Epilogue
EPILOGUE
NAOMI
T welve empty plates, save for the smears of chocolate and scattered crumbs. The scent of roasted garlic and caramelized sugar still lingers in the air, mixing with the warmth of wine and laughter.
Twelve people who actually showed up for us. The candlelight flickers against the exposed brick walls, reflecting in Brandon’s tired but contented eyes.
What’s now his—ours.
Blake meets my gaze from across the table, her smile genuine even as her eyes are glazed. Next to her, Serena’s perfectly manicured fingers trace the rim of her wine glass while she pretends not to eye-fuck Elliot.
“The food was incredible.” Sebastian’s arm is draped around Lil’s shoulders. “Though I expected nothing less.”
Brandon’s shoulder brushes mine as he shifts in his chair, and I feel the tension in him ease slightly at the praise, though he’d rather die than admit it.
“For once, I have nothing to criticize,” Elijah says. “I suppose this means you’re not coming back to the company.”
“Not a chance in hell.” Brandon’s hand finds my thigh under the table, his thumb tracing absent circles. “I have been cooking for twelve hours straight.”
“Fourteen,” I correct, earning a squeeze.
Mary leans forward, her eyes bright. “Everything was amazing. And the pasta. Didn’t know something with vodka would taste so delicious. Connor literally moaned.”
“I did not.” His ears redden a bit.
“You absolutely did.” Gemma’s grinning. “Right after you said?—”
“Moving on,” Connor cuts in, but his lips twitch. “When’s the official opening, Bran Bran?”
Mykel pipes up from the end of the table. “Better be soon. I need somewhere to bring dates that aren’t Dad’s stuffy country club.”
“Because that’s such a hardship for you.” Anne leans into Landon.
“Two weeks.” Brandon’s voice is steady despite the way his fingers dig into my thigh. “Assuming the health department doesn’t fuck us over.”
“They won’t,” Blake says. “I’ve got it handled.”
She knows a guy. She always does. Probably enough dirt to approve a hot dog cart in a sewage plant. I don’t ask. Some things are better left unknown.
Who would’ve thought we’d end up here?
Sebastian’s the first to move, pulling Lil up with him. “As much as I’d love to watch Elijah critique tap water, some of us have an eight AM board meeting.”
“Which you’ll sleep through anyway,” Lil follows his guidance.
He helps her into her coat. “That’s the Barron charm, princess.”
“Dinner was amazing,” Mary beams at us, while Connor gives a quick nod of approval. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“Lil, wait!” Mary catches her outside the door. “Lunch on Tuesday? Gemma found this new place, and we have to try it.” Behind her, Connor’s shrugging on his jacket.
Elijah and Gemma leave next, but not before Elijah claps Brandon on the shoulder.
“Don’t fuck this up,” Blake slurs at Brandon, before pulling me into a tight hug. “Proud of you, NayNay.” Then Serena’s pushing her toward the door.
Elliot follows suit, and for someone who claims to hate Serena, he sure as hell watches her ass a lot.
Anne hangs back, and my chest tightens. She hasn’t said much all night, but when she hugs me, her grip is fierce. “You deserve this,” she whispers. “All of it.”
Landon just nods at us, his hand finding Anne’s lower back as they leave. Always touching, those two. Like they’re afraid the other might disappear.
Mykel’s the last to go, throwing a lazy salute. “Try not to break anything important while christening the kitchen.”
“Get out,” Brandon growls.
The door closes, and suddenly, it’s just us.
I start gathering the remaining plates, the familiar routine grounding after the chaos of dinner.
“Leave it.” Brandon’s voice carries from the kitchen. “I’ll get it later.”
“You cooked. I can clean.” I stack another plate, careful with the expensive china. “Besides, I’ve seen your version of cleaning, and I would very much like to get home soon.”
“Home?” He appears in the doorway, dish towel slung over his shoulder. His chef’s whites are stained with sauce, hair a mess from running his hands through it all night.
“Yeah, home.” I carry the plates to the sink in the kitchen.
He takes them from me and starts loading the industrial dishwasher, his shoulders loose.
“Everyone loved the food. I think the opening is going to be a full success.”
“Did you see Elijah’s face during the pasta?”
“Like he was constipated from holding back comments?”
