Epilogue #3
The pleasure builds slowly. A gentle, rolling wave that crests inside me, a quiet, shuddering release that leaves me breathless and boneless.
It is not the violent, earth-shattering orgasm from before.
It is something deeper, more profound. It’s the quiet surrender of a soul that has been at war for too long, finally finding peace.
He follows me over the edge a moment later, his body tensing, a low groan of pleasure rumbling in his chest. He buries his face in my neck, his breath warm against my skin, and for a long moment we just lie there. Our bodies tangled, our hearts beating in a slow, steady rhythm.
He doesn’t pull out of me. He stays, a warm, heavy presence that fills me completely, a tangible reminder of the connection that passes between us.
He rolls, taking me with him so that I am sprawled on top of his chest, my ear pressed to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.
His arms come around me, holding me close, a gentle, possessive cage that feels more like a sanctuary than a prison.
The world outside this room ceases to exist. There is only the feel of his skin against mine, the rise and fall of his chest, the quiet hum of the house settling around us.
The ghosts that haunt this place seem to recede, their whispers drowned out by the steady, beating rhythm of our two hearts, a single, unified pulse in the quiet darkness.
“Aria,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble against my ear. “Are you okay?”
I nod, my face buried in the crook of his neck. I am more than okay. I am shattered and remade, a mosaic of broken pieces held together by the fierce, possessive love of a dangerous man.
He is quiet for a long moment, and I can feel the wheels turning in his mind. He is a man of action, not words, and this quiet intimacy is as new to him as it is to me. Cassian is navigating uncharted waters and I am right there with him, adrift on a sea of terrifying, exhilarating new emotions.
“I’ve never done this before,” he admits, the words a raw, ragged confession. “This… after. The quiet. I’ve always just… left. Or thrown them out.”
A sharp, surprising pang of jealousy hits me, a bitter, acidic taste in my mouth. I try to pull away, to put some space between us but he tightens his grip, holding me in place.
“Hey,” he says, his fingers gently stroking my spine. “Look at me.”
I resist for a moment, a wave of insecurity washing over me.
“Aria,” he says, his voice a low, insistent command. “Look. At. Me.”
Slowly, reluctantly, I lift my head. His gaze is intense, a dark, swirling vortex of emotion that pulls me in. There is no mockery, no cruel amusement in his eyes. There is only a raw, unguarded honesty that takes my breath away.
He reaches up, his hand cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin under my eye. "You’re my everything.”
The words land like a blow, a physical impact that steals the air from my lungs. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I am a shipwreck, a castaway adrift on a sea of confusing, overwhelming emotions.
“I’ve been walking through a world of gray, Aria,” he continues, his voice a low, intimate murmur. “And then you showed up. You didn’t just add color. You burned the whole fucking world down and showed me the ashes. And the ashes are… beautiful.”
He shifts, rolling me onto my back, his body a warm, heavy blanket that pins me to the bed. He looks down at me, and the raw, possessive hunger is back in his eyes, but it’s tempered now with a new, terrifying tenderness.
“And now,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine, a soft, teasing caress. “I’m going to worship the ashes.”
He kisses me then, and it’s a slow, deep, exploratory kiss that tastes of desperation and devotion.
He is not taking, he is savoring. He is learning the shape of my mouth, the taste of my tongue, the little sighs I make when he does that thing with his teeth.
His hands are gentle on my body, tracing the curve of my hip, the line of my thigh, mapping me like a sacred text.
“You’re so soft,” he whispers, his lips trailing down my throat. “And so strong. A contradiction. My perfect, impossible girl.”
He kisses the hollow of my throat, the delicate bones of my collarbones. He is taking his time, a predator turned priest, anointing me with his lips. His mouth finds my breast, and he circles the peak with his tongue, a slow, deliberate torment that makes my back arch off the bed.
“Please,” I gasp, my hands fisting in the sheets.
“Please what?” he murmurs against my skin, his breath a warm caress. “Tell me what you want, Aria. I want to hear you say it.”
“You,” I breathe, the word a ragged, desperate plea. “Your mouth. I want your mouth on me.”
He chuckles, a low, dark, possessive sound. “As you wish.”
He takes my nipple into his mouth, and the sensation is a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure that shoots straight to my core.
He sucks hard, a pulling pressure that makes me gasp, my hips lifting off the bed in a silent, pleading invitation.
His other hand comes up to my other breast, his fingers rolling and pinching the peak, a twin point of pleasure-pain that makes my head swim.
Afterwards we lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his arm holding me tight. His heart beats a steady, powerful rhythm beneath my ear. The locket is cool against my skin, nestled between us.
I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. I look up at him, at the man who tore down his own world to build one for me.
“The world tried to break us,” I whisper, my hand coming up to touch his face.
He leans into my touch, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He looks at the locket, then back at me, his eyes full of a love as fierce and possessive as his rage ever was.
“It just taught us how to build a better one.”