Epilogue Part Two #5
“Good boy,” I pant out. “Such a good boy for me.”
Nevan’s gray eyes light up like I’ve handed him the moon, and it makes my heart ache with love even as my body still trembles.
“Sounds like the good boy deserves to come in that perfect pussy, too, don’t you think?” Ridge kisses the bite mark he left, then taps my hip. “Off.”
“Yes?” Nevan asks, and I nod.
Because I’m still panting, unable to form words when Nevan already stands eagerly. He pulls me up and off Ridge before spinning me so my back hits his broad chest. Strong arms slide under my thighs, and I’m completely held up, legs spread wide as he sinks into me in one long, smooth thrust.
“Lemon,” he whimpers against my ear, and then fucks me like that, standing, hips rolling up into me with every thrust, even though he’s more or less moving my body up and down his cock.
“Love you, love this. You feel so good, so warm and full of us.”
“Nevan,” I moan out, gripping his forearms so hard that my nails will probably leave marks.
He walks me the few steps back to the counter, still buried inside me, then bends me over it. My breasts press against the cool marble again as he grips my ass cheeks and pulls them apart, so he can watch better how his cock slides in and out of me.
He fucks me harder now, hips slapping against my ass, the wet sound of Paul’s and Ridge’s cum mixing with my arousal filling the kitchen.
“So pretty,” he gasps out. “Fuck, you’re leaking everywhere, baby. That’s so fucking hot.”
I’m oversensitive, dazed, floating in that hazy space between too much and not enough, when my pelvis is once more pressed against the counter.
Nevan hits every perfect spot with deep thrusts, and soon enough, another smaller orgasm ripples through me, softer but no less intense, my walls contracting around him as I grip the edge of the counter and moan his name.
Nevan buries himself to the hilt with a sweet, wrecked sound, hips stuttering and pressing even deeper, his cock twitching inside me.
He stays there, nuzzling his face up and down my spine, murmuring I love you’s into my skin, while I’m lying there, trying to catch my breath.
Only when Nevan’s breathing evens out does he carefully ease out. I feel it immediately, the warm rush of all three of them leaking down my thighs, dripping onto the kitchen floor, but I stay bent over the counter, boneless and heart so full it almost hurts.
Paul turns me gently before pulling me to my feet and wrapping me in a soft blanket he’d grabbed from the couch. Then Nevan scoops me back into his arms and carries me toward Ridge’s room. Ridge wheels alongside us, one hand resting lightly on my ankle, while Paul moves ahead to open the door.
Nevan lays me carefully on the bed before helping Ridge settle in behind me.
Once Ridge is comfortable, Nevan stretches out across the foot of the bed, wrapping his arms around my legs as if he can’t bear to let go.
Paul climbs in last, settling against the headboard close enough to comb his fingers through my hair.
The only sounds are slow breathing, the old house settling around us, and Pudding snoring somewhere in the hallway.
Nobody says anything for a while.
Then Nevan sighs happily. “I’m still thinking about those muffins.”
I laugh without opening my eyes. “Of course, you are.”
“They were really good.”
“They were,” Ridge agrees. “But I still think the French toast won.”
Nevan gasps.
“I’m sure the French toast was incredible,” Paul chimes in. “But nothing can top the muffins.”
“Thank you!” Nevan points toward Paul without lifting his head. “Finally, someone with taste.”
“You all have taste,” I mumble. “I cooked both.”
“True,” Ridge says. “Which means we should probably ask the important question.”
I crack one eye open. “What important question?”
He grins. “What are you making us tomorrow?”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Nevan looks genuinely wounded. “There’s no breakfast tomorrow?”
“You people ate enough food to feed a wedding.”
“And?” he asks hopefully.
I shake my head, laughing. “You are unbelievable.”
“No,” Paul says, his fingers drifting through my hair. “We’re spoiled.”
Silence settles over us again.
Then Nevan clears his throat. “If there happened to be one muffin left…”
“There isn’t.”
“You’re lying. Rule number one.”
“Fine, I hid it.”
Ridge lets out the most offended gasp. “Sweetheart.”
“What?”
“You have a secret muffin?”
“It was for breakfast.”
“Baby,” Nevan says softly. “Breakfast is now.”
I laugh so hard my stomach hurts, then I hold up my hand.
Five fingers.
Citrus painted on every nail, little grinning lemons, because I stopped making myself smaller a long time ago, and I’m never doing it again.
Waking life.
I think about a woman in a yellow Beetle four days deep into a nightmare of highways, who couldn’t think of a single name to call, who chased three words across a country because they were the only thing she had left.
“Come to me.”
I came.
And look what was waiting.
My heart is so full I could cry.
Some days feel like dreams you don’t want to wake up from.
This is one of those.