Epilogue #2
The cool air of the suite kissed my skin, but his gaze burned hotter, tracing the curve of my breasts, the dip of my waist, like he was seeing me for the first time all over again.
He unhooked my bra with gentle fingers, letting it fall away, then knelt to slide my jeans and panties down my legs in one smooth motion.
I stepped out of them, naked now except for his cowboy hat perched on my head, the brim casting a shadow over my eyes.
Wyatt stood back for a moment, just looking, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “God, Soph,” he whispered, voice thick with awe. “You’re gonna be the death of me. My fiancée. Mine.”
The word—fiancée—sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I reached for him, tugging at his shirt buttons until I could push the fabric off his shoulders. He kicked off his boots, shucked his jeans and boxers, and then he was bare, too—strong, beautiful, already hard as a rock for me.
He pulled me close, skin to skin, and kissed me softly at first, lips brushing mine like a promise. His hands roamed my back, my hips, cupping my breasts with a tenderness that made my knees weak. “I love you,” he murmured against my mouth. “Can’t believe I get to keep you, forever.”
“I love you, too,” I breathed, fingers threading through his hair. “Always have.”
He turned me, guiding me to the bed until I was on my hands and knees, the hat still on my head, tilting slightly as I looked back at him over my shoulder.
Wyatt’s eyes were dark with desire, but his touch was reverent—palms sliding up my thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin there.
He positioned himself behind me, one hand steadying my hip, the other reaching around to trace slow circles over my clit.
“You ready for me, babe?” he asked, voice low and loving.
“Yes,” I whispered, arching back toward him. “Take me, cowboy.”
He pressed forward, the thick head of him nudging at my entrance, slick and ready from the way he’d already made me ache just by looking at me.
He entered me slowly, inch by inch, stretching me in that perfect, familiar way.
I moaned softly, pushing back to take more of him, loving the fullness, the way he fit like he was made for me.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, bottoming out inside me. His hands gripped my hips as he started to move. Slow thrusts at first, deep and deliberate, each one pulling a soft gasp from my lips. The angle hit just right, brushing that spot inside me that made sparks dance behind my eyes.
I rocked back to meet him, the rhythm building between us like a quiet storm.
His breaths came ragged against my back as he leaned over me, one arm wrapping around my waist to hold me close, his mouth pressing kisses along my back.
“You’re everything, Soph,” he whispered, voice breaking with emotion. “My home. My heart.”
Tears pricked my eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming tenderness of it all. We’d waited so long, lost each other twice, and now here we were, bound in every way that mattered.
His pace quickened, thrusts growing deeper, more insistent, but still laced with that gentle possession that made my heart swell.
“I’m close,” he rasped, his hand sliding down to rub my clit again, fingers slick and sure. But he didn’t push me over—he was holding back, focusing on the build inside him.
“Come inside me,” I murmured, glancing back at him. “I want to feel you.”
That undid him. With a low, guttural moan, he thrust once more—hard and deep—and I felt him unleash.
His cock pulsed inside me, hot spurts filling me as he came, hips stuttering against mine.
He groaned my name like a vow, his body trembling as he emptied himself, marking me in the most intimate way.
He stayed buried for a moment, catching his breath, his forehead resting against my shoulder.
When he finally pulled out slowly, I felt it—the warm trickle of his release leaking down my thighs, mixing with my own wetness.
It was messy, glorious, a slick reminder of how completely we’d given ourselves to each other.
I shivered at the sensation, the wet heat dripping from me, pooling slightly on the sheets beneath us.
God, it felt so right—so raw and real, like proof of our love painted on my skin.
Wyatt flipped me gently onto my back, his eyes soft and satisfied as he looked down at me, the hat still in place.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice full of wonder.
“So beautiful, all messy from me.” He kissed my lips, then trailed down—my neck, my breasts, sucking gently on each nipple until I arched beneath him.
Lower still, over my stomach, until he settled between my thighs.
His fingers parted me, and he groaned at the sight. “Fuck, Soph. Seeing my come leaking out of you … it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He leaned in, tongue flicking out to taste us both, lapping at the slick mess with slow, devastating strokes.
I gasped, hips lifting toward his mouth. “Oh …”
He hummed against me, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through my core.
His tongue circled my clit, then dipped lower to trace where his release still dripped from me, licking me with deliberate care.
It was intimate, almost worshipful—the way he savored the combined taste of us, his hands holding my thighs open like he couldn’t get enough.
Even as his mouth worked me, I could still feel the warm, liquid evidence of his climax deep inside.
When he’d come, buried to the hilt, I’d felt every thick pulse of him—hot jets flooding me, filling me so completely that my body had clenched around him instinctively, greedy and desperate to keep every drop.
Now, some of it still lingered deeper than the rest, a slow, luxurious heat settling low in my belly like my body was pulling it in, claiming it, drinking him down with quiet, rhythmic pulses I could feel against my inner walls.
It was decadent, filthy in the sweetest way—his come slick and abundant, coating me from the inside out, making every tiny movement remind me that he’d marked me there, deep.
The sensation was so good it made my breath hitch: warm, full, claimed. Like my body knew exactly what it wanted and was taking it without apology.
The glorious wet mess between my thighs only amplified everything—his release mixed with my own arousal, slippery, easing the glide of his tongue, making every lick feel smoother, hotter, more obscene in its tenderness.
I could hear it—the soft, slick sounds of him tasting—and it sent fresh shivers racing up my spine. My hips rocked up toward his mouth without permission, chasing more of that slow-building fire, more of the way he made me feel utterly, irrevocably his.
“You taste like us,” he whispered, eyes meeting mine from between my legs. “Like forever.”
He focused then, tongue working my clit with soft, insistent pressure—circling, flicking, sucking gently until I was writhing, fingers clutching the sheets.
“Don’t stop,” I begged, my voice breathy and broken.
He didn’t. He added his fingers, sliding them inside me, curling them just right while his tongue danced over my clit. The tenderness in his touch—the way he watched me, eyes full of love—pushed me over the edge.
I came with a soft cry, waves of pleasure rolling through me, my body clenching around his fingers as ecstasy bloomed hot and sweet. He licked me through it, drawing out every tremor until I was spent, whispering his name like a thank you.
He crawled back up, gathering me in his arms, our bodies sticky and sated. I nuzzled into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart, the warm evidence of our love still lingering between my thighs.
It was magnificent.
Later, wrapped in each other beneath the sheets, I realized something simple and enormous all at once.
We weren’t chasing the life we wanted anymore.
We were standing in it.
I thought of Beth and Natasha—of a girls’ trip meant to be nothing more than a break, a distraction, a week of laughter and late nights that somehow cracked everything open instead.
They were back in Austin now, back to their lives, but already planning their return.
Promising visits. Promising to come see what had grown from something so accidental and brave.
They’d been witnesses, and that mattered more than I could explain.
The framed photo by the window held three smiling kids frozen in time. On the dresser, the diamond ring glinted beside a black cowboy hat. Down in the stables, Dusty shifted beside Flapjack like they’d been neighbors all along—like this place had been waiting for them, too.
And in the quiet between breaths, Wyatt’s hand found mine without looking.
Home wasn’t a place we’d stumbled into.
It was the life we’d chosen.
It was the people who brought us here.
It was the man beside me.
It was us.