Epilogue #2
He rocked back onto his heels. He grabbed his faded T-shirt and yanked it off. He unbuckled his jeans, stripping the material away. He stood naked over me, the bright sunlight illuminating the lean muscle of his chest, carved by months of grueling farm work.
The coastal breeze hit my bare skin. During the frantic months of late-night feedings and diaper changes, I hadn’t had the time or energy to worry about my reflection.
But lying exposed in the daylight, there was no hiding how much my body had changed.
I crossed my arms tightly over my stomach, digging my fingers into my sides to hide the soft curve of my belly and the silver lines etched into my skin.
Hayes dropped to his knees. He didn’t reach for my thighs. His gaze dropped straight to my defensive hold. He wrapped his rough fingers around my wrist. He uncurled my grip, pulling my arm away and pinning my hand flat to the quilt.
“Hayes, wait,” I whispered, turning my head. “I’m still getting used to how everything looks now.”
“How can I not look at you?” He leaned down, his voice a low rasp. “You are perfect, Sutton. Every single mark on your body is a privilege to witness.”
He lowered his head. His mouth pressed against the faint stretch marks on my left hip.
The hot, wet brand of his lips trailed across the soft swell of my lower stomach.
He worshiped the exact physical marks of the family I had given him, banishing the last lingering ghost of the Hollywood aesthetic.
He dragged his mouth lower. His unshaven jaw scraped a rough path down my inner thighs. His broad hands locked over my knees, parting my legs wide and pressing my calves flat against the ground. He settled his weight between my legs, burying his face against my core.
His tongue dragged upward in a deliberate line.
I gasped, my spine arching off the quilt.
His thumbs dug into the soft flesh of my thighs to steady my thrashing hips.
He swirled his tongue directly over my clit, bearing down with a relentless heat.
The sensation pooled in my center, building into a blinding rush.
“God, Hayes… please,” I gasped out, my hands tangling in his hair. “Don’t stop. Right there.”
Hayes pulled his mouth away from my center. He crawled up the length of the quilt, his knees pressing deep into the soft earth. He shifted his weight over my hips. The afternoon sun beat down on his bare shoulders, illuminating the sweat gathering on his chest.
He didn’t rush. His hands pressed into the fabric near my ears, caging my head. He lowered his hips. The broad, slick head of his erection pressed against my wet entrance.
I gasped as he pushed forward. He sank inside me, the weight of him stretching my body to accommodate his full length.
It had been months since we had been intimate.
I expected a fleeting moment of awkwardness, a tentative reintroduction to each other’s bodies.
Instead, the reality of his weight anchored me to the earth.
He pulled back, exposing the slick length of his cock, before driving forward again.
But the rhythm was strictly controlled. He braced his weight on his forearms, keeping his chest hovering inches above mine.
He held his hips elevated, his thighs rigid and shaking with the effort.
He fought his own weight, straining to hold himself back so he wouldn’t crush me.
His restraint was agonizing. He was treating me like fragile porcelain, terrified of hurting the mother of his child. The careful, repentant Hayes had proved his devotion in the mud for the last several months. But lying bare in the wild grass, I didn’t want the apology. I wanted my husband.
I lifted my legs. I wrapped my calves tightly around the outside of his hips, locking my ankles behind his lower back. I reached down, burying my fingernails into the tense muscle of his ass.
I didn’t ask for permission. Using the leverage of my legs and the tight grip of my hands, I dragged his hips forward. The movement shattered his careful balance. His chest collapsed flush against mine, the hot sweat sealing our skin together. His cock slid deep inside me.
Hayes groaned, a ragged, guttural sound tearing from his throat. His arms gave out, his forehead dropping against my shoulder.
“You feel incredible, Hayes,” I whispered, arching my spine off the quilt to force him even deeper. “But please, don’t hold back.”
He dragged his face across my neck, the rough stubble scraping my skin. The measured rhythm was gone. He thrust his hips forward, a hard, punishing drive that sent a jolt of heat straight through my core.
