Epilogue #2
“Just wondering if I need to remind you who’s in charge here.”
The threat sends a shiver down my spine, but I maintain my teasing. “Oh? And who would that be?”
His grip in my hair tightens fractionally. “You know exactly who, little girl.”
The familiar endearment makes me clench with renewed arousal, but I’m not ready to give up control just yet. Instead, I wrap my hand around his cock, already hard again.
“Seems like you’re at my mercy right now.”
A dangerous smile curves his lips. “For now.”
The warning in his tone promises delicious retribution later, but I focus on my current task. Maintaining eye contact, I lean down to lick a stripe up his length.
His sharp intake of breath is incredibly satisfying. I do it again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him. When I reach the head, I swirl my tongue around it before taking him deeper.
“ Fuck .” The word escapes him on a groan. “That mouth.”
I hum in acknowledgment, knowing the vibration will send him over the edge. His hips twitch but he maintains iron control, letting me set the pace.
Gradually, I take him deeper, relaxing my throat to accommodate his size. Practice has taught me exactly how he likes to be touched—the right amount of pressure, when to use my tongue, how to hollow my cheeks just so.
His breathing grows ragged as I work him over, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick, shallow ones. When I feel him start to tense, I pull back to focus on the sensitive head while my hand works the shaft.
“Close,” he warns, tugging my hair. “Either stop now or—”
I cut him off by taking him deep again, making my intentions clear. His cursing becomes creative and multilingual as I increase my pace.
When he finally comes, it’s with a groan of my name. I swallow everything he gives me, continuing to suck gently until he tugs me away.
“C’mere.” He pulls me up his body, crushing his mouth to mine in a searing kiss. I know he can taste himself on my tongue and the thought makes me moan. “Ready for breakfast?”
I smile up at him. “I could eat.”
He reaches for the room phone to order, and I take the opportunity to admire him. The morning sun highlights the silver in his dark hair, the laugh lines around his eyes, the various scars that tell the story of his life.
Sometimes it still amazes me that this man—this powerful, dangerous, utterly devoted man—is mine. That we found each other despite all odds, that love won out over fear and duty.
“What?” he asks, catching me staring after he hangs up.
“Nothing.” I smile, grateful for this moment. “Just happy.”
His expression softens with understanding. Setting the phone aside, he pulls me close again.
“Me too, love.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “Me too.”
We stay tangled together until room service arrives, content to simply exist in this peaceful bubble we’ve created. The rest of the world—with all its complications and dangers—feels very far away.
Right now, there’s just us, the sound of waves, and the promise of many more moments like this to come.
It’s more than enough.
It’s everything.
The gentle breeze from the ocean blanketing our private deck mingles with Zeke’s steady heartbeat beneath my ear.
His chest rises and falls in a hypnotic rhythm as his fingers trace lazy patterns across my bare skin.
The Maldivian sun warms us both, though the latticed roof of our villa provides enough shade to keep us comfortable as we lounge naked on the oversized daybed.
Paradise . The word floats through my mind, perfectly capturing this moment.
Our first real vacation together, just the two of us.
No mafia threats, no cases, no responsibilities beyond deciding which pristine beach to explore or which magnificent sunset to watch.
Leo is safe with Lydia and her girls, probably having the time of his life if the excited texts and photos are any indication.
“Olive?” Zeke’s deep voice rumbles through his chest as he offers me another plump green olive from the plate balanced on his thigh.
I accept it with my teeth, letting my lips brush against his fingers longer than necessary. His sharp intake of breath makes me smile. I love that the smallest touches can ignite that spark between us.
“Tease,” he says, but there’s nothing but affection in his tone.
“You love it,” I counter, shifting to press a kiss to his jaw. His beard, slightly longer than usual after days of vacation relaxation, tickles my lips.
“Mmm.” His hand slides up my spine, drawing those delicate circles that make me melt against him. “I love everything about you.”
The simple honesty in his voice makes my heart skip.
There was a time when such declarations seemed impossible—when I was just a divorced cop trying to piece her life back together, and he was the mysterious club owner who ghosted me after a few intense dates.
