Epilogue #2
“Sa-so wa-wet,” he breathes, still in the habit of sounding out the first syllable, not that I mind one bit. My fingers snake into his hair as my thighs tremble. I want him. I want his mouth, his tongue, his cock, whatever I can take inside me.
Tell me, again. I want to hear it .
“Fuck me, please.” I don’t think I’ve been this turned on before, and I need him to make me come. He nods, fingers sliding up my thighs to gently coax the toy from within my swollen pussy. It takes some wiggling and firm tugs before it slips free, coated in my arousal.
Instead of placing it in his mouth to lick it clean as he normally does with his fingers, he jumps to his feet and spins me around. One foot shoves the chair out of the way, and a large hand presses into my back, bending me over the desk like I’d imagined.
Oh, fuck. Oh, yes. This is what I want, and Zade never disappoints.
Rustling of buttons being undone and soon a zipper gliding down teases my ears.
The coolness from the wood beneath my cheek seeps into my face, trying in vain to cool down my internal body temperature, but my ears remain trained on whatever Zade is doing behind me.
Warm skin slides along my folds, pulling a moan from me.
“Yes, please,” I whimper, pushing my ass back to feel more of him.
Smack. “Oh!” I gasp out, pinpricks of pain blooming across one ass cheek.
“St-stay sta-still,” he says, the tip of his cock nudging my entrance. I nearly weep with relief when his hips roll forward, shoving more of his cock inside me.
I’m going to come. I feel it as each delicious inch drags along my swollen walls. My pussy is so overstimulated from the toy, he has to enter me slowly. But I’m so greedy for him I’m tempted to risk another slap to the ass just to impale myself quickly on his shaft .
Fingers dig into my hips and I scream, walls clenching around his cock when he roughly pulls my hips back, burying himself the last few inches.
Whimpers slip from my lips, and my thighs shake from the orgasm barreling through me.
I hadn’t expected him to do that and oh, it feels so damn good.
Sweet relief after the torture of being edged.
Dots float in my vision, ragged breaths leaving me in small pants. My inner muscles undulate around his cock, aftershocks zipping through me. Zade doesn’t move through it all, letting me come down and adjust to one of the biggest orgasms I’ve ever had. Holy shit, where did he read up on that ?
And I fucking can’t wait to do it again, going limp beneath him.
If I’m going to hell for this, for fucking my brother, then I’m doing it with a damn smile.
Zade
One Year Later. . .
She is so damn beautiful, brown eyes downcast and skimming over the menu, little divots forming where her brows dip.
Dark hair twisted into a braid and wrapped around itself into a bun sits on top of her head with little curly spirals that’d escaped dangling near her ears.
Diamond earrings sparkle, catching the light and white teeth tug at soft lips painted red.
She’s fucking perfect and all mine. My fingers twitch with the urge to tap on the white clothed table we’re sitting at. Voices mingle and float in several conversations around us. I’m suddenly wishing I’d done this at home or in a park with fewer onlookers.
“Are you okay? And, seriously, have you seen these prices? You know you don’t have to take me to some fancy restaurant to impress me, right?” Her lips form an adorable pout, and I want to nip at them like she’d done moments ago.
It’s fine. I can afford it, and I like spoiling you. It’s not about impressing you but noted. Next time, I’ll take you to Taco Bell for takeout.
As intended, she throws her head back with a throaty laugh, garnering a few appreciative glances from some of the men seated near us. I scowl at them, forcing their eyes to dart away quickly.
Fingers slide along the backs of my hand, and I glance down at her ringless fingers. That changes tonight. If she says yes. No, she will say yes.
“Easy, tiger. They can look but not touch. And I like a good bean burrito. So, what are you ordering, Cassanova?” she quips, eyes sparkling with mirth. She’s so goddamn beautiful. I’m still in disbelief that out of all the men in the world, she’s content with me. She chose me .
I hear they have good steak, so probably a ribeye and whatever comes with it. Don’t worry about the prices, order whatever you want. And save room for dessert.
