Epilogue 1
Ghost
I watch Adora from the foot of the bed, my eyes dragging over her naked body, cataloguing every inch of her soft skin. Long live the no clothes in bed rule.
“You woke up early,” she whispers, sleep still heavy in her eyes, a honey-soaked smile on her lips.
“Not that early,” I murmur, licking my lower lip when I see her nipples pebbling. “Just half an hour ago.”
Her smile stretches as her gaze drifts to my hair, still damp from the shower, like she’s only just noticing it. Then her eyes drop lower, setting fire in their wake — over my chest, my happy trail. My cock twitches under her gaze, already hard as steel.
Her brows lift when she notices the marker in my hand.
“What are you planning, Dominic?” Her breath catches, her smile curving into a smirk.
I run my tongue over my teeth before answering. She watches like she’s caught in a spell.
“You drew a star on my cheek two weeks ago.” I lift the marker to my mouth, pull the cap off with my teeth, then spit it to the floor without breaking eye contact. “Time I return the favor.”
She chuckles, her tits bouncing in rhythm with the sound. “Are you going to draw a star on my cheek too?”
“That’s not my style,” I say, already crawling over her.
I straddle her waist, boxing her in, pinning her beneath me. Her hands come to my thighs, fingers tracing slow circles, her gaze sharp with curiosity.
I squeeze her tits, just enough to feel their weight in my palms, and roll her nipples between my fingers. She lets out a soft gasp, the sound trembling with anticipation. Her scent, vanilla and sin, wraps around us like silk.
No more waiting, or I’ll fucking explode.
I lean down, the marker still in my hand, and start at the swell of her left tit, just above the nipple. I drag each letter slowly, with purpose.
D O M I N I C.
She sucks in a breath, watching through her lashes, shifting slightly to see better.
“Quit squirming,” I murmur, and pinch her nipple. “I’m not done yet.”
I switch sides and repeat the process on her right, tracing the curve of her tit.
When I’m done, I toss the marker aside and brush my thumbs over the letters. They smudge a little, the ink not completely dry yet. Fuck, I’m ready to come right now, just from seeing her like this.
“Are you proud of yourself?” she whispers, trying to tease, but the breathless need in her voice gives her away.
“So fucking proud,” I say, and bury my face between her tits, licking and sucking.
I kiss my name into her skin until she’s panting, until she can’t keep still anymore. My cock is so hard it hurts, leaking onto her.
I move forward, grabbing the base of my cock, lining it between her tits. I squeeze them together, and I swear it looks like fucking art — her tits, my cock and the marker lines painting her skin.
She looks at the head of my cock, her nails biting into my thighs now, and she opens her mouth, tongue rolling out. She knows exactly what I need.
I thrust forward, slowly so she can feel every inch. The tip of my cock presses against her tongue as I fuck her tits, the head popping into her mouth with every stroke. She moans, and that vibration travels up the length of me, settling into my spine.
My hips buck faster, her tongue flicking out to lap at my cock every time I shove forward. She’s drooling, the mess running down her chin and my shaft, smearing the ink on her tits. I squeeze them even closer together, the tightness stealing my breath.
I keep fucking her like that, hard and rough, keeping my eyes locked on hers. The familiar pull in my balls hits like a truck, the heat winding up my spine. I’m about to come and I have a decision to make — tits or mouth. But I’m too far gone to think anymore.
She takes that decision out of my hands when she leans forward, wrapping her lips around the head of my cock, a hungry look in her eyes.
I let go of her tits and thrust into her mouth as I come, bracing myself against the headboard. The world narrows to the heat of her, to the way she’s sucking me dry, not wasting a single drop. I watch as her throat contracts, taking all of it, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Tongue,” I demand the second I pull out, impatience threaded through my voice.
She opens her mouth with a sinful smile, a few drops of me still glistening on her tongue.
“Be a good girl and swallow it all, adorable,” I murmur, returning the smile.
She does, and I collapse next to her, pulling her into my arms. I kiss her, deep and filthy, tasting myself, already wanting more.
