EPILOGUE
TWO WEEKS LATER
RENA
N o rain today, but Ty delivered the blueberry fields right to our backyard.
Yesterday, we were married—for the second time—at La Lune Noire.
Axel had shut down half of the resort so that all the employees I consider family could watch him walk me down the aisle.
The moment Axel glimpsed me in my dress, he clutched his chest and beamed with glistening sapphire eyes. “I know I probably messed a thousand things up. But you—I am so proud of you. Mom would be so proud of you—and not just today. Every day raising you was … an adventure”—he chuckled—“and a gift. You were always the strongest of us all.”
Maybe he had believed that all along, or perhaps it was seeing me apart from them that had done it—viewing me as an integral member of Ty’s family. Either way, it’s what I’d longed to hear from him for years.
I cried in his arms and thanked him for everything he’d done for me before I redid my makeup and let him escort me into a new life.
Wells, Ryker, and Gage personally frisked every guest who entered. Ivy, Celeste, and Tessa were my bridesmaids. Maddox, Cash, and Liam kept everything flowing and all the guests entertained with their typical antics. Jax was my wingman—a title he preferred to man of honor, so we rolled with it. He claimed it was fitting because he was the reason Ty and I made it this far, something about his insight surrounding demons. I wasn’t sure where he had gotten that idea, but I decided to let him have it.
And Natasha sweetly assumed the mother-of-the-bride-and-groom duties, stating again and again how grateful she was to be there for us since she hadn’t been able to be present for Ivy and Wells. It wasn’t the same as having my mom there, but her maternal affection was a comforting gift that Ty and I both needed.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Well, not among the Noires or the KORT crew. It was one of those joyous occasions that almost hurt because it was the culmination of so much hope and yet it couldn’t be held. After everything that had happened, we all recognized the transient nature of the celebratory occasion, which compelled us to embrace it all the more.
But fleeting or not, it was a more magical wedding than I could have ever imagined. My husband, of course, doted on me, showering me with adoration, but it was the unadulterated joy in his eyes that had butterflies swarming me the entire day.
We ended the night with only the people from my two families on the dance floor—everyone so happy and carefree. Ty, Wells, Liam, Gage, and all my brothers took turns spinning Ivy, Celeste, Felicity, and me around. And when the speakers crooned the final song, “Dancing in the Moonlight”—one of my mom’s favorites—it was like she was there with us. No matter how corrupt or formidable the nine men in my life are—or even the girls and me—the smiles, love, and laughter in that ballroom were a representation of the freedom my mother craved for us.
The depiction of all that couldn’t be burned. And all that is blooming from those ashes.
But today is even better.
My fingers thread with Ty’s as we lie on a blanket, staring up at the early evening violet sky. Streaks of tangerine ribbon around the cottony clouds—floating with an unfettered boasting beside the setting sun. A humid blanket drapes us, and scents of earthy musk and a fruity sweetness waft on the slight breeze. I haven’t managed to utter a word yet. My husband-twice-over is simply too much, and I prefer to be quippy over sappy. But that’s not happening.
Because we’re smack in the middle of a literal blueberry field, planted behind the French chateau that is now my New Orleans home.
I’m not ready to acknowledge the boulder of emotion swelling in my throat, so I finally muster the strength to deflect. “We need to discuss something really important.”
His lips hitch up at the corner as he lolls his head toward me, astutely not sweating the impending discourse. “Lay it on me.”
“What’s with the slicking?”
“The slicking?” he retorts, mouth twitching in mirth.
“Yeah.” I widen my eyes to showcase just how bizarre his ritual is. “The weird shower thing you do—where you shed all the clingy water droplets off your skin with your flattened palm.”
He bursts out laughing, the canorous bellow snaking around the berries to enwrap me in his warmth. “Why is that weird? It’s efficient. Otherwise, the towel would be instantly soaked. Wasted.”
“Such a philanthropist,” I quip. “Are we super concerned with towel preservation?”
“You probably aren’t,” he volleys, tapping my nose. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d have more clothes on the floor than in the closet.”
I bite back a smile, the normalcy of this conversation seeping into my veins to pump new energy into my soul. “Hey now, don’t knock the floordrobe.”