“Mom would’ve loved it. The whole night.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He focuses on arranging the plates, not meeting my eyes. “She used to say food was the best way to show love. Had all these weird theories about it.”
“Tell me.” I love it when he shares his memories with me.
“Like… I already told you about the nicknames. Like you being my cupcake.” He turns back to the dishes. “You should move in. Officially.”
“What?”
“Move in. With me.” His fingers tighten around the dish towel. “I mean… if you want to. Half your shit’s already taking over my closet, and I…” He hesitates. A rare thing for Brandon Milton. “I want you there. Officially. Every morning. Every night.”
Our eyes lock. His, raw and hopeful. Mine, probably shining with something dangerously close to tears.
I pretend to think about it. “That ugly-ass vase has to go.”
“Which one?”
“The blue monstrosity in the living room. The one that looks like a drunk toddler made it.”
His lips twitch. “It’s my mother’s vase.”
“Shit.” I bite my lip. “I didn’t.”
“I’m fucking with you.” He pulls me closer, laughing against my hair. “Elijah bought it. Said it was ‘modern art’ or some pretentious bullshit.”
“So it can go?”
“Already planning to redecorate?”
“Please. I’ve been planning to throw that thing out since the first time I saw it. About that salt shaker collection…”
“Touch my salt shakers, and you’re sleeping on the couch.”
“Our couch.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“That’s a yes.” My mouth finds his ear, my lips barely skimming the shell. “Isn’t that something we should celebrate?”
His voice goes rough, scraping against my nerves. “What did you have in mind?”
I press closer, inhaling the lingering scent of garlic and herbs clinging to him. “I want you to ruin me on every surface of this kitchen.”
He surges forward. Hard. Fast. His mouth on mine, and his hands claiming my ass with bruising force. “Cupcake.” The growl vibrates against my lips. “You can’t say shit like that.”
“You’ve been cooking all day.” I drag my nails down his chest, feeling his muscles jump beneath the fabric. “Time for dessert.”
“You trying to give me orders in my kitchen?”
“Our kitchen. And maybe I am.”
“Dangerous game, cupcake.”
“I like dangerous.” I pop the first button of his jacket. “Especially with you.”
He pushes me against the steel prep table, mouth crashing back to mine. I arch into him, desperate for more contact.
“We should probably—” He groans when I grind against him.
“If you say stop, I swear to God?—”
“Health code violations.”
I yank him closer by his collar. “You really want to talk about health codes right now?”
“Good point.” His hands slide under my dress, bunching the fabric higher. “You sure about this?”
“Brandon.” Another button falls victim to my fumbling fingers while his lips trace my neck. “I want you. Here. Now.”
“On the table then.” He lifts me onto the cold steel.
The temperature difference makes me gasp, and he seizes the opportunity, claiming my lips with his.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “So fucking beautiful.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, hauling him closer. “Less talking, more?—”
His fingers find the edge of my panties, and coherent thoughts become impossible.
“Brandon.” My voice comes out embarrassingly needy. “Please.”
His thumb explores my center through the lace, the friction just enough to drive me insane. “I love when you beg.”
“Stop teasing.” A whimper escapes. “Please.”
Something dark flickers across his face, there and replaced by that infuriating smirk, the one that used to make me want to slap him. Now, it just makes me want to kiss it off his stupidly handsome face.
“These—” A sharp tug, and my panties tear away. “Were in my way.”
His fingers trail up my inner thigh, his touch blazing like fire, and I shiver, anticipation coiling low in my belly.
“Cupcake.” His voice drops. “Spread your legs for me.”
I comply instantly, earning a dark chuckle that shoots straight to my core.
“Good girl.” His thumb finds my clit, and my hips jerk. “Always so responsive.”
“Brandon,” I falter as he eases a finger inside me. “More.”
He adds another finger, curling them perfectly. “Like this?”
“Yes, fu—” My head falls back as he sets a steady rhythm.
His free hand tangles in my hair, yanking until I meet his gaze. The intensity there makes me clench around his fingers.
“Watch me,” he orders. “I want to see your face when you come.”
His thumb returns to my clit, and keeping my eyes open becomes a battle. The dual sensations build rapidly, threatening to overwhelm me.
“That’s it.” His fingers speed up. “Let go for me.”
