Epilogue - Full Circle #2
He’s transformed it: the battered old boards are covered with a linen runner, pinned down with river rocks.
There are two chairs, both scavenged from the porch, but dressed up with seat cushions and fur throws.
In the center is a table—small, round, perfectly set with real china, crystal goblets, and a storm of candles floating in glass vases.
The flames double and triple on the lake, every flicker mirrored in the ripple of water below.
Hunter stands at the edge, wind mussing his dark hair, a sweater so black it makes him look like a villain in a Scandinavian drama. But he’s not a villain, and the nervous smile he gives me as I approach makes him look more boyish than I’ve ever seen him.
He pulls my chair out, and I sit, tucking my knees together in the cold air.
“This is—” I start.
“Insane? Overkill?” he offers, and I laugh.
“Perfect,” I say, and I mean it.
He uncorks the wine—something French, I don’t ask—and pours two glasses. “To the best mistake I ever made,” he says, raising his glass.
I clink, but I want more. “To surviving the year and coming out in one piece.”
He grins, teeth white in the dusk. “That, too.”
We eat. He’s made dinner himself, which is a miracle given that last winter he burned a frozen pizza so badly the smoke alarm shorted out.
Tonight, though, it’s perfect: a plate of roast chicken, warm potato salad, something green and healthy he won’t admit to enjoying.
We talk about nothing: the news, the neighbors who call at three in the morning to report “suspicious activity” (which is usually us, enjoying sexy times in the hot tub), the time I broke the espresso machine trying to make Turkish coffee.
It’s easy, but there’s an edge to it—a hum of tension, although it’s a good hum, not a bad hum.
By the time dessert comes, the sun’s gone and the moon floats in the ink above us, mirrored in the lake. Hunter brings out a chocolate tart, but he’s fidgety, drumming his fingers on the table and staring at his hands like they’re about to do something illegal.
I lean in. “Are you okay? You seem nervous.”
He looks at me, and for a second I think he’s going to bolt.
Then he stands, walks around the table, and gets down on one knee. Literally. On the dock.
My heart skips, then sprints.
“Are you—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Tara.” He says my name like he’s memorizing it for the first time.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Every day. Every night. I want to spend all of my time with you, and swim in cold lakes together until we’re old and need life vests.
I want to have a family with you, and I can already see a little girl who looks just like her mother with long, golden hair and big blue eyes. Several little girls, actually.”
He’s shaking a little. He takes my hand, and I realize I’m shaking too.
He pulls a ring out of his pocket. The stone is aquamarine, as big as a thumbnail, set in a swirl of silver.
“I know diamonds are traditional, but I thought this was more apt. You were reborn in water, and you are so much more than a cliché. The aquamarine captures the beauty of our adventure together, and honors and anticipates the years to come.”
I stare at it, and the world narrows to a pinpoint. The candles blur, the moon wobbles, my chest goes tight.
He waits. He’s never looked more vulnerable.
I nod, and then whisper, “Yes, Hunter. Yes, I’d love to marry you and become Mrs. McCarren.”
He slips the ring on my finger, and it fits like it was made for me. He kisses my knuckles reverently, then stands, and I throw my arms around his neck.
“Yes,” I say, my mouth at his ear. “Of course, yes, yes, yes.”
He lifts me, spinning me once, and the whole dock rattles.
We’re both laughing, and then I’m crying, and the tears are cold on my cheeks in the night air.
He sets me down, and I grab his face and kiss him, open and desperate. His tongue is hot and sweet, tasting of wine and chocolate and everything that matters.
He pulls the tablecloth off in one wild motion, sending plates spinning, and spreads it on the dock behind us. He drops to his knees, pulling me down with him, and the world tips sideways. Oh wow, now? But it seems that my gorgeous fiancé is hungry, and acting on his desire.
His hands are everywhere, rough and gentle at the same time, sliding under the hem of my dress, finding my thighs, my ass, the small of my back. The fabric pools around my waist, and the chill prickles my skin to life.
He kisses my neck, my collarbone, the space between my breasts. His breath is hot, and I arch into it, wanting more.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Mmmm, yes.”
He pulls my dress down, baring my large breasts to the moonlight. They’re ivory and huge, with pink-cherry tips, and he looks at them, stricken, for a moment.
“Fuck baby, you’re so beautiful,” he rasps, palming the large orbs in his hands. “How did I get so lucky?”
Then, he sucks my nipple, biting just enough to make me gasp, and his hands pin me to the boards, fingers leaving bruises in the best way.