Another ring of his laughter cocoons me as he kisses my cheek. “The floordrobe?”
“Trust me when I say, it makes a hell of a lot more sense than the slicking,” I contend. “By picking up the clothes, you’re messing with an ingenious organization system.”
“I’m all ears,” he rasps. “Please school me on the innovative purpose of the floordrobe.”
“Sometimes, clothes aren’t dirty, but they aren’t quite clean enough for a full day of wear. It would be inefficient to dedicate time to hanging them up and utterly irresponsible to wash them. Think of all the unslicked water we’d be squandering.”
He raises his gaze back to the sky, cheeks lifted in a buoyant grin—an authentic one. “I can’t argue with that. You saved energy and water. Better than my measly towel.”
“I suspect that’s how all our arguments will go,” I gloat, but before I celebrate too much, I tack on, “Are you going to stop tampering with the floordrobe?”
“Definitely not.” He squeezes my hand, thumb sweeping tenderly over my skin. “Makes me fucking crazy.”
“Fine. I’ll give up my groundbreaking organization methods when you forgo the slicking,” I concede.
“Never gonna happen.” He chuckles. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with a stubborn, slicking neat freak.”
“A triple threat. Jackpot.” It’s with that silly admission that I finally squeak out my appreciation for the stunning field that is the backdrop to our domestic squabble. “How? When did you do this?”
“The day after we were married in Vegas.” He keeps his focus on the clouds, so I dock mine there too. “Once my family— our family—showed up, I hired some people to plant the bushes. Rex oversaw it for me. Early spring is the best time, and I wanted you to have a safe haven here—somewhere that reminded you of both your mom and that freedom you crave. ”
All that emotion I tried to thwart swarms me. I roll my head toward him, my misty eyes skating all over his face. “You already gave me the music room.”
That was the surprise I encountered when we came home after the trial. A room with an antique record player and all my vinyl albums, guitars, and banjos. It’s soundproofed, which means I can play whenever I want, and Ty and I can be as naughty as we desire. Bonus.
With the help of my brothers, Wells, Ivy, and Celeste had handled that while the rest of us were still in Vegas. What made it the most special present of my life was that Ty gave me records of Ella’s, Audrey’s, and his mom’s favorite songs. We spent hours listening to them, which was hard but healing. He even shared some stories about his family—ones that made him smile and grip on to memories of them from before the pain. Anecdotes that my tortured husband had never freed to anyone before.
It was all more than enough to solidify the sentiment that I was part of this family, that this house was my home, that Ty had fully let me in. So, I don’t know what to do with this.
“And?” he volleys. “I told you I plan to spoil you. Blueberries and music are just the beginning.”
It’s so much more than that.
I shake my head, my chin quivering, too choked up to maintain composure. “No one has ever … I mean, my brothers are amazing. Axel gave me everything, except … it was easier to forget. To remember quietly. You listened—from the very beginning, you heard me—and really were in this with that first I do . This is …”
He reaches over and collects the drippings of my sentimental jubilation. “I was in this from the words, ‘You didn’t imagine anything, Little Moon,’ even if I fooled myself into believing otherwise. And I was in love with you long before that.” His sweetness only escalates my dewy-eyed response, but then he tacks on, “Your bratty poking was bound to wear me down eventually.”
A laugh flies out of me because that is probably the truth. “I should have run away or sought advice from Ivy and Celeste long ago. Making you work for it was a winning strategy even though I am sorry about all the stress I caused you in the beginning.”
Dragging me on top of him—carefully avoiding his still-sore shoulder—he weaves his hand into my hair, peppering kisses along my jaw and nipping at my lips. “I’ll gladly work for you every day of my life, earning the right to call you my wife. You’re worth it all, Mrs. Reynolds—the wait, the stress, the trials, the scars. And so much more.”
When I return his playful nibbles, he seizes my mouth for an all-consuming tethering that is every bit worthy of this blueberry-field setting.
It’s zealous and fruitful, fiery and free.
An electrifying current surges through my veins as his hands roam over me and his tongue commands mine, claiming my marrow and makeup, my cells and soul.
