Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
“Please,” I beg, my voice grinding itself out of my throat. “Please, honey, please, please—”
“Not yet,” Indie orders, her voice firm and unyielding.
A whine escapes my mouth as she rolls her hips, slow and steady and consistent in rhythm.
Torture, this is torture, and there is a wide smile on my face as I gaze at the woman I love on top of me.
She catches my look and smiles mid-moan, leaning back to rest her hands on my thighs, pressing her gorgeous breasts out.
My mouth waters as I eye those pink nipples, wanting to taste, wanting to touch.
But I can’t with my hands bound to the headboard with pink fuzzy handcuffs.
Indie had bought them as a joke when we had discussed this new dynamic of ours.
Indie likes control in the bedroom, and I like to be told what to do, but the parameters were something we discussed at length.
The handcuffs are weak. I could break out of them with one pull, but it’s the symbolism that really does it. I’m bound and powerless with Indie, but I trust in her that she will take care of me. And she does, while she’s tormenting me in the best way.
Indie moans and does this one move where she brings her one leg up by my hip, and the other is flat by my legs, almost in a split. The way she grinds herself against me brings tears to my eyes, “Oh, fuck—fuck, honey...”
“Yeah, there it is,” she lets out a breathy laugh-moan at the look on my face. “That’s how you like it—”
“I love it, I love it, I love it, I love it,” I babble over and over again, making her giggle. With her two hands, she pulls her blonde hair back and continues bouncing on me, and all I can think about are the drawings I made for her.
Venus, the goddess of beauty and love.
There couldn’t be a more apt comparison for Indie.
The last few months since we got back from Chicago have been incredible. There’s a sense of peace that has washed over us, with the lack of storm clouds threatening to ruin us.
My mother was arrested, charged, and sentenced to thirty days in prison on a plea deal, which included that she would never contact me ever again. Indie and I were granted a protective order against her, and if she violates it, she risks real prison time.
She is 900 miles away, with no job, no house—Dad sold it and the business, both in his name only—and no family that wants to speak with her. She’s alone, and she has no one to blame but herself. And I don’t miss her at all, which is something Dr. Meyer said was normal.
After my mother’s arrest, my father refused to bail her out of jail, as did her sisters.
My mother’s manipulations completely backfired on her, and Robin blames her for the affair.
June is closer in age to Robin, so she took her side.
It doesn’t really make much sense to me, but their relationship was always weirdly contentious and competitive.
My father did try to reach out to me last month, after getting my number from Stephanie with my permission.
I thought he might want to apologize, which I was willing to hear to gain closure for myself, but then I realized he was asking for money.
Always fucking money with this family. When I asked what happened to the money from the house and the business, he sheepishly admitted that Jerry had listened to his sons, and they had lost it all in some crypto scheme I didn’t care to hear about.
The thing was, when I asked if he was sorry for how he treated me, he just said, “Well, everything worked out for you in the end anyway, right?”
And that was the last time I heard my father’s voice before I hung up and blocked him.
Like with my mother, I have zero regrets about going no contact.
My sisters finally cut that contact with both of our parents, and that felt like closure I needed.
Through it all, Indie was there for me. Relationships aren’t balanced; it’s a see-saw, an equitable distribution of work.
That’s something we learned in couples therapy, which we started when we came home from Chicago.
Not because there’s anything wrong, but it’s like maintenance.
Both of us had very fucked up examples of how relationships are supposed to be, so we wanted to be really intentional with each other and wanted to be with each other forever.
I had such a positive experience with therapy that I immediately agreed when Indie suggested it.
Through therapy, we’ve learned our communication preferences and how to navigate them.
Indie works in a job where she speaks nearly all day, dealing with very heavy, sometimes depressing topics.
I’ve always understood that she needs that period of adjustment—just an hour of silence to decompress, but there were times when I could internalize it and think Indie was displeased with me.
“I need the hour, please,” Indie will tell me when she comes home, and all I’ll do is hug and kiss her, hand her her noise-blocking headphones, and send her up to her office or to go take a bath.
I’ll stay in the kitchen to finish dinner, giving her the space she needs.
Then Indie will emerge, smiling and calmer, and I will have dinner waiting for her.
We always make it a point to sit at our kitchen table—Nana and Pop’s table—and talk about our days.
I’ll tell her about school and the projects I’m working on.
Indie will tell me what she can about her days, her patients, her grief, her triumphs.
“Most couples forget how to communicate, because when you live in such close quarters, spending nearly all day together, you get into a routine. But that routine requires maintenance. Indie and Teddy, you both have described instances where you feel unheard, but you haven’t actually verbalized your needs. ”
Both of us shared a look, chagrined and thoroughly called out. But instead of shrinking or pointing the blame, we reached for each other. Our hands linked, and our therapist smiled as she advised us.
“Even if it’s something as mundane as placing the coffee cup in the dishwasher this way, talk about it. It’ll become a habit and spill into other areas.”
And it has helped immensely.
Especially in bed.
Our dynamic was brought up to our therapist, who gave us resources to consult and also said to make up our own rules as long as we are being safe within our boundaries.