He slides his jeans down, and his cock is thick and hard, already leaking for me. I run my hand over it, savoring the power, the need, delighting in the veins. He grinds against my hip, desperate, losing control in a way that’s new and beautiful.
“I need you, sweetheart,” he rasps, blue eyes blazing. “I’m sorry, I can’t wait.”
He pushes my thighs apart, kneeling between them, and rubs the head of his cock against my slit. The sensation is electric—the cool air on my skin, the roughness of the dock, the heat of him lining up at my entrance.
“Yes, Hunter,” I breathe. “Stretch me. Make me feel it.”
He enters me in one slow, perfect push. I savor every inch, every pulse, the two of us joined and hungry.
We move together, rocking on the tablecloth, the candles flickering in the night. His hands on my hips, my nails in his back, the slap of skin on skin echoing across the water.
He fucks me hard, then slow, then hard again, like he’s never going to get enough.
“You’re mine,” he growls in my ear.
“Yes,” I moan. “Always.”
The climax builds slow, a tidal wave gathering at the horizon. I cling to him, feeling his cock thicken, his rhythm picking up in urgency. I spread my legs wider, welcoming him.
He kisses me, biting my lip. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
I do. I shatter around him, muscles clenching, toes curling, the whole universe collapsing to the point where our bodies meet. My pussy pulses as I let out a delighted scream, heat arching through my sweetest spot.
“Oh!” I shriek. “Unnn, yes!”
He follows, roaring into my neck, filling me with heat.
“Fuck!” he bites out, cock jerking and pulsing as he sprays my fertile fields with gallons of hot white. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
We cry and scream some more, the pleasure overcoming us. My body milks his for every last drop, savoring the stretch, the fullness, and his utter masculinity. Then, we fall back, spent, the world spinning. The dock creaks under us, but neither of us cares.
Hunter wraps us in the tablecloth, holds me close, and kisses the top of my head.
The moon is high, the lake a mirror, and the ring on my finger glows with its own pale blue light.
I laugh, breathless and wild.
He looks down at me, eyes clear as the stone, and smiles.
“I love you, Tara,” he says.
I press my lips to his.
“Forever,” I whisper.
We stay on the dock until the candles gutter out and the sky turns violet again, the lake and our future endless and waiting.
By the time I wake the next morning, the lake’s already calling me.
I slip out from under the down comforter, careful not to disturb Hunter, and pad barefoot down the hall, out the slider, and across the dew-wet planks.
My muscles ache, but in a good way. My hair smells of smoke and sex and lake air.
The ring on my finger feels just right, like I was always meant to wear it.
The water’s warmer than the air, so when I dive in, it’s almost gentle. I cut straight through the surface, my body shock-smooth, eyes wide open. The world underwater is silent and blue. I push down, deeper, until the pressure drums in my ears, then I flip and kick for the sky.
I come up gasping, laughing, alive.
Hunter’s on the dock, hands on his hips, looking like he wants to drag me back to bed. Instead, he strips off his sweats and cannonballs after me, sending up a wave that rocks the loons off the far reeds.
We float there, naked, treading water. He’s so close I can see the goosebumps on his skin, the white of his teeth.
“Early start,” he says, voice echoing across the lake.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I let the water slick my hair back. “You wore me out.”
He grins, circling me in lazy strokes. “I’ll never get tired of this view.”
I roll my eyes, but I love it.
We swim out to the float—an old wooden platform anchored a hundred feet from shore. I haul myself up, breasts pressed to the sun-warmed boards, and turn to face him as he climbs up after me.
He’s beautiful, even dripping and shivering. More so, maybe.
He sprawls next to me, resting his chin on his arms. “You’re different in the water,” he says. “Calmer.”
I nod. “I think I belong here.”
He looks at the lake, the sky, then at me. “I think you belong with me.”
I smile at him. “Oh my gosh, you’ve turned into a romantic.
Hunter winks.
“With you? Always, sweetheart.”
We’re quiet for a bit, the only sounds our breathing and the slap of water against the float.
Then I remember. “Oh. I wanted to tell you about Kat.”
“Pink haired Kat?” he says. “The one with you met talking in the library?”
“That’s the one.” I lean back, showing off my big breasts, which always gets Hunter distracted. “She’s taking a semester off though. Got a job as a personal assistant for some reclusive billionaire author, and is supposed to live at his lake house and help him with a book.”
Hunter shrugs. “Not a bad gig.”