Every growl and purr—the melody of our song.
Every touch—a hard-won treasure.
Lifting up, I graze my teeth across his lower lip. “You gonna choke me again tonight, sailor?”
“I’ll fuck you with a hand necklace anytime you want, Little Moon.” He smiles, bright and beaming and full of haughty charm. “But the choking nearly gave me a heart attack last time. How about I worship you instead? Pamper you, massage you, make you come on my tongue and fingers and cock all night until you forget how to speak.”
Nestling my face into the crook of his neck, I giggle. “Tongue-tied euphoria sounds like an ideal evening. But I did appreciate the breath-play experience, so thanks for that. How much research did you—”
“So much,” he confesses through a chuckle. “I will deliver every fantasy you want, baby girl. But I’m not going to lie. Anything where you could be hurt is tough for me.”
“I love that about you,” I assure him with a gentle kiss. “One choking climax is enough. I’ll take the spoiling, a rough balcony fucking, or even some inappropriate, taunting orgasms near family any day.”
“Perfect. There are plenty of balconies and family-taunting opportunities around here.” He pecks my nose, cognacs capering all over my face, gauging my response to his next words. “And someday soon, I’ll give you the babies you want—that I want too.”
“Yeah?” It’s merely a whisper because I still can’t believe this is real—the man, the marriage, the life. The first time I saw him cradle Felicity, I was a gooey mess. The thought of him holding one of ours is overwhelming.
“Yeah, Little Moon.”
My body melts into his in the midst of this pasture of deliverance. Ty hasn’t drowned me in darkness, like he predicted. He’s bathed me in beauty. All the hardships evaporate when we’re together. The demons rumba right out of the picture. And the noisy world quiets.
So much so that I don’t even hear the commotion of our family until they are right up on us.
“We come bearing gifts,” Ivy singsongs, tossing something to Ty as she climbs out of the stretched golf cart.
The rest of the crew all spread out blankets and lie down around us, crashing our sexy sunset rendezvous. And yet somehow making it exactly right.
Ty surveys the bag of animal crackers and belts out a laugh. “ Armageddon , Freckles. I only recall a party of two for that scene.”
“Nah,” she says, sprawling out across from us—head near and feet far. “There was the camera crew, the producers, the director. It was the end of the world. They needed backup, just like you two.”
End of the world is how much of our time has felt. And I know the precise scene they’re referring to, so I pluck my phone from my back pocket while they all chitchat.
“It was rude to have a picnic out here and not invite us,” Liam starts, his head so close to Ty’s that my husband can’t stop chuckling, especially since Liam is petting his cheek .
“Not a picnic,” Ty returns, knocking his hand away. “It was a honeymoon respite.”
“Give me a kangaroo,” Wells orders, leaning into the picnic vibe.
“That’s weirdly specific,” I comment as Ty rips open the bag. “They all taste the same.”
“I like what I like,” Wells volleys.
“Ace and I included you in all in our honeymoon plans,” Liam argues to my husband. “So, again, rude. I even sent you visual aids.”
Wells and Gage break into laughter.
“Jackass,” Gage barks as he bounces a babbling Felicity on his chest. “Give me some of those too. Any animal will do.”
No idea what the visual aid bit is about, but as I’m pulling up Aerosmith’s “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” Celeste hauls me down to the blanket, so I’m sandwiched between her and Ty, and all of us are on our backs with our heads smooshed together in one of those awkward photo-worthy configurations.
“If you’re going nowhere,” she begins, and Ivy finishes with, “I’m coming with you.”
Pressing play and setting my phone down, I flick my side-eyeing gaze between them, catching the partial view of their faces. “What’s that mean?”
Celeste squeezes my hand. “It means you’re ours. You always were, but it’s more now.”
Ivy shakes my other shoulder until I offer her my hand, which stretches my limbs and has me bonking Liam on the head, but I don’t resist. “No matter what happens, we’re in it together. Lettie and I have been saying that since we were preteens. It extends to you now too.”
“I can’t find a goddamn kangaroo,” Ty mutters, chucking the bag to Wells.