“Please, please, please,” I beg once more, as I feel myself teetering closer to the edge. Just as I feel I’m about to leap off, Indie slows down. I swear she can read my mind sometimes. I groan and toss my head back on the bed, “You’re killing me, honey.”
“I’ll make it worth it, Teddy bear,” she purrs, leaning forward for me, and I raise my head, meeting her eyes.
She nods once, and I rumble a growl as I latch onto her right nipple, pulling it into my mouth and sucking the way she likes.
She moans as I swirl my tongue around it, before leaning toward the other side so I can give that one equal attention. “I’m close. Do you want to come?”
“Please,” I whine, my tongue licking at her left nipple. “Please.”
“Sweet bear,” she moans, holding my head to her tits as she grinds down into me. I groan, nibbling lightly on the hard, pink flesh as she rocks her hips front and back on my cock. “Break out of the handcuffs and come, Teddy.”
With one pull, my wrists are free, and I grasp on tightly to Indie’s hips as she bounces, my fingers digging into the supple flesh. She’s been edging me for a good half hour, so it doesn’t take much, and I feel her grinding her clit against my pubic bone, almost there.
“I love you so much, baby—my honey—god, your pussy feels so fucking good—fuck—I’m coming, baby—”
Indie tosses her head back as she comes, her pussy contracting around my dick and sending me hurtling into my orgasm. My eyes go blind for a moment at the sheer power behind it, my bellow echoing off our walls as Indie rides out the aftershocks of her own climax.
And then I open my mouth.
“Please, marry me, please, please—Indie,” I moan.
Indie is completely still on top of me.
And that’s when I realize what I just blurted out. The euphoria from the orgasm doesn’t subside, but it softens everything, and I realize I don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed at what I’ve just said, and when I said it. Because it’s just the truth.
“What…” Indie says, her chest heaving with her breath. “What did you just say?”
“Marry me, Indie,” I say with no hesitation. “I want to be your husband. I want you to be my wife.”
“You’re serious,” she says.
I snort. “Yes, baby. I’ve wanted to marry you since the day I met you. But I think now… I’m the man you need.”
“Teddy…”
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” I say, my fingers flexing on her hips. “I had a whole thing planned for next month. I was going to take you down to the beach—”
“Teddy—”
“I had a photographer booked, they were going to hide and take photos of me on one knee—”
“Teddy—”
“And I was going to have candles and a nice set—”
I can’t speak anymore because Indie’s lips are on mine, kissing me deeply.
“Yes,” she gasps out. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah?”
She laughs. “Yes, Teddy.”
“You’ll marry me.”
“Si.”
“You’ll be my wife.”
“Ja,” she giggles.
“You’ll be Dr. Williams—”
“No,” she says firmly. “Absolutely not.”
“Wait—what?” I ask.
Indie smiles shyly. “I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t want to take your last name when we get married.”
The word makes me smile when I realize she still wants to get married to me. “That’s fine, lots of people are—”
“But I don’t think I want to be Dr. Miller anymore either.”
I blink at her, confused. Indie sighs, running her hands through my chest hair and smiling when she feels the rumble in my chest. Her hands always do that.
“What do you mean, baby?”
“So,” she starts, eyes not meeting mine. “I was talking to Mimi about it, and she said that her sister and her sister’s wife chose their own last name because neither was attached to their last names. I was…”
She trails off, eyes shifting like she’s nervous. I reach up and cradle her cheek. “Tell me, honey. You can tell me anything.”
“I was thinking we could take Ambrose as our last name.”
My heart stops as I stare up at this wonderful woman. Ambrose. Pop’s last name died with Nana, since my mother was hellbent on being in a traditional marriage with traditional values. As were my aunts. Indie wants to take Ambrose as her last name.
I could have Ambrose as my last name.
Indie and Teddy Ambrose.
Dr. and Mr. Ambrose.
My body is already moving, standing up from the bed, arms wrapped around Indie, who squeals with laughter as she wraps her arms around my neck.
“Teddy, you’re still inside of me!”
“No place I’d rather be,” I say, squeezing her ass as I walk us, both still naked, me still inside of her and growing harder by the second.
She giggles as I carry her to the closet, crouching and somehow grabbing the fire safe. With one hand, I open it with the code, and Indie watches as I grab the small box and bring it between us.
Indie flips it open with shaky fingers.
When she sees the ring, her eyes go big and teary.
“Teddy…”
“I love you, Indie. You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. I bought this ring when I wasn’t worthy to be your husband. But now I think I am. I wanted to be a man you were proud to stand next to—”
“You are. You always were, you just had to believe it,” she laughs wetly, cupping my cheek. “Silly bear.”
I press a kiss to her palm.
“Will you marry me, Indie?”
Indie presses a long kiss to my lips.
Then, she murmurs. “Yes, Teddy.”
My stomach flips.
“Yes?”
“Yes,” she smiles, nodding.
“God, I’m so sorry, I just blurted it out while coming,” I groan, but Indie shushes me gently and kisses my lips, brushing against mine as she speaks.
“It was perfect,” she smiles. “By the way—I love you too, Teddy bear.”
I swallow hard.
“Yeah?”
“Always.”