“I think your pussy needs some attention now too,” I mutter, brushing my lips along the side of her throat, grazing her earlobe.
She shivers in my arms, pressing closer.
“Only after I get to write my name on your dick,” she whispers, laughter in her voice.
…aaaand I’m at full mast again.
Hours later, we’re still in bed, Adora stretched on top of me, boneless, my hand moving lazily through her hair. It’s the weekend and, if we didn’t have a party thrown in her name at the clubhouse tonight, we’d probably spend all of it right here.
“When are you getting your books out of storage?” she asks, her fingers brushing over my ribs. “I remember you had a collection of Greek and Roman myths, and I’m in the mood to read some god shenanigans.”
“I’ll do it next week,” I say, kissing the top of her head.
She hums, pleased. A few seconds later, her fingers stop moving, splaying over my ribs.
“Dominic,” she starts, her voice a little unsure. That tone instantly puts me on alert. “Is this tattoo supposed to represent me?”
She taps my ribs once, and I know exactly which one she means. A snake coiled around a rose, tearing it apart while the thorns dig into the snake, drawing blood.
“I wanted to ask you before, but I always chickened out,” she continues. “All your other ones are skulls and vultures and screaming faces, but this one’s different. It’s okay if it’s about me, I’m just curious.”
I wrap my hand around hers where it rests on my ribs and give it a squeeze.
“None of my tattoos mean anything to me, adorable,” I murmur, kissing her head again. “I didn’t choose a single one. Had no instructions, no vision.”
My arm drops to her waist, pulling her closer.
“After I got out of prison, I went to Sketch and Inker and told them to go crazy. Put whatever they wanted on me, just cover as much as possible. That snake is just some shit Sketch came up with and is weirdly proud of.”
I have no fucking idea why I wanted to do this, I just did it. And I didn’t get to talk about it in therapy to maybe figure it out. I’m still on the fence about going back to that doc, though. Getting shot was less painful than facing her. I hated it.
Adora lifts her head and frowns down at me in mock horror. “You let them draw whatever on you? What if they did some hairy balls and a dick on your chest or neck?”
“I would’ve killed them,” I deadpan.
Her eyes widen right before she bursts into laughter.
My brows pull together. “I’m not joking.”
“I know you aren’t,” she says, barely getting the words out between laughs. “I was just imagining you walking around with some hairy balls hanging at the base of your neck.”
Fuck me, I don’t want to, but I can’t stop myself from laughing too. It happens just as Gary yowls from somewhere down the hall, announcing he just took a shit.
Adora
I can’t believe what the fuck I’m seeing. How did my life get to this point? How did I go from living in fear, to scraping by in anxiety-ridden poverty, to now… this? Surrounded by love, friends, and whatever insanity is happening in front of me?
I got my rainbow-sprinkle birthday cake from what Dominic calls my Everything List. A four-tiered one that, if I didn’t know any better, would belong at some unconventional wedding. But instead it’s here, in the middle of the clubhouse, at my ‘Congratulations, you’re an Ol’ Lady now’ party.
And it’s about to be cut in half by Mindfuck.
Mindfuck, who is currently suspended in midair above the cake, strapped into some kind of harness rigged to the ceiling beams, holding a huge machete. Waiting to be dropped so he can slice the cake in one clean motion.
Tank, Domino, and Hellbat are holding trays, ready to catch the pieces before they hit the floor.
And Griffin — of all people — is with them, holding a tray too.
This is his first clubhouse party, and that grin on his face says he’s enjoying it way too much.
Bones has been wearing a sour expression for the last hour.
Dominic isn’t far off, but he’s managing.
I blink, squeezing my eyes shut. And nope. Still real.
“He’s going to chop off his fingers,” Ria says beside me, voice soft, almost dreamy. “And I can’t wait to see it happen.”
“Worse,” Dominic growls from my other side. “He’s going to ruin the fucking cake, and then I’ll have to drown him in a toilet full of shit.”
A laugh bubbles up in my chest, but I swallow it, taking another bite of the cake already in my hand. It’s so fucking good. Mama and Ria did an amazing job. Dominic was right when he insisted I make the first cut and get my piece before any of this madness started.