“What about us?” Liam whines—regarding the vow Ivy and Celeste granted me—flipping onto his stomach so he can stare at our upside-down faces .
Without hesitation, Celeste levels her husband. “No. This is just the girls.”
He balks as he tows his wife closer, which squishes our awkward face arrangement even more. “Why don’t we get a saying?”
“We do have a saying,” Wells chimes from the other side of Ty, raising his kangaroo triumphantly into the air before pitching the bag near Gage. “Shut your suck, Graves.”
Ty loses it, barely able to speak while he grips his chest. “That’s my favorite Navy memento, Chief.”
“It’s a good one,” Gage agrees, plucking some animal crackers from the spilled bag and blowing a raspberry on Felicity’s belly, causing her to squeal giggles. “It rolls off the tongue with Graves much better than Petrovsky.”
“I get no respect around here,” Liam snipes, full of humor. “You must be feeling resentful about how long you had to be away from me, Chief. My wife missed me something awful and has been taking up all my time. Not to worry. I’ll be sure to include you more.”
“Oh my God,” I shriek. “I’m going to have so much fun tormenting you.”
Liam pats my head. “Me? I thought we were tight?”
“You’re in for it now,” Ty warns, clearly giddy at the idea of me harassing the current agitator of the family. “My girl goes right for the jugular.”
Wells chuckles, adding, “I can’t wait.”
With all the time devoted to wedding planning, moving me in, Ty’s recovery, and the rest of them settling back into their work routines, we haven’t embraced our everyday roles yet.
“You’re the pest,” I explain to Liam. “But I need to rival you for that spot. It’s where I thrive.”
“You’re looking at that all wrong, my Little Moonshine. We should be teaming up.”
I let go of Celeste’s hand, reach behind my head, and snag a lone giraffe cookie cracker. “That could be fun too. I’ll take it under consideration. ”
Felicity bats at my fisted treat with a cooing cheep that has me beaming ear to ear and Ty stretching to jostle her chubby little leg.
“Don’t you dare give in,” Wells warns, reaching across Ty to tap my arm in emphasis. “Make it hurt, Butterscotch.”
Butterscotch—cute. I hope he keeps that nickname for me, even though I haven’t needed one today.
Ivy releases her hold on me and throws her arms up to the sky, in perfect rhythm with a striking drumbeat. “Can we take a moment to rejoice for the ability to be lying here together in the sweltering heat, ganging up on Liam?”
“I’m sensing an unhealthy shift in dynamics here, High Society,” Liam scoffs in mock offense.
“It’s okay, golden god,” Celeste chirps. “You’ve got the Ace. I’m never on a losing team.”
“That’s right, baby girl. I am your god,” he boasts.
“So much for girl power,” I warble.
Celeste winks at me. “You already broke it, teaching him card tricks.”
“What can I say?” I hurl my hand toward the resident pest. “I took pity on him.”
“Hey, no pity. That was a fair trade. I shared my beer,” Liam balks as we both laugh.
“What were you guys doing out here?” Ivy asks as she snuggles up to her husband.
There is a myriad of ways that I could answer in light of our conversations—slicking, choking, children—so I simplify. “We were discussing baby making.”
Ty chuckles and pulls me closer.
Ivy pops straight up, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Are you gonna give Felicity a playmate?”
“Thinking about it,” I confess. “How painful is childbirth?”
She waggles her head back and forth as she ruminates. “It’s like a ring of fire. ”
I nod in understanding. “Like the Johnny Cash song. That’s how my first time with Ty was.”
That has everyone cackling. Ty covers his face and howls. Ivy hums her understanding.
Cue the change in music.
And Liam loses it. “That’s our boy. The monster, bedazzled cock strikes again.”
“I really think we’re too fucking close,” Gage snarls.
“Language, Big Guy,” Wells teases since Gage is holding his daughter.
“The fuck?” he contends. “Graves just said cock .”
“Earmuffs, F-bomb,” Liam jeers. “The big, bald man always has such a potty mouth.”
Felicity pipes up with a squawk of approval, and Ty’s whole face lights up.
