Epilogue （1） #2
The air around us hums with heat, love, and need. Her moans are soft but desperate, and I start moving quickly with each roll of her hips, meeting her with my own, slow and deliberate, savoring every second, every inch, every sigh.
“Fuck, Kaze. I’m, ”
“Come, love. Come with me. I need to feel you…”
My words break against her skin, half-breathed, half-plea, and she trembles in my arms, head tipped back, mouth parted like she’s on the edge of something too big to hold.
Her fingers dig strongly into my shoulders as I thrust deeper, harder, chasing that fragile thread that ties us both to this moment.
Her walls clench around me, and I feel it, the way her body starts to unravel, how every part of her tightens like she’s trying to hold on and let go at the same time.
“That’s it, ” I whisper. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
She breaks first, shattering above me with a sound that rips straight through my chest—her entire body arches into mine, a beautiful, desperate surrender. And I follow her over the edge without hesitation, buried so deep inside her that I lose all sense of where I end and she begins.
We fall together, shaking and breathless, held only by the strength of each other’s arms. Her forehead rests against mine, sweat-slicked skin pressed to skin, and for a long moment, we just breathe. Hearts racing. Limbs tangled. Everything else falling away.
“I love you, ” she whispers again, voice ragged and real, like the words are stitched into her soul.
I pull her closer, kissing the space where her shoulder meets her neck, tasting the truth of her there.
“I love you more, ” I murmur. “And I’ll never stop.”
We’re both still learning how to live again, how to carry softness after so much pain. But here, in this moment, we remember.
We remember joy.
We remember each other.
We remember what it feels like to come back to life.
When it’s over, we stay tangled in each other, breathless and still. She rests her head over my heart, listening to it beat like a melody meant only for her. And it is, because she’s the reason it’s still beating.
So, yes, the melody of my soul is really only for her.
Outside, the world keeps turning. But in our embrace, time stands still.
Some time passes, quiet and perfect, until the soft thump of paws lands near our feet.
Cosmos. Always the same pain in the ass, the fucker.
He hops onto the bed, meows like he hasn’t eaten in days, and stares at us with that demanding little face of his, tail twitching with righteous feline indignation.
Khalee groans softly. “Your son’s hungry.”
“Our son has no respect for post-sex intimacy.”
She chuckles sleepily, already half back in her dreams, and I press a soft kiss to her forehead before gently sliding out from under the blankets.
Cosmos doesn’t waste a second. He slinks right into my spot like he’s been waiting for it all morning, lets out a satisfied purr, and stretches across the bed like he’s the one who had his morning fuck.
I stretch, pull on my sweatpants and my glasses, yes, the sexy glasses, and shuffle down the hall while the fucker follows at my heels like a tiny, judgmental shadow.
Trust me, the glasses were a great addition.
A couple of weeks ago, we were at the mall, walking past one of those trendy storefronts, and I swear I heard it loud and clear.
“Oh my god. Tattoos and glasses? That man is a wet dream walking.”
I was about to pretend I didn’t hear it, keep it cool, keep it humble, when Khalee stopped walking. Full stop. Turns, looks the woman straight in the eye, and says, calm as anything,
“Yes. He’s my wet dream walking. So maybe show a little more respect unless you want to start wearing glasses too.”
I nearly fainted from laughing. Had to lean against a store window while she just kept strolling like she hadn’t just verbally drop-kicked someone into next week.
She’s savage. Hot, terrifying, wildly protective, and mine.
The kitchen smells like peace. Sunlight spills across the counter, and the quiet hum of the fridge is the only sound while Cosmos weaves around my ankles like a white ball of fur. I grab his food, pour it into his bowl, and watch him dive in like he wasn’t just fed ten hours ago.
“Still dramatic, huh?” I mutter, leaning on the counter.
Cosmos flicks his tail without even looking at me, entirely focused on the Very Important Business of inhaling his breakfast like it’s Michelin-starred cuisine.
I glance around the kitchen, and my eyes settle on the spot by the sink. That first time. God. I remember it as if it were yesterday.
Me, dead, confused, and desperate not to scare her.
Her, right there, standing over the counter, headphones in, singing completely off-key.
And I was trying so hard to be gentle…
It was impossible.
I’m so damn grateful for those memories.
Could do without the ones involving this asshole, though.
Cosmos made my afterlife hell for at least three solid weeks.
“Karma’s a bitch, huh?” I say out loud.
He pauses mid-bite to give me a slow, unimpressed blink. The kind that says try me.
“Yeah, fuck you too, you furry little demon. If it weren’t for me, you’d be starving until Monday.”
Cosmos, unmoved, resumes eating. Clearly unbothered. Unapologetic.
I run a hand through my hair, sighing dramatically. “Look at us. I’m alive. She’s mine. You’re still a spoiled little tyrant, and somehow I’m the one leaving a warm bed to serve you like a peasant.”
Cosmos lifts his head just enough to meow once.
I narrow my eyes. “You know that sounded like ‘good boy, ’ right?”
He sneezes—another tail flick.
I stare at him for a second, then snort. “One of these days, I’m replacing you with a robot cat. One that says thank you.”
Cosmos jumps up onto the counter like he owns the place, which, let’s be honest, he probably thinks he does, and proceeds to lick his paw with the air of a villain mid-monologue.
“Unbelievable, ” I mutter, but there’s a smile on my face. A real one because the fucker got me.
I turn back toward the hallway, my chest full of love, warm and steady and good.
She’s in our bed.
I’m alive.
The cat uses me every morning.
And life, somehow, is perfect.
* * *