Epilogue
Riley
The door to Aiden's apartment barely closes before his mouth finds mine.
It's different from the kiss at the river—hungrier, more urgent, fueled by hours of behaving professionally while his new captain's bars caught the light and made me think deeply unprofessional thoughts.
His hands frame my face, tilting my head to deepen the angle, and I grab fistfuls of his dress uniform because I need something to hold onto.
"Been wanting to do this," he murmurs against my lips, "since you walked into that ceremony in that dress."
"The dress is for professional occasions."
"The dress is coming off."
Heat floods through me—quick, sharp, undeniable. We've been building toward this for weeks, dancing around it, letting the tension coil tighter with every almost-moment and interrupted kiss. But tonight there's no phone call to derail us. No case waiting. No reason to stop.
"Bedroom," I manage.
"Too far."
"Aiden—"
He kisses me again, walking me backward until my shoulders hit the wall. The impact knocks a small sound from my throat, and he swallows it, one hand sliding into my hair while the other works at the zipper down my back.
My fingers fumble with his uniform buttons. Too many buttons. Why does formal wear require so many buttons? I get three undone before giving up and just yanking the shirt from his waistband.
"Impatient," he says against my jaw.
"You're one to talk."
The zipper gives. Cool air hits my bare back, and then his hands are there—warm, broad, sliding the fabric down my shoulders. The dress pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but underwear that I'm suddenly very glad I chose with care this morning.
Aiden pulls back just far enough to look at me. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and the naked want on his face makes my breath stutter.
"God, Riley." His voice has gone rough. "You're—"
"If you say something cheesy, I'm leaving."
"I was going to say you're perfect."
"That's cheesy."
"Sue me." He kisses me again before I can respond, and coherent thought dissolves into sensation.
His shirt finally comes off. I've seen him shirtless before—the charity car wash photos were not subtle—but this is different.
This is my hands on his skin, feeling the muscles shift as he lifts me like I weigh nothing.
My legs wrap around his waist, and the friction pulls a groan from somewhere deep in my chest.
"Bedroom," I say again, more desperate this time.
"Yeah." He's already moving, carrying me down the hall with an ease that shouldn't be as attractive as it is. "Yeah, okay."
We make it through the doorway, barely. He lowers me onto the bed, and I pull him down with me, unwilling to lose contact even for a second. His weight settles over me—solid, warm, real—and something in my chest cracks open.
This is real. Actually happening.
"Hey." Aiden's voice softens, his hand brushing hair from my face. "You okay?"
"Yes." I pull him down for another kiss, pouring everything I can't say into the contact. "More than okay."
He takes his time after that. His mouth traces a path down my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot where my pulse hammers. When his lips close around my nipple, my back arches off the bed.
"You're so responsive," he murmurs against my skin. "I love that."
His hand slides lower, fingertips tracing the edge of my underwear. "Can I?"
"Yes." The word comes out breathless. "God, yes."
The fabric disappears. His fingers find me slick and ready, and the first touch pulls a gasp from my throat. He watches my face as he works me with slow, deliberate strokes—learning what makes me moan, what makes my hips lift seeking more, what makes my fingers twist in the sheets.
"Aiden, please—"
"Not yet." His thumb circles, pressure building. "I want to feel you come apart first."
He adds a second finger, curling just right, and the sensation threatens to overwhelm me. His mouth returns to my breast while his hand maintains that maddening rhythm, and the combination is too much and not enough all at once.
"Look at me," he says, and I force my eyes open to meet his. "That's it. Let me see you."
The orgasm hits hard and sudden, pleasure rolling through me in waves that make my whole body shake. He works me through it, drawing out every last tremor before finally easing off.
I'm still catching my breath when he strips off his remaining clothes. I let myself look—really look—at the broad chest, the defined abs, the hard length of him. My hand reaches out, wraps around him, and the groan he makes is deeply satisfying.
"Riley, if you keep doing that—"
"Then maybe you should do something about it." I stroke him slowly, watching his control fracture. "I seem to remember you mentioning a condom."