“See? She loves her nickname.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if every day could be this carefree?” Celeste muses, and I know she’s feeling what we’ve all felt—what they’ve been battling far longer than I have—the exhaustion for the life that provides so much but plunders even more.
“Yeah,” Ty rasps, his fingers raking up and down my arm.
“Fucking KORT,” Liam hisses, and a melody of sighs follows.
It’s as though this snippet of time is precisely what Ty was trying to convey the first night in my hotel room. “It would mean no more blueberry fields and rain, Little Moon.”
No matter where we are, we’re caged.
“Fuck that,” Ivy spits out. “KORT isn’t us. This is us. That organization doesn’t get to rob our peace. My father served and still maintained who he was. He still lived the way he wanted.”
“That’s right, Little Storm,” Wells coos before switching to his commanding voice. “One day at a time. And The Table has shifted in our favor without Balzano. Axel’s seat gives us the majority. We’ve had a rough patch, but … ”
“Freedom is being together,” I finish, not knowing whether that’s where he was headed. But it’s met with a chant of confirmations.
If that wasn’t enough, the sky opens up to shower us with validation that this is indeed our brush with freedom—our family in the midst of blueberries and rain.
We all hop to our feet, shrieks and squeals and laughter from the souls who have embraced all I am—unchaining my pain and my purpose.
So, as the downpour pelts us, rivulets cascading over my skin like a whisper from beyond, the sobs I’ve choked down for seventeen years rush out. But they aren’t streams of sorrow. They’re revitalizing. Liberating.
Happy tears.
Gathering the blankets and soggy animal crackers, they all bolt for the carts, but I’m frozen, rooted to this soil. Desperate to soak it in, to let it all penetrate—the hurt, the hope, the holding on to the uncomfortable emotions balling up at the base of my throat. Something tells me they’re full of truth I don’t want to leap out of just yet.
Ty lunges for me, whisking me into his arms, which is unsurprising. But he isn’t the only one. I don’t know if he filled the rest of them in when he decided to plant these bushes, but either way, they know to embrace me.
In the middle of a storm—flooding the fields of my youth, my dreams, my future—my family smothers me in so much love that I bravely breathe in the wishes my mother held for me.
With a gulping swallow, I peer at my husband. “The flourish after the burn.”
His glossy cognacs meet mine, and for the first time in a long while, I glimpse more garden than grave in them.
Pecks and kisses land on my wet hair and cheeks. Ty’s initial warning about joining this family wasn’t completely off base. I get it—how uncertain every day of this life is.
And yet who has this? The utter confidence that no matter what comes our way, we’ll face it together. I’m the lucky girl who’s had it twice.
TY
Tucking my soaking wet wife into the golf cart, I climb in beside her while Wells claims the seat on her other side, and everyone else piles into the other cart.
“Riding back with us, Chief?”
“Yeah,” he says, palming Rena’s head because he didn’t have to know all the details to see how shaken she was back there—in the best of ways. “I need to inform you about something.”
“Okay.” I steer us toward the house as the sideways rain slaps into us, my voice rising to outshine the thunder. “I’ve actually got something I want to ask you about too.”
“Go ahead,” he encourages.
“The AI tracking system—is she in it?” I’ve been wondering about this for a while, but it was lower on my priority list during the trial. The thing is, should we ever need to flee, that poses a major obstacle.
Rena perks up, but doesn’t interject anything.
“No,” he returns, slinging his arm over the back of the seat. “I persuaded Axel against it because after you called, I knew you’d be claiming her. I told him we had some strong leads on her location and that we should wait because once she was in the system, she’d always be in there. He felt the threat of that, especially since we’d been discussing Balzano. Anyway, it’s all clear.”
A huge sigh of relief escapes me. “Thanks, Wells. I’ve been stressed about it.” I veer us up toward the cart parking, gliding over the bumps of the swampy terrain. “What about you?”
“I know this is your honeymoon time,” he starts, his tone full of apprehension, “but I need you first thing in the morning, probably before five. ”
“I’ll release him,” Rena chimes, burrowing into my side. “I don’t wake up for several hours after that anyway.”
He chuckles. “Thanks. That should work out perfectly because I like to annoy the shit out of the guys before the sun comes up.”