Now here we are, married and stronger for all the chaos we’ve weathered together.
“Even when I’m being difficult?” I think of our heated arguments about justice and morality, about the lines between right and wrong we’re still learning to navigate.
“ Especially when you’re being difficult.” He reaches for a piece of aged gouda, holding it to my lips. “Your fire is one of the first things that drew me to you. Remember that night at the club when you stood up to me? Refused to be intimidated?”
I accept the cheese, savoring the sharp, complex flavor as memories of that night flood back. “You were so angry about having a cop in your club.”
“I was terrified,” he corrects softly. “Terrified because I already knew you were dangerous to me. Not because you were a cop, but because you made me feel things I thought I’d buried for good.”
Warmth blooms through my chest. These quiet moments of vulnerability are still rare, precious things between us.
Both of us carry so many scars, so many layers of protective armor built up over years of trauma and loss.
But here, in this peaceful bubble we’ve created, those walls seem easier to lower.
“And now?” I prop myself up on an elbow to study his face, taking in the laugh lines around his eyes, the silver threading through his salt and pepper beard, the way he looks at me like I’m something precious.
“Now you’re still the most dangerous woman I know.” His lips quirk up in that crooked smile I love. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I lean in to kiss him properly, tasting olives and cheese and something uniquely Zeke that never fails to make my pulse race. His hand cups the back of my neck, holding me close as he deepens the kiss with a hunger that matches my own.
When we finally break apart, both slightly breathless, his eyes have darkened with familiar heat. But instead of acting on it, he reaches for something under his pillow.
“I have something for you.”
“Zeke.” I start to protest. He’s already spoiled me enough on this trip—the private villa, the candlelit dinners on the beach, the sunrise yoga sessions that inevitably turn into sunrise lovemaking.
“Hush.” He produces a small velvet box, midnight blue against his palm. “Let me do this.”
My breath catches as he opens it, revealing a ring that makes my eyes go wide. The center diamond is enormous, easily three carats, with smaller stones cascading down the platinum band in an intricate vintage-inspired design. It catches the afternoon light, throwing rainbow prisms across our skin.
“Zeke!” I breathe, torn between awe and practicality. “It’s beautiful, but—”
“But nothing.” He takes my left hand, where his wedding band already rests. “I know we did everything backwards—the forced marriage, falling in love after, making it real. You never got a proper engagement ring.”
“I don’t need—”
“I know you don’t need it.” He slides the ring onto my finger, where it settles like it was made for me. Which, knowing Zeke, it probably was. “But I want you to have it. Want everyone to see that you’re mine, that we chose each other despite everything trying to keep us apart.”
I stare at the ring, as it sparkles. It’s stunning, but also completely impractical for my line of work. “I can’t wear this on duty,” I warn him. “It’ll get in the way when I’m drawing my weapon, and SVU cases aren’t exactly jewelry-friendly.”
“I know that too.” He brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles just above the ring. “Wear it when we go out, when you want to remind the world that you’re Mrs. King. The rest of the time, knowing you’re mine is enough.”
The possessiveness in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. “Always yours,” I assure him, touched by the gesture and the thought behind it. “Even without the hardware.”
“Good.” His fingers trail up my arm, raising goosebumps despite the tropical heat. “Because I plan to spend the rest of my life proving how much you mean to me.”
I study the ring again, admiring how it catches the light. “It really is gorgeous. But this is way too much. I don’t even want to think about what it cost.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest where I’m pressed against him. “It’s nothing. You’re worth every penny and more.”
“Shameless flatterer.” I trace the intricate metalwork with my finger, appreciating the craftsmanship. “Where did you even find something like this?”
“Had it made.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering. “Took the designer months to get it exactly right. I wanted something as unique as you are.”
Months . The word catches me off guard. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Since our wedding night.” His expression grows serious.
“When you put aside your badge, your principles, everything you believed in to marry me. I know you acted like this was nothing more than a marriage of convenience or protection, but you still married me. You wouldn’t have agreed to it no matter what I said unless you really wanted it.
You might not have known it at the time, but I did. ”