, breathing steadily, and so very alive.
It’s been only a year, but he’s come so far, I fully trust he’ll never be in that self-destructive mode again.
Not under my watch.
“You should go to practice,” he mumbles in my neck. “Hayes will drive you.”
“I don’t need a driver. Poor Hayes is bored out of his mind with the driving duties.”
“He’ll cope. Besides, you need some protection from those crazy fans, and Hayes is a trained professional. I swear if one of those fangirls tries to throw herself at you, I’ll be out with knives.”
I chuckle. “They already know I’m taken. I’ve said that a hundred times in interviews.”
“Doesn’t stop them, apparently.” He lifts his head. “The NHL sucks. Why do you have to be such a star?”
“You and Dad made it happen, remember?”
Last year, right after that game with the Vipers, I was drafted in what everyone called the top draft class. When the season ended, we moved to New York.
Preston is focusing on therapy and some family duties while being my personal trainer and personal chaos coordinator, as he calls himself.
He’s the boyfriend the team both fears and adores. We’re keeping our relationship mostly on the down-low, partly because of Vencor. For now, it has to remain a secret while the winds shift from the inside.
Kane and his uncle, Jude and his brother, and Preston and his uncle and father are all working on bringing down the ancient regime, so to speak.
It’s only a matter of time before they all go down.
Preston is confident they’re close. “Nothing can beat me and my bros! If only Julian and Serena would join, we’d be invincible.”
But until then, we’re not public. Only those close to us know, and truly, neither of us feels the need to publicize it.
I also don’t want him to be targeted by the superfans.
Not that I should be scared—he’s the menace, not them.
At any rate, this drafting deal had Preston and Dad written all over it.
Dad changed his mind and wants me to stay away from the Osborn drama. I have shares and dividends, but he said it’s not worth it to go against Serena.
And Serena is his favorite anyway. The whole show he put on about me being his heir was nothing more than trying to test her, make her stronger, or whatever they do in the Osborn witch coven.
Besides, they’ve been busy with a different offspring. The one I thought was blown up. Patient X is no longer Patient X. He’s alive and has a name. Cyrus.
Apparently, Serena has known for years. Maybe he was her bargaining chip against Dad. Maybe not. I’m not sure, and I don’t care.
I pulled myself from all that drama when I came to New York. My life is in this bed, with this man, not in the ruins of the Osborn name.
I used to think I wanted to destroy my dad, but I found something better while trying to do so.
But Preston is still pretty much part of the Vencor world, because, as he said, he loves the thrill, and a side of him still wants to make his dad proud. He also would never leave his “bros” Jude and Kane behind.
They’re grown adults. He can leave them behind just fine.
Yes, I’m still salty they were in his life when I wasn’t. I’m also grateful, because I know he would’ve self-destructed a long time ago if they hadn’t been there for him.
Still, the fact that we live in New York gives us a sort of distance from everything else. Though we do go to Graystone Ridge all the time to visit his dad and Miley, and we drop by my mother’s.
Preston is always saying things like, “Let’s get this for June.” “June would love this!” “Doesn’t this have June’s name written all over it?”
Needless to say, they love each other too much for my liking, since that means less time for me. But I’m glad he finds a mother figure in her. Mom, on the other hand, is over the moon about having someone to talk shit with all the time.
“You’re just that annoyingly perfect on the ice,” Preston says, staring down at me. “You would’ve gotten that deal anyway. I just made it happen. But I want to make one thing clear. You would’ve never reached my level if I’d chosen hockey.”
“I’m well aware.”
“You better be. I might return to hockey to shoo them away.” He hides his face in my neck again, inhaling me. “I hate sharing you with the fangirls. Will be starting an online fight later, just to call them desperate.”
I laugh. “You still do that?”
“Of course. That’s, like, my favorite hobby. Even forced Jude to make an account and like my comments. Kane pays someone for it, and so do I, by the way. I have an army of online trolls.”
“You’re so extra.”
“And dramatic and dick-whipped, as Jude and Kane called me respectively.”
“Kane called you dick-whipped?”
“Uh-huh, all because I said he was pussy-whipped, which he is! He proposed to Deborah, and now, she’s always flashing me the ginormous ring that she needs a workout to lift, telling me, ‘You were saying no ring for me, Preston. What does this look like, then?’ Idiot is all I’m saying.