He steps forward, like he’s about to stop it.
Absolutely not.
I slap my hand against his chest, halting him mid-step. He looks down at me, brows pulling together.
“Don’t you dare stop him,” I say, grinning. “Let it happen. And let me see.”
Ria makes a soft, delighted sound. “Oh, Ghostberry, I’d love to see the toilet thing too. Make it happen, even if he succeeds with the cake.”
Dominic turns his head slowly toward her, his frown deepening.
“I have to say,” he starts, “Ghostberry isn’t your best insult, Powerpuff. It’s the snowberry plant, isn’t it?” He crosses his arms. “It looks nice.”
Ria tilts her head, smiling like she’s made of cotton candy instead of venom.
“Yes, it looks nice, doesn’t it?” she says sweetly. “It’s also toxic and causes diarrhea. Just like you.”
I choke on my cake. Dominic starts rubbing my back, glaring at Ria.
“Is that what you put in your fucking coffees?”
“A million bucks and I’ll tell you,” she coos, head tilted, hands clasped behind her. “It’s a very sought-after secret.”
I look between them, eyes wide, completely pulled into their conversation, until a roar explodes through the room. People cheering, losing their damn minds.
My head snaps toward the cake. Fuck, it’s too late. Mindfuck’s already on the ground, the machete stuck in the table, the cake split in two, the idiots with the trays scrambling around to catch the pieces.
“Aww!” I whine, shoulders dropping. “I missed it!”
Dominic’s arm wraps around my shoulders, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. I lean into his warmth.
“I’ll get another one for you next week,” he murmurs. “And make Mindfuck do it again.”
I nod in agreement, already looking forward to it, and shove another big piece of cake into my mouth.
Just a few hours later, I’m not in blissful disbelief anymore. I’m horrified, standing behind the bar, pouring myself a stiff one, trying to bleach my mind.
I went to check Dominic’s old room while he was talking with Bones in his office because I was sure I'd left one of his t-shirts there. I counted five initially, but when we unpacked, there were only four.
We’ll be using the tiny cabin for overnights now, not his old room, but I didn’t know that the room had already been claimed! By none other than Domino. The same Domino who was in the middle of a full-blown orgy with half the women from my book club when I innocently opened the door and walked in.
So many asses. Vaginas. Boobs. And just one dick.
I shudder.
I didn’t think to knock. But he didn’t think to lock the door either. Who doesn’t lock the door when they’re having a fucking orgy?!
I’m pouring a generous amount of tequila into my glass when my body is suddenly caged between two strong arms and pressed into the bar.
“Fifteen years and some months ago, we were doing something really fun behind a bar just like this one,” Dominic murmurs in my ear, his breath hot, his beard brushing my neck. “Want to do it again?”
Goosebumps spread across my skin.
“I’m not wearing a dress this time,” I whisper, leaning back into his chest.
The irony of me being shocked by the upstairs orgy while also being fully ready to fuck behind the bar is not lost on me.
“I can make it work,” he growls, low and deep, igniting fire in my belly.
The bloody figure of Luca Romano drops into a chair on the other side of the bar just as I’m about to drag Dominic under it and have my way with him. It startles me so much I jerk back into him, his arm wrapping around my chest to steady me.
Luca’s usually crisp white shirt is torn, covered in dirt and blood. His leather cut sits over it, just as ruined. Three ugly scratches mark his cheek and his hair is a mess. I don’t think this man’s hair was ever out of place. It looks eerie.
“I need something strong,” he murmurs, clearly speaking to one of us but not looking at either of us. His eyes stay fixed ahead as he taps his fingers twice on the bar, leaving bloody prints behind.
I glance at the tequila bottle still in my hand, top off the glass, and slide it toward him. Then I push the bottle after it. He looks like he needs the whole thing.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Dominic asks, his voice hard.
Luca doesn’t move. He just looks at him from the corner of his eye.
“Love, Ghost,” he says after a beat. “Love fucking happened.”
Then he downs the shot, grabs the bottle, and spins in his seat. Theresa