“I missed this so fucking much,” he ground out, his voice rough against my ear. “You have no idea how hard it’s been keeping my hands off you.”
“Then stop doing it,” I said, my nails biting into his skin. “Touch me, Hayes.”
The quilt bunched beneath my back, the fabric scraping uncomfortably against my bare skin with every measured thrust. Hayes maintained his careful rhythm, his chest hovering above mine, his muscles tight with the effort of holding his own weight back.
I could feel his lingering guilt in that hesitation, but I was done waiting for him to let go.
“Let me,” I whispered, sliding my palms over his sweaty shoulders.
I unlocked my ankles, digging my heels into the earth for leverage.
I shoved hard against his chest. Hayes grunted in surprise, offering no resistance as I violently rolled him over.
The momentum carried us sideways. His back hit the flattened summer grass, the blanket slipping away entirely.
I immediately climbed over him, straddling his hips and pinning him to the ground.
“Look at me, Hayes,” I demanded, setting my hands flat over his heart.
His blue eyes were wide in the bright daylight.
He stared up at me, his chest heaving under my palms. I reached down between our bodies, wrapping my fingers around his hot erection.
I guided him to my entrance and sank down, taking his full length.
The deep, tight stretch pulled a ragged groan from his chest. His head tipped back into the crushed weeds, exposing the long line of his throat.
He is mine.
I set a brutal, demanding rhythm, rising up on my knees and grinding back down. The grueling pace burned through my thighs, but I refused to slow down. I wanted to watch his control fray. I wanted to break the disciplined actor and leave only the desperate man underneath.
“Hayes… stop treating me like glass,” I gasped, bracing my weight against his collarbones as I rode him.
His hands shot up, gripping my hips to steady me. His calloused fingers dug into my flesh, leaving hot brands on my skin. He shifted his hips, angling upward to meet my thrusts. The pace intensified, the slick heat building between us.
“I missed this,” he groaned, his voice a ragged scrape in the open air. “Fuck, I missed you.”
He slid his thumb upward, pressing directly against my clit. He worked a relentless, circling rhythm that sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. My spine arched, my vision swimming against the glare of the open sky. His careful restraint vanished, giving way to the frantic pace I set.
“Then fuck me harder,” I told him, digging my nails into his skin. “Harder than you ever have.”
My thighs began to tremble, the muscles finally giving out.
I braced my palms flat against the slick sweat coating his chest, fighting to maintain the rhythm, but my knees threatened to give out.
The humid afternoon heat pressed down on us, draining whatever energy I had left.
His broad hands shifted from my hips to my waist, his grip secure and steady.
“Let me turn you,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp over the drone of the summer insects.
He helped me lift my weight off him. The quilt was a twisted knot of fabric, kicked aside when I shoved him into the grass.
I abandoned the blanket, crawling a few inches forward until my bare knees sank directly into the wild weeds.
The damp soil pressed cool and gritty against my skin, a sharp relief from the heat radiating between our bodies.
I planted my palms in the dirt, locking my arms to steady myself.
Hayes scrambled up behind me, his own knees digging into the earth. He grabbed my hips and pulled me backward, pressing me tight against his thighs.
“Hold your weight right there,” he commanded, his breath washing hot over my bare shoulder.
He shifted his hips and drove deep inside me from the new angle.
The stretch pulled me full and tight. I let out a jagged gasp, my fingernails digging into the soft earth to keep from being shoved forward by the force of him.
He pulled back and thrust forward again, setting a relentless, driving pace that forced me to rock with his momentum.
The tall pink and yellow wildflowers surrounding our bodies bent and snapped under the assault.
The sweet, bruised scent of crushed stems filled my lungs, mixing with the salt of our sweat in the humid air.
I lowered my upper body further, letting my forearms take my weight in the weeds to relieve my aching back.
A tangle of my own hair fell across my face, the ends catching on the damp blades of grass near my hands.
This is nothing like Los Angeles.