"Right." He fumbles for the nightstand drawer, nearly drops the foil packet, and I bite back a smile at how his hands shake. The careful, controlled Aiden is gone. This version is raw need, and I did that to him.
He rolls on the condom and settles between my thighs, the blunt head of him pressing against me. "You sure?"
"I'm sure." I pull him down for a kiss. "I need you. Now."
He pushes in slowly, giving me time to adjust to the stretch. It's been a while, and the burn edges toward discomfort before giving way to fullness. When he's seated completely, we both pause—breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
"Okay?" His voice is strained.
"Move," I manage. "Please move."
He pulls back and thrusts in, and the angle is perfect. Hits something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. He does it again, and again, finding a rhythm that has me clutching at his shoulders.
"You feel incredible," he groans. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."
His hand slides between us, thumb finding my sensitive nub, and the dual sensation sends me spiraling. Every thrust drives me higher, pressure building at the base of my spine.
"I'm close," I gasp. "Don't stop."
"Never stopping." His pace increases, harder now, deeper. "Come with me, Riley. I want to feel you."
The second orgasm is stronger than the first, clenching around him as pleasure floods through every nerve ending. He follows immediately, my name on his lips as he shudders above me.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Just breathes. Hearts pounding against each other, slowing gradually toward something sustainable.
"So," Aiden says eventually, his voice muffled against my shoulder. "That was..."
"If you say 'hot,' I'm actually leaving this time."
He laughs—a full-body thing that I feel everywhere we're still connected. "I was going to say 'worth the wait.'"
"That's acceptable."
"High praise from you."
He eases out carefully, and I feel the immediate loss. He disappears into the bathroom to deal with the condom, and I hear water running. When he returns, he has a warm washcloth.
"May I?"
I nod, too boneless to be self-conscious as he gently cleans me up. The gesture is unexpectedly tender, and my throat tightens at the care he's taking.
He tosses the washcloth toward the hamper—misses—then climbs back into bed and pulls me against his side.
My head finds its place on his chest, his arm wraps around my waist. The room is dark except for the city lights filtering through the curtains.
Quiet except for our breathing and the distant hum of traffic.
"Hey, Riley?"
"Mm?"
"I love you."
The words land softly, settling into a space I didn't know I'd been keeping empty. My heart stutters—fear and joy and disbelief all tangled together.
"You don't have to say it back," he adds quickly. "I just—I wanted you to know. No pressure."
I lift my head to look at him. In the dim light, I can just make out his expression—open, vulnerable, braced for rejection even as he offers me something precious.
Evidence. That's what I've always needed. Proof before belief.
But Aiden has been providing evidence for weeks now. Every meal he's cooked. Every case file he's helped me organize. Every time he's shown up without being asked, stayed without being begged, seen me at my worst and chosen to remain anyway.
All signs point to one undeniable conclusion.
"I love you too," I say, and watch his face transform with a smile that could light up every dark corner of my carefully guarded heart. "I mean, obviously. The data supports no other conclusion."
He laughs again, pulling me down for a kiss that tastes like joy. "Only you would frame a love confession as a logical deduction."
"It's how I process information."
"I know. It's one of my favorite things about you."
We settle back into comfortable silence, tangled together in his bed while the night stretches out around us. My analytical brain, usually so loud, has gone quiet for once. No evidence to process. No case to solve. Just this moment, this person, this feeling I'm finally done running from.
"Aiden?"
"Yeah?"
"I might be open to the podcast idea."
His chest shakes with surprised laughter. "Really?"
"I said might. Very conditionally. With extensive editorial control and absolutely no segment called 'Hot Takes.'"
"I'll take it." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "I'll take anything you're willing to give me."
I close my eyes, letting his heartbeat sync with mine.
Tomorrow there will be forms to file and trials to prepare for and a whole department's worth of gossip to navigate.
But tonight, there's just Aiden's arms around me and the quiet certainty that I've finally found what I didn't know I was looking for.
Not a case to solve.
Not evidence to collect.
Just a life worth building. One piece of evidence at a time.