She smiles at me, eyes taking on a wet sheen before she blinks rapidly and glances back down at the menu. She takes several minutes to decide, and I flag down our waiter as soon as she’s made up her mind.
The dark-haired man dressed in a white button down and black slacks quickly takes our order and promises to have it out shortly. Siri aims another smile at me once the waiter disappears. She’s been doing that a lot, and I wonder if she suspects what I have planned.
It’s not exactly subtle, dinner reservations at a fancy restaurant, both of us dressed in somewhat formal dress—a shimmery white sleeveless gown that falls to mid-thigh and strappy heels for her and the same attire as the waiter for me, minus the tie.
All of it practically screams, “he’s going to propose. ”
But that’s only part of the surprise.
When the food arrives, we both make appreciative noises and dive in. After I’ve cleaned my plate, I sit back with a huff, and Siri laughs, dabbing politely at her mouth with a napkin. I can’t wait to kiss it and have it around another part of my anatomy later.
Flushing under my appreciative gaze, she orders the chocolate mousse cake with ice cream after our waiter returns, jotting down our orders in between clearing the table.
He gives me a knowing glance and offers to bring out a complimentary bottle of champagne to wash down the food.
Siri’s eyes are practically jewels at this point, happiness radiating off of her.
She loves a nice bottle of bubbly, and, considering the occasion, she doesn’t get carded.
“Are you going to tell me what this is about now? Did you get promoted or take on another job?” she quizzes, lips unable to drop the smile permanently fixed to her face.
I shake my head, refusing to spoil the surprise.
She pouts, crossing her arms, but the upper corners of her mouth twitch, bringing a grin to my face.
Her eyes roll, and I make a note to spank her for it later, for being a brat.
If she truly knew the why, I’d doubt she’d want me to just come right out and say it without ceremony.
It’s supposed to be special and damn, she looks good under the fluorescent lights.
Maybe scratch the spanking. I just want to be inside her again.
Our waiter’s fluid walk toward our table catches my eye, and I drag my sweaty palms down the silky material of my slacks.
Here goes nothing. He sets the dome-covered plate down after reaching us and pops the bottle of champagne open without letting the cork fly.
Bending low at the waist, he pours first Siri’s glass, then my own, whispering “good luck” low enough for only my ears.
He leaves without uncovering the “dessert.”
Siri stares after him with a quizzical look, then leans forward, pulling the top off the plate.
Her gasp sends more nerves racing down my spine.
Upon the plate rests a black felt box, lid lifted to display the diamond ring lying inside.
Brown eyes fly up to meet mine, and I give her a shy smile, rising from my seat and picking up the box on my way to her side.
Conversations around us peter out, and I feel dozens of eyes boring into my back as I sink to one knee in front of the center of my world.
Everything revolves around her. She’s the reason I wake up in the morning, the reason I remember to take my meds, the reason I practice speaking in my free time, and finally, the reason I choose to go through this life despite the hardships I face every day. She’s my why, my person.
But I don’t say all of that. After only a year of learning how to talk, that’s too many words to trip off my inexperienced tongue. But this , I practiced several times a day in front of a mirror, wanting to get it right for this moment.
“Soriah Daniels, I love you. Will you marry me?” The words sound normal to my ears, but maybe only I can hear how the pitch and stretching of vowels don’t come out fluidly.
But that doesn’t matter. I said them, and—Siri bursts into tears, throwing herself from the chair and into my arms. Making shushing noises, I run my free hand up and down her back, uncertain if this is a “yes.”
“Yes. Oh, God, yes, I’ll marry you, Zade,” she cries into my neck, tears wetting my skin and the collar of my shirt. I release the breath of anxiety that got caught in my lungs and relax into the embrace, bringing both arms to cross over her back.
She said yes. She said yes. She said yes.
No other thought will fill my head, allowing that one sentence, those three words, to flow on an endless loop.
I’m going to marry my sister.