Epilogue #2
She shattered with a sob, her back bowing off the bed as pleasure ripped through her, his name a prayer and a curse on her lips. He followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt with a broken groan, his body shaking as he spilled into her.
Collapsing over her, he pressed his face into the curve of her neck, his breath ragged and hot against her skin. Neither spoke. There were no words for this—for the way his heartbeat thundered against her chest, for the way her fingers still trembled where they traced his spine.
The bedsheets were tangled somewhere near the foot of the bed, their bodies half-covered, wholly spent.
The air smelled of heat and skin and something softer, more sacred.
Kitty lay sprawled across Norman’s chest, her cheek pressed against his heart.
It beat a steady rhythm beneath her—strong, alive, hers.
Her legs were still curled around one of his, their bodies knotted together like they never intended to part.
And maybe they wouldn’t.
She had never known this kind of closeness—not like this. Not without the ache of anticipation or the fear of what would come after. With Norman, there was no after. There was only now. This.
The room was warm, almost too warm, but she didn’t move.
Didn’t want to. His hands were still on her—one resting lazily at the base of her spine, the other drawing soft, mindless patterns up and down her arm.
Each stroke was electric, grounding. Her skin was flushed, tender.
Her lips tingled from the memory of his mouth on hers, and her thighs ached in the most delicious way.
She blinked slowly, coming back into herself. Her body still buzzed with aftershocks, small waves of pleasure and something deeper, richer. Intimacy. A soul-deep kind of knowing.
She lifted her head, just enough to look at him.
His eyes were closed, his lashes fanned over high cheekbones, the corner of his mouth turned up in a satisfied, almost boyish smile. His skin was damp, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of contentment.
“Are you alive?” she asked, voice husky from pleasure and laughter.
His smile deepened. “Barely.”
Kitty laughed, a low, breathy sound that stirred the air between them. She pushed herself up, bracing a hand on his chest. He opened his eyes then, and the way he looked at her—half dazed, completely in love—made her breath catch in her throat.
“You,” he said, his voice hoarse, reverent. “Are going to ruin me.”
“I think we’re past that, darling,” she replied, bending to press a kiss to his jaw. “You’re already ruined.”
He rolled them over so suddenly she squealed, landing on her back with him hovering above her. His hands framed her face, his body still hot, still heavy, and entirely hers.
“Say it again,” he murmured.
“What, that you’re mine?”
He nodded.
She dragged her nails gently down his spine, watching the shiver that traveled through him.
“You’re mine, Norman. All of you.”
His mouth met hers in a kiss that was anything but slow. This one was hungry, claiming, desperate. There was no hesitation, no pause for air, no soft buildup. They were already there—almost bare, tangled with each other.
They stayed like that for a long time, hearts racing.
Eventually, Norman rolled to the side, pulling her with him so they were face to face, wrapped up like lovers in an old painting—something stolen from time.
Kitty’s heart was still pounding, but slower now. Steady. She traced the line of his collarbone with her fingers, thoughtful.
“So,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now. “About that trip.”
Norman looked down at her, brow lifting.
“Mm?”
“I might... consider it.”
He smiled, slow and soft. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “Not Europe. Not yet. But maybe... something nearby. Somewhere new. With you.”
“We could find a cabin. A quiet beach. Or the mountains.”
She curled closer, their legs still tangled. “You don’t think I’m being ridiculous? For not wanting to go too far?”
He shook his head. “Not even a little. You’ve lived a thousand lives in half the time. If you want to stay still, we stay still. If you want to roam, I’ll follow.”
She kissed him, soft and sweet.
From the hallway beyond the bedroom, a voice rang out—loud, dramatic, unmistakably Lady Mulberry, “Norman has been most negligent in his duties to his sister! I haven’t seen him all morning!”
Kitty froze, her eyes wide.
Norman groaned and buried his face in her neck. “God, she’s still here?”
Kitty tried to suppress her laughter, but it bubbled out anyway, uncontrollable.
“We’re going to have to face her eventually,” she whispered between giggles.
“Eventually isn’t now,” he mumbled. “Let her suffer.”
Kitty grinned and kissed his hair. “She’ll have a full-blown opera scene if you don’t check in.”
He sighed, then nuzzled into her. “Let her sing.”
They lay like that, giggling quietly, hearts full.
Every breath they took seemed to bring them closer, like the universe had finally narrowed to just the two of them.
And in that sun-drenched room, with tangled limbs and the sound of distant drama echoing through the walls, Kitty realized something:
She was home.
And she wasn’t going anywhere.
The End?