Epilogue 1 #3
The angle changed when he hooked an arm under one of my knees and lifted, opening me wider.
The next thrust went even deeper. I cried out; the sound bounced off the walls, and he immediately covered my mouth again, but this time his fingers slipped between my lips.
I sucked on them without thinking, tasting salt and myself and the faint sweetness of milk.
He fucked me like that for long minutes—slow, heavy strokes that forced me up onto the ball of my free foot with every push. His breathing had gone ragged.
When the first orgasm finally broke over me, it was deeper than the first one.
My whole body locked, inner muscles clamping down hard around him.
He groaned like the sensation hurt, hips stuttering, but he didn't come.
He simply rode me through it, grinding in tight circles until the pulses faded into oversensitive aftershocks.
Only then did he pull out.
I made a soft, protesting sound. He turned me to face him, lifted me again, and this time my legs locked around his waist as he pressed my back to the opposite wall. Gravity helped. I sank down onto him completely, and his forehead dropped to my shoulder with a broken sound.
"Still so fucking wet for me," he said against my skin. "Look at you."
I couldn't look at anything except the way his shoulders flexed under the water, the dark flush high on his cheekbones, the pure hunger in his eyes.
He started moving again—harder now, the slap of wet skin echoing under the rush of the shower.
Every upward thrust lifted me slightly; every withdrawal made me clutch at him tighter so I wouldn't lose the feeling of being full.
"Artyom—I can't—"
"You can." The words were rough against my wet skin. "You're going to take everything I give you tonight. Every single drop. I've waited too long."
He proved it. When my legs started to shake too hard to hold myself up, he carried me the few steps to the closed toilet lid, sat down with me still impaled on him, and guided my hips into a slow, rolling ride.
Time blurred. Each time I thought he must be close, he simply slowed, or changed the angle, or pulled out entirely to drop to his knees behind me and put his mouth on me instead—licking, sucking, fucking me with his tongue until I came on his face, and he stood again to slide back in while I was still pulsing.
When he finally started to lose control, it was after I had come so many times that the pleasure had turned almost sharp.
His thrusts grew shorter, harder, the wet slap of skin louder.
His breathing turned into low, continuous growls against the back of my neck.
One hand locked around my hip hard enough to bruise; the other covered my mouth again as his rhythm broke.
He buried himself to the hilt and came with a muffled, broken sound that vibrated against my skin.
The first pulse of heat inside me triggered another helpless orgasm of my own.
He kept thrusting through it, shallow and deep by turns, until the last aftershocks faded and he finally stilled, forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, chest heaving.
I was boneless, barely upright, slumped into him and trying to catch my breath.
He kissed my forehead, his voice full and lazy, completely fed. "Did it feel good?"
I punched his chest, but there was no strength behind it. "This is your fault. What the hell are we going to tell her?"
"What are you scared of?" He cleaned me up with a damp towel, gentle again, then helped me into a clean set of pajamas. "I'll handle her."
When he opened the bathroom door and walked out, I heard Anna immediately. "Why are you here? Where is Willow?"
"Oh. She'd had some engorgement pain. I helped her work it out."
I almost slipped right there in the bathroom. My face went so hot I could've fried an egg on my cheeks.
How did he say that like it was a damn weather report?
I crouched by the bathroom door, gripping the towel, not brave enough to step out. Then Anna's footsteps came closer and closer, and I scrambled to turn my back to the door handle.
The door opened gently.
Anna stood there with a cup of warm honey water. She took one look at my red ears and smiled like she knew everything. She held the cup out to me. "Don't be shy. I've been there. That boy looks cold, but he cares about you."
I took a sip. It was sweet, warm, sliding down my throat like comfort.
Looking at Anna's softened smile, I felt it hit me all at once. I felt... stupidly happy.
I didn't just have a husband. I had a son. I even had a mom.
Before I could stop myself, I fell into Anna's arms. "Thank you."
Anna's body went still for a second, then she patted my back gently. Her laugh sounded thick, like she was holding something back. "Oh, you silly girl."
Her embrace felt warm and soft, and she smelled like cinnamon bread fresh from the oven, exactly like the mother I barely remembered. I rubbed my face against her neck, and all the fear and loneliness I'd carried for more than twenty years finally had somewhere to land.
Maybe that was how life worked.
God made up for what you'd lost when you least expected it.