“That’s the truth.” I park under the canopy outside the garage as the other crew jumps out of their cart and barrels toward the house. “What torture did you have in mind for tomorrow?”
“The woman Vargas sent to us is arriving.” His tone is so riddled with worry; something is off.
Before we had the shelter, we used contacts all over the country as safe harbors for victims we were erasing. It gave us temporary places to stash them while we made arrangements for their new identities. It’s not a job many would volunteer for because the victims are skittish and usher a threat of peril with them. A few weeks at most is the standard agreement. Wells already stated it was a two-week provision, so timing isn’t the issue.
“And? You said she was rough. Is there a concern?”
He huffs a breath, his fingers diving into his slicked hair. “Rough is an understatement, but that’s not all. She’s been through”—his eyes ping between Rena, the landscape, me—“a lot. It’s a fucking mess that we can talk about tomorrow with her. But that’s not what has my stomach in knots.”
Bile coats my throat because the Chief rarely appears this conflicted, and we’ve seen some volatile cases over the years.
What the hell is going on? “Then what is it?”
“It’s not what; it’s who.” He flicks his eyes back to the house before returning to me with some sort of plea. “It’s Gage’s girl.”
“Gage has a girl?” Rena mumbles.
“Fuck,” I hiss at a loss for how to respond beyond that.
“Yeah.” He nods, skimming his fingers over his mouth. “Let that sink in for the night and meet me in the morning with some goddamn insight on how to approach this.”
He climbs out of the cart and dashes for the house as I remain stunned, attempting to digest that bomb, until I glimpse my shivering wife.
“C’mon, baby girl.” I scoop her into my arms and scurry for our bedroom.
Despite the heat, the rain is cool. So, when I carry Rena inside, the AC chills her to the bone, her limbs trembling in my embrace. I rush up the back staircase, sprinting to our wing and grabbing a few towels from our bathroom to warm her up.
Setting her on the floor, I buff her dry and start removing her clothes. “Better peel these off first, Little Moon.”
“It’s not the rain,” she mutters, lifting her arms so I can rip her plastered tank and bra away, revealing the goose bumps littering her skin. “I mean, it is. But the chills—it’s not the temperature.”
I wrap the towel around her shoulders, checking her over. “You don’t feel well?”
“I feel wonderful. It’s just a lot.” She glances down at her hands, threading the towel through her fingers. “You’ve given me so much, and I haven’t … I haven’t given—”
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence,” I warn as I shimmy her shorts and panties off.
“Nothing you can keep,” she continues while I use a second towel on her damp legs. “The Joplin guitar. The music room. That amazing blueberry field. It’s all so much … and I … I don’t think like that.”
“You gave me the notes—best gift I’ve ever gotten.” I point to where they’re framed above our bed—one of the first things we did together when I moved her in here and transformed this room into ours, adding little touches of my girl to the otherwise simple black-and-gray decor. “You know why?”
She blinks those gorgeous green gems at me. She’s so soft right now, so vulnerable, a side of her most don’t get to see.
Mine.
“You love those gifts because they take a part of you that was entwined with pain and free it, right?” I ask .
Her brows furrow. “Yeah.”
“That’s what your notes did for me, Rena. They freed me. Made me fight, hope, live.”
“Okay.” She smiles, but a lone tear streams down her cheek. “I get that. You taught me to hold on. I just … I’ve loved you for so long, and I want to make sure you know that you’ve always been a part of me.”
“I’ve never felt so loved in all my life,” I promise, wiping her sentimentality away before ripping off my own wet T-shirt. “There’s no me without you.”
“Good.” Her wispy voice strengthens. “I might have another gift that will make you want to live.”
She abandons her towel and tugs my wet shorts and boxers off, tossing them into the wet-garments pile. The visual alone—my radiant girl naked, on her knees for me—is a damn fantasy, but when she bends forward with her luscious ass in the air, grips my hardening cock, jostles my piercing with her tongue, and licks at the emerging dollop of precum with a sultry whimper, I’m undone.
“Yeah, baby girl. That’s one hell of a present.” My fingers lace into her sopping strands, coiling it around my fist to guide her head.
