Epilogue
ELIAS
Considering how patient I can be when studying—how I can spend hours observing, cataloging, waiting for patterns to emerge—I know I should be going with the flow and not rushing this.
Unfortunately, patience is a finite resource.
And the giant butt plug currently lodged up my ass—courtesy of a successful, slightly mortifying detour into an adult store while Boone stayed safely in the mountains—has reduced my reserves to zero.
For five days now, Boone has been prepping me. Methodical. Thorough. Almost reverent about it. Carefully opening me up—sometimes with his human cock, other times with his cryptid fingers, and once or twice with his tongue—making absolutely certain I’ll be ready.
What he fails to understand is that I am already so ready for his giant Bigfoot cock.
And it’s not that I’m ungrateful. That would be impossible. Every orgasm he’s dragged out of me over the past five days—including the frankly excessive three-in-one-day incident—has been mind-meltingly, soul-altering incredible.
But what I want is Boone.
Not his human form. Not the careful compromises.
I want the real him.
At this point, I’m done holding back. The plug is my pièce de résistance, and I fully intend to show it off the moment he steps back into our cozy cave.
Because when Boone sees just how loose and ready I am—how perfectly sized I’ve made myself for his girthy cock—he’s finally going to agree.
I’m ready.
And I’m going to take him like a champ.
Our bedroom—if you can call it that—is carved deeper into the cave than the rest of our living space, where the stone walls curve inward protectively and the air always holds a faint warmth.
Boone smoothed the floor here himself, layered it with furs and blankets (that was before I convinced him to organize a human mattress).
The space smells like him—clean earth, pine resin, and the quiet comfort I’ve come to think of as home.
Soft light filters in from a narrow fissure above, catching on crystals embedded in the rock and scattering gold across the walls.
It’s private and feels very much like ours.
I’m pacing when I hear him.
Not footsteps exactly—Boone moves too quietly for that—but the subtle shift of air, the familiar weight of his presence rolling through the cave like a pressure change. My heart kicks hard, pulse racing as anticipation tightens low in my belly.
He’s back.
I don’t overthink it. I don’t give myself time to second-guess.
I drop.
All fours, palms pressing into the furs, knees sinking into the soft layers beneath me. The position feels instinctive, honest in a way standing never could be. My breath comes shallowly as I angle myself just slightly, acutely aware of how exposed I am, how deliberate this looks.
Behind me, Boone freezes.
I don’t need to look to know. I can feel it—the way the air stills, the way his attention slams into me like a physical force.
“Elias,” he says, voice low, roughened, my name dragged out like it’s being pulled from somewhere deep in his chest.
I glance back over my shoulder, catching him framed in the entrance, broad and solid and utterly undone. His eyes are dark, blown wide with want. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move at all, like his body has short-circuited while his brain scrambles to catch up.
His hands flex at his sides.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and it’s not a question so much as a plea.
My smile is slow and unapologetic. “Waiting.”
A feral hunger flashes across his face, along with desire and awe. That and barely restrained hunger. He swallows hard, taking a step forward, then stopping himself like it physically pains him to do so.
“You’re testing my restraint,” he murmurs.
“Good,” I say lightly, even as my voice wobbles just a little. “I was hoping you’d notice.”
His answering sound is deep and dangerous, a rumble that vibrates through the stone beneath us. He drags a hand down his face, eyes never leaving me, like looking away might shatter whatever fragile control he’s still clinging to.
“You have no idea,” he says hoarsely, “what you’re doing to me.”
I hold his gaze, steady and sure. “Oh, I think I do.”
The air between us tightens. It’s charged, electric, and right on the edge of everything we’re about to do.
Boone takes another step forward, slower this time, like he’s approaching something wild that might spook if he moves too fast. The cave seems to contract around us, the air thick with heat and awareness.
Every sound feels amplified—the soft shift of fur beneath my knees, the steady thud of my own heartbeat, the faint scrape of Boone’s claws against stone as his hands curl and uncurl.
“You’re enjoying this,” he says quietly.
I hum, the sound vibrating through my chest. “You taught me patience,” I reply. “I’m just… testing the hypothesis.”
His breath hitches, sharp and unmistakable.