Desiree even said she’d be so happy to be part of this family. My family. Can you believe it?”
“Are you really never going to call her Dahlia?”
“Nope. And neither should you, by the way.”
“You’re so petty.”
“I know, don’t you love it?”
“I do.” I drop a kiss on the top of his head. “I love everything about you.”
“Mmm, even my dramatic side?”
“Especially your dramatic side.”
“Good, because I’m in the mood to start fights with your fangirls—”
There’s a knock on the door, and I pull the sheets over us, covering our bodies as I mumble, “Come in.”
“Marcus!” Miley busts through the door. “Are you awake?”
“Go away.” Preston’s voice is muffled against my neck. “This one is the worst fangirl.”
I laugh as she pushes her golden curls behind her ear. “You promised we’d eat together, Pressie.”
“Ugh, fine,” he grumbles. “Whose idea was it to bring this menace over for the weekend?”
“Yours,” I whisper. “Because you missed her, remember?”
“The consequences of my own actions. My worst nightmare.”
I chuckle because, truly, he’s the most adorable little gremlin.
He loves fiercely, and when he does, as with Miley and his dad, he gives them everything he has and everything he doesn’t. He’s been meeting with his dad regularly over the past year. Last weekend, he invited him to come watch my game and stay the night.
Let’s say there were a lot of raised brows from Lawrence as he watched Preston fawn over me.
Jude has the same reaction when he sees Preston’s clingy nature around me. Because when he loves, he’ll never let go.
And with me, it’s more precious.
He can only sleep when I’m beside him. That’s why I take him with me, even to away games.
Once, he wanted to stay behind, and he didn’t sleep.
After that, I promised to never spend a night apart from him.
“I’ll be waiting in the kitchen,” Miley says. “Hurry up!”
“Fine, Miles of Trouble.”
She turns to leave, then stops. “Hey, Pressie?”
“What now?”
“Since I’m older, can I marry Marcus?”
He lifts his head as I laugh silently, barely containing it as my chest quakes. Preston’s expression is even funnier because he looks downright offended.
“Like hell you will. Told you he’s my boyfriend.”
“But he’s not your husband.”
“He will be one day. He can only be your brother, and that’s generous of me.”
“Okay!” She grins. “Can we have a wedding today? I’ll wear my sparkly shoes!”
“Those are ugly shoes!”
“No, they’re not!”
I’m smiling through the entire conversation.
One year ago, this man couldn’t sleep without checking the doors or being scared of falling asleep.
Now he wakes me up with his mouth and argues with an eight-year-old about weddings and ugly sparkly shoes that offend Miley greatly.
I’ll take this life. Every version of it.
After she leaves, he huffs and hits my chest. “What are you laughing at? You should reject that little shit properly.”
“Are you jealous of your eight-year-old sister?”
“I don’t share.” He chokes me with one hand. “You know that.”
“Then maybe you should give me a wedding after all.”
His grip loosens, his lips part.
“Unless you didn’t mean what you said just now? It sounded like a proposal.”
“It is. It was,” he blurts, trying to sit up. “Let me get on one knee and ask properly—”
“Come here.” I pull him and kiss him speechless. “I will marry you in every lifetime, baby.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’ve wanted to marry you since I met you in that garden when we were kids.”
His lips quiver as a shine appears in his eyes. “How can you love me so much, Marcus?”
“You’re just so lovable, baby.” I brush my lips against his.
“I want to wake up every day and see your face beside me and be grateful you’re right here, that you’re choosing me over your demons and whatever tries to drag you under.
And I want to spend the rest of my life shielding you from any that dares to come for you. Even the ones inside your head.”
Preston’s lips lift, soft and so beautiful, it aches. He leans in and kisses me—slow, tender, almost reverent.
“Thank you,” he murmurs against my mouth, “for looking past the mess and not running. For letting me love you the way I know how. You have me. All of me. And I’ll protect you with my life…husband.”
Something in my chest cracks open, and I kiss him again, deeper this time, because there’s never going to be enough of him, not in this lifetime or any other.
Once upon a time, I saw a fairy prince and wanted to make him mine.
Little did I know that he’d claim me just as completely.
THE END