My thighs start trembling, and he must feel it because his grip in my hair tightens.
“Brandon.” I’m close. So close.
“Come for me, cupcake.”
The orgasm hits hard, washing over me in waves while his fingers work me through it, his eyes never leaving mine.
When I finally come down, my body boneless and held up only by his arm around my waist, he withdraws slowly.
“Fuck,” I manage between breaths.
He sucks his fingers clean while maintaining eye contact. The sight alone makes me throb again.
“Turn around.” His voice drops to that commanding tone that liquefies my spine. “Hands on the counter.”
I brace myself on shaking arms. He comes up behind me, kicking my legs wider, and one hand gripping my hip as the other guides his cock to my entrance.
“You ready to let go, cupcake?” His teeth graze my earlobe. “Give up all that precious control?”
My head bobs in response, craving everything he’s willing to give me.
“And what does it mean when you let go like this?” His fingers dig deeper into my flesh. “When you submit so beautifully?”
It’s about trust. About finally letting someone see all my broken pieces and trusting them not to cut themselves on the sharp edges or cut deeper into me.
“It means…” The words tangle on my tongue.
His hand slides around to my throat, resting. A reminder of his control. Of my surrender.
“Say it.” Pure sin drips from his voice. “What does it mean when you’re spread out for me like this? When you’re wet and wanting and completely at my mercy?”
He knows exactly what this means, what I’m giving him. What I’ve never given anyone else.
“It means I’m yours.” The words tumble out, raw and honest. “It means… I trust you. That I’m safe.”
His grip tightens fractionally. “Say that again.”
“With you,” I whisper, “I’m safe.”
Silence. A beat where he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.
Then—his forehead presses against my shoulder, his breath shaky. Like he’s trying to swallow something too big for words.
“I didn’t mean—” I start.
“Don’t take it back.”
“I wasn’t going to. No more running, remember?”
“No more running.”
My eyes fall shut.
“How do you want me? Hard and fast until you forget everything but my name? Or slow…” His fingers circle my clit. “Until you’re begging?”
“Both. Either.”
He presses in, just an agonizing inch. “Want me to fill you up?”
I try to rock my hips back to take him deeper, but his grip is ironclad, his hold unbreakable. And I don’t want to break it.
“You are not in charge,” he says. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
He pushes in further, stretching me with a delicious burn.
“Like this?” His voice is strained, like he’s fighting for control.
“More.”
“Be a good girl.”
“Brandon—”
“Shh.” He pulls out almost completely before slamming back in.
My eyes roll back.
“Just like that, cupcake.” He gives me another one. “I could spend all day inside you.”
He drives into me harder, faster, pulling desperate sounds from my throat. The metal counter digs into my palms, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is his grip on my hips, his breath hot against my neck, and the way he fills me completely.
“You’re mine.” His tone is raw, unsteady. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I moan as he hits that perfect spot. “Only yours.”
One of his hands slides up my back, tangling in my hair. He tugs, arching my spine, changing the angle until stars burst behind my eyes.
“Brandon, please!”
“You’re perfect.” His other hand finds my clit, circling slowly. “So perfect.”
My thoughts scatter as his fingers speed up. “I’m close.”
The tension builds, coiling tighter.
“That’s it.” His grip tightens in my hair. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
Hot pleasure courses through every nerve ending, intense enough that my knees would buckle if not for Brandon’s hold on me. He fucks me through it, his rhythm growing erratic as he chases his own release.
He groans, hips stuttering. “You feel so good, cupcake.”
I clench around him deliberately, earning a sharp thrust that makes me cry out.
“Do that again,” he orders.
His confidence, his playful dominance—it all stirs a fire within me that I can’t resist.
Brandon Milton doesn’t have an innocent bone in his body, and as he claims me here in our kitchen, I realize that I crave every bit of that wickedness. With him, I don’t just want to be cherished. I want to be devoured.
It’s dangerously exhilarating, and the more I surrender to it, the more it feels like freedom.
He becomes desperate, uncontrolled, pounding me until he buries himself deep with a groan, dropping his forehead to my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin.
The kitchen hums around us.
Our restaurant.
The thought doesn’t feel as strange anymore. Neither does the idea of coming home to him every night, of making this thing between us real in a way we both used to run from.