And, Jesus, does she commit to her charitable donation. With one hand pumping the base of my shaft and the other kneading my balls, she bobs her head with little guidance in a ravenous cadence. Frothy and determined, wild and free. Opening her throat to consume every inch she can fit and warbling enthusiasm through each choking swipe.
“Christ, baby, that mouth. So pretty, choking on my cock,” I praise as a pressure builds at the base of my spine, a tingle seizing my balls, urging me to drive into her. “That’s my good fucking girl.”
And when her eyes flit up to mine, even in the midst of my delirium and punishing thrusts, I realize my mistake.
“Such a filthy slut for me,” I correct, and her hips wiggle in eagerness while she trills her approval. My breaths become labored, my knees quake, and silver streaks my vision. “I’m gonna come, Little Moon.”
She pops off my raging dick, her hand maintaining the tempo. “Make me messy, sailor. Paint me.” With that, she opens her mouth, sticks out her tongue, and docks those hazel pools on me.
Ravishing.
While still fisting her sopping strands, I take over her work on my cock with my other hand and growl, “A goddamn dream, Rena,” as my orgasm blasts through me like a jolting tidal wave. Jets of my cum shoot onto her tongue and chin and phenomenal tits. “A masterpiece.”
Her tongue darts out to collect the remnants on her lips and chin as she rubs the rest into her skin. “Mmm,” she moans. “Heaven.”
“You are my heaven. I love you so damn much.” My mouth crashes into hers as I sweep her into my arms, consuming us —the taste of me, the silk of her, the melody of the past and present and future harmonizing to our divine tune.
I had no idea it could be like this—life, sex, love. She changed everything. I nailed it long ago when I told her she was an angel-demon hybrid. Who else could transform the depths of Hell into celestial awe?
Grabbing a towel, I clean her up and secure her around me, storming into our walk-in closet. “That deserves another surprise.”
“Ty,” she groans.
“Get used to it.” I dust her sticky hair off her forehead. “You’re the one who taught me to embrace moments, and I can’t imagine anything I want more than to spoil you, so as a gift to me, let me.”
Wells and Ivy picked this house because it had an ideal setup for the four of us guys to each have a family here. We all get four bedrooms—several are guest suites now. Some will be nurseries or kids’ rooms. But another draw was that the original owner was as paranoid as Wells. So, while it has sixteen official bedrooms, we have several safe rooms in between. One happens to be accessible through our master closet .
As the wall behind Rena’s shoe rack slides open, she beams. “Is there a hiding spot in the walls?”
She’s told me about her little escapes at La Lune Noire, so I knew she’d appreciate this.
“Yeah, we have a few in the house, but this one is basically ours,” I tell her as we trek between two of our rooms to dip into a small room—it’s not much, but it’s got that secret passageway feel. “There’s another one near Liam and Celeste, so we’ll have some fun with that some other time.”
She claps her hands in a whoop. “Oh my God, yes. That’s perfect. Sex sounds or ghost noises?”
“Maybe we combine the two,” I suggest as I twist on the gas wall lantern to drench the room in golden candlelight.
“Erotica from beyond. I can’t wait.” She giggles, surveying the space, her gaze dropping to the wide massage table. “This is quite the swanky setup, Mr. Reynolds. What did you have in mind?”
I lay her down on the table, my fingers waltzing over her pert nipples, flat stomach, and sopping cunt with a tease. “Rubbing you down with oil and making you come all night, like we talked about outside.”
“What about you?” she asks. “That blow job wasn’t all I’ve got. I’m the gift that keeps on giving.”
“Yes, you are.” I chuckle and snatch the oil from the dresser. “No massage for me. My wounds and tattoo are still healing.”
When we were planning the wedding at La Lune Noire, I had one of the tattoo artists add a moon above the tree on my back—illuminating the life that bloomed from all that was lost. That tree sprouting out of the skulls was initially a depiction of my penance—the sorrow I felt in building a life on the tombs of those I’d left behind. But Rena gave me an entirely new vision, so shedding light on those branches with the symbol of my favorite girl was fitting. And the thought of someday adding branches for the family we grow together is a dream I never expected to permit myself to entertain, but one that overjoys me in the brilliance of my Little Moon .
