Epilogue
Six Months Later
My bare feet sink into the soft earth as I run, the woods swallowing me whole, branches blurring past on either side. My breathing is loud in my own ears, and somewhere behind me, moving quieter than something that size has any right to, is the reason.
He'll catch me.
That's the point. That's always been the point. But I'm not going to make it easy on him. Where would the fun in that be?
I yank his t-shirt over my head, the one I stole off the bedroom floor this morning, still warm, still him, and hook it over a low branch behind our house as I pass. A breadcrumb. A dare.
Come find me.
Ours.
Just thinking that specific word sends a massive wave of giddiness straight through me.
I honestly didn’t think he’d accept my proposition to move in with me and be my lover for life.
I really should have known better, though.
That man has proven to me repeatedly how much he loves me.
I couldn't mistake his intentions after he threw me over his thick shoulder and ravaged me long into the night.
The nightmares came back after Damon. That stupid man was still trying to fuck with my life even from the grave.
A few weeks of waking up swinging, of Tomcat's hands finding me in the dark, steady and unhurried, bringing me back to the present.
Snow turned out to be a better listener than I expected, which I'm choosing not to examine too hard because it might make me emotional, and I have a reputation to maintain.
A thick twig cracks to my right. I bolt left, wild laughter bursting from my lips. I hop on one foot as I swiftly lift one leg out of my underwear and then the other, tossing the lace onto the ground for him to track down.
Cool air glides over my bare skin, raising goosebumps in its wake and tightening my nipples as the wind teases every inch of me.
“I’m going to fuck your pretty little pussy so raw,” Tomcat says, his rough tone sounding a hell of a lot closer this time.
“Maybe,” I call back over my shoulder, teasing him. “You’re being kind of slow today, though, lover. I might just have to get Jack to do the job instead.”
Thick, heavy arms wrap around my waist in a split second, tossing me gently down into the moss and leaves. “What the fuck was that?”
I peer up at the bare-chested, masked man standing tall above me with his jeans already unbuttoned and unzipped.
Do I whimper?
Absolutely. Unrepentantly. Anyone faced with that would whimper and I will not be taking questions.
Spreading my legs wide in the dirt, I slowly run my own fingers down my body, letting out a soft moan when they brush directly over my sensitive clit. “Please, no. Whatever you do, mister masked man... do not fuck me until I can’t walk.”
The low chuckle he lets out is so wicked that it dances along my skin, setting my already hyper-sensitive nerves on a much higher edge.
He slides his heavy hand inside his open jeans, wrapping his fingers around his thick length and pulling it completely out into the open.
His palm works his cock slowly, teasing me visually with exactly what I’m hungry for.
“Turn the fuck over,” he orders darkly, dropping heavily to his knees between my thighs.
“No.”
He’s lightning-quick when he reaches out, grasping my waist with an iron grip and flipping me completely around on the ground.
He ruthlessly pulls my hips back until my ass is hoisted high in the air.
One of his hands goes directly to the back of my neck, holding me firmly in place against the earth, while his other hand digs deep into the sensitive skin at my hips as he notches the head of his cock right at my slick entrance.
“Who do you belong to first?” he growls, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrates straight into my core.
“Myself.”
“Good girl,” he purrs, the praise sending a heavy spike of heat straight between my thighs. “Who do you belong to second?”
Why do these two questions turn me into a flustered, horny mess every single time he asks them?
“You,” I breathe against the fallen leaves, my fingers clawing into the dirt.
“Who do I belong to?”
“Me.”
“Good girl.”
Tomcat slams completely inside of me, my undone scream echoing wildly through the quiet woods as he immediately sets that brutal, uncompromising pace I love so damn much.
Oh, yeah. Throw a skull mask on this man, and I am an absolute puddle at his feet. Every single time. Guaranteed.
Tomcat gently brushes his fingers through my tangled hair as I lay spent and heavy on his bare chest. The peaceful quiet of the deep night has completely settled around us, neither of us ready to leave our little cocoon out here in our woods just yet.
I’ve never told him, not since that night in the shipping warehouse, but for a few heart-stopping seconds before he burst through that door, I thought I’d lost him forever.
I was certain Damon would finally win and pull me under for good.
I should have known better than to doubt my biker. He’s never failed me, not once.
“Hey, Goldie,” he says softly, his chest rumbling beneath my cheek.
I hum softly, signaling that I’m all ears for whatever he wants to share.
“We’ve never really talked about it much, but... what are your thoughts on kids?”
“I don’t want them.”
“Ever?”
This time, I push myself upright, needing to meet his gaze for a conversation like this. “No. I really don’t.”
“Can I ask why?”
I shrug my shoulders casually. “I never felt that specific calling, you know? For others, being a mom is a beautiful thing, but for me, the idea has always just sort of made me cringe. I love kids. They’re the fucking best. But they’re just not for me.
Is that a total deal-breaker for you? Do you want them? ”
“No. Not really. Never had that need either.
I fucking love being an uncle to Legend and Lovelyn, but the thought of being a dad—" something moves across his expression, wry and honest. "Honestly it kind of makes me panic.
And I'm too goddamn selfish to share you.
I want you to myself. Just you and me, for the rest of my life. "
“So I’m not the only greedy one here,” I tease, a gentle smile pulling at my lips.
I bend over him, tracing my tongue slowly over the scarred letters of my name etched into his chest. “You belong to me. That’s more than enough.”
His thick fingers curl possessively around the front of my throat, resting right over the property tattoo we had inked five months ago.
The man didn’t waste a single second in claiming me in front of the entire club, literally dragging me straight to D-Bag’s chair right after Patched cleared me to get my ink done.
“We belong to each other,” he clarifies, his grip tightening just enough to make me shiver.
“Long after I take my very last breath,” I admit breathlessly.
“Baby, I always knew I’d go to my grave fucking loving you.”
He rises effortlessly, pulling me up with him, scooping our scattered clothes from the earth, and guiding me out of the shadowed woods toward home, certain I’ll always follow wherever he leads.
Six months ago, I was running for my life through another kind of darkness. Fleeing a man who believed owning me and loving me meant the same thing, who spent years trying to reshape me into something smaller, quieter, easier to control.
Now I run through our woods, laughing, leaving a trail of his clothes for my love to follow, being chased by someone I actually want to be caught by.
Same girl. Completely different life.
Sometimes I think about the difference between surviving and living. I spent so long tensed for the next blow that I forgot how it felt to let my body simply exist in safety. Tomcat never asked me to shrink, or to silence myself, or to become easier to love.
He just asked me whose I was, and I told him the truth both times.
Mine first.
His second.
The rest, we figure out together.
Loving Tomcat still scares me. I want to be honest about that. It hasn’t gotten easier with time as I hoped. If anything, it’s grown wilder, filling up every corner of me, impossible to contain or explain.
But not loving him is more terrifying.
Not having him is the one thing I actually can't survive.
I was made for this kind of love. I know it now as surely as I know my own heartbeat.
My body understood long before my mind did.
Every day, I crave him more. His patience.
The particular way he laughs when I catch him off guard.
The hands that learned how to hold me without caging me.
The man who continuously asks me who I belong to and means it as freedom, not ownership.
Whatever waits beyond this life, whatever lies past my final breath, I know I’ll find him there too.
Where he goes, I go.
That's not just surrender.
That’s the most free I’ve ever felt.