He circles me then, deliberately unhurried, his presence a constant brush against my senses even when he’s not touching me. I feel him behind me, then to my side, then in front—his shadow passing over my skin, his attention never wavering. It’s intoxicating, being watched like this. Being seen.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“Am I?” I ask, though I know I am. Not from fear. From want. From the way his voice drops when he’s fighting himself.
He stops in front of me, close enough now that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the familiar comfort of him—earth, pine, and the unmistakable scent that’s simply Boone.
He crouches, bringing us closer to eye level, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the space between us, taut and humming.
His hand lifts, hovering near my shoulder, not quite touching. “Say the word,” he says softly, “and I stop.”
I don’t hesitate. “I promise.”
His expression breaks open at that—relief, desire, and a fierce protective tenderness all tangled together. His hand settles on my shoulder at last, heavy and grounding, thumb brushing a slow, deliberate line along my collarbone.
“Then stay right there,” he murmurs. “Let me look at you.”
I do. I let him. The way his gaze roams over me feels like a promise—one he’s choosing, again and again, to keep just barely contained.
The moment stretches, trembling on the edge of everything, until finally—finally—I sense movement. My gaze drops, and I swear that seeing his cock emerge from the fold at his groin will never get old.
And the size of him….
I wriggle my ass in anticipation, lips parting. He’s going to stretch me to capacity, fill me so completely that I won’t know where I end and he begins. But it’s so much more than the surprising size kink I’ve developed since meeting Boone.
Hand to heart, without hesitation—and without even the impulse to roll my eyes or scoff—I know that once we fuck like this, it will cement what we already are. Make him mine and me his in a way my scientific brain can’t quite process, no matter how hard it tries.
Boone reaches for me, fingers skating over my ass. It absolutely isn’t as magnificent as his—a fact I resent on principle—but his low huff of appreciation makes it increasingly difficult not to keep moving.
I drop my head to my chest when Boone taps lightly on the giant plug, my groan ripping free before I can stop it. A throaty growl spills from him, and barely a second later, he nudges the plug—slow circles, then a slow, deliberate slip in and out.
Each movement sends my breathing into chaos, need spiraling fast and hot. Words I never usually say tear loose as I press my forehead into the bed, ass high, begging shamelessly,
“Boone—fuck—baby, please. I need you to fuck me.”
My hole gapes as fresh air hits it. The soft thud of the plug landing on the mattress sends goose bumps racing over my skin, but there’s no time to look back—no time to think—before two of his thick, slick fingers press inside me.
“Elias.” My name is a deep, chesty rumble. “You were made for me.”
“That’s what I’ve been s—”
The rest of my words vanish when he pushes a third finger inside, stroking my prostate with devastating precision.
My vision blurs. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes as I stammer, “I—I need you.”
“Then you will have all of me.”
He doesn’t make me wait.
Finally.
The press of his cock against my hole turns my panting breaths choppy, uneven. I bite down hard on my lower lip, the pressure alone—his slick sliding between my legs, the promise of being filled—almost too much.
When my cock pulses, I grab it fast, squeezing once before clutching my balls, tightening my grip. Not a chance in hell I’m coming before I get thoroughly dicked down.
He presses farther, the head of his cock stretching me, and the balance between pleasure and pain is overwhelming. He’s so big—so everything—that my breath stutters, but I urge him on anyway, pushing back slowly, nodding as I beg, “Fuck, more. I can take you, Boone.”
The pause of his hips is pure hesitation.
We’ve talked about this. I know his fears. I understand them. Respect them. But he wants this too—us too. His need is as high as mine; I’m just a hell of a lot more vocal about it.
“Fuck, Boone.”
“Patience, Elias.” His voice is strained as he holds my ass cheeks apart.
A fresh gush of slick, and he eases out an inch before pushing deeper.
My eyes roll back, legs shaking. I’m grateful my forehead is already pressed to the mattress, because I wouldn’t be able to hold myself upright otherwise.
Inch by inch, he works his way inside me. Sweat drips into my eyes with every slippery glide of his cock. He’s careful—so painfully careful—that my heart stutters at the tenderness of it.
“How far?” I mumble, my voice wobbling despite my best efforts. His large hand soothes my ass, grounding me.
“Just a little more, my Elias. You’re taking me so well.”
If it weren’t for the tremble in his legs and the strain beneath his words, I might think he was completely in control.
I bob my head, wondering what a little means to Boone. He’s nine inches long with a circumference designed to destroy me, and even with all our preparation, the question feels relevant.