After helping her flip onto her stomach, I lather her up with oil, kneading all the stress out of her aching muscles—from her neck to the balls of her feet and everything in between—her smooth skin shimmering in the dim light. She moans her delight so vehemently that my cock bobs in exultation. Full-body contact is in order.
I perch behind her, turning her over and hauling her up between my legs to finish the massage, her back to my front as I glide soothing fingertips slowly over every breathtaking inch within reach—perky breasts, taut stomach, and toned thighs, concluding with a scream-worthy stopover on her pretty pussy. Whirling her clit and plunging inside her until she’s a boneless mess, quivering in my arms.
Her purrs of ecstasy are intoxicating. I need more. I always crave more of her.
I twist her slippery, limp body around so she’s straddling my lap and flopping against my chest, sufficiently relaxed. “I need those beautiful sounds to be sung when my cock is inside you. Are you too spent to ride me, baby?”
“Slow?” she whispers, pressing her pillowy lips to mine.
“Slow is perfect.” I lift her hips, notch myself at her entrance, and lower her over my length as we both moan through the stretch. “Being inside you is always perfect. It’s home.”
And as she swivels her leisurely pace, I cradle her cheeks and feel so grateful that hers is the only face I’ve ever witnessed fall apart. Again, what was once a self-inflicted punishment has become a gift.
“You’re so beautiful,” I croon. “The reason I breathe. The reason I sleep. The reason I want to wake up.”
She nods, her eyes spilling with what I know is our mutual healing. And everything about this hideaway encounter with my wife is quiet and tender and exactly what I need—like every experience with her is.
This woman invades me—my veins and bones, fears and hopes, rage and regret. All-consuming. It doesn’t matter what identity I assume; she’s the fabric of my DNA. My soul .
As we both let go, plummeting off the euphoric precipice together, we hum our contentment, tether our hopes, and grip each other tighter, slick and sweaty limbs intertwined to one.
The hard might not be over, but the future is far brighter now.
My fingers scratch up and down her spine as I relish the way her willowy frame fits so perfectly in mine, the way she adapts to whatever we confront. “You’re like that sconce, Little Moon, shining, no matter how dark it gets.”
She nestles her head into the crook of my neck. “Is that why you think you were drawn to me?”
“Your light? Yeah.”
Straightening, she traces her fingertips over the scars on my chest, circling the most recent one that could have separated us. “I used to think that about you too.”
That has me roaring a laugh because I really pulled a bait-and-switch on her. “And clearly, you discovered you were wrong.”
“We both were,” she insists, still enamored with my past wounds or tattoos. “It wasn’t the light that brought us together. We give that to everyone else.” Her head snaps up. “It was our demons—they knew they belonged to each other. We’ll never drown in darkness because we’ve learned to recognize beauty within it.”
It’s astounding how overlooked my wife was all these years. Her ability to leap made others believe she didn’t think deeply when, in reality, she views things with keen perception. She just doesn’t always choose to hold them.
I brush my knuckles over her cheekbone. “Your demons are pretty wise—or actually, mine are for seeking out yours.”
“See?” She smiles, her brow piercing glinting as she floods the shadowy space with the undeniable trouble that always ropes me in. “Even the moon has a dark side.”
“I love you and all your sides.”
“Right back at ya, hubby. I always have.”
And the truth of that hits me. She always saw me, whether I was doing a bang-up job of feigning peace or tumbling into a self-dug grave. Whether my monsters were mammoth, my sanity thread was tattered, or my morals were messy. Rena was the glimmer of beauty I hitched myself to, guiding me through the haze. I’ve spent my entire adult life in shackles, but she held the key. Somehow, she’s enabled me to become her warrior too.
Crossing the forbidden moat to steal forever.
Gazing into the twinkling blueberry-field irises that have challenged, healed, held, and inspired me, I splay my hand over her throat, dusting her battering pulse point while anchoring every facet of who I am to her. “You were always my home. No matter which side of me is reigning, you’re my constant, baby girl. I found my way to freedom by the light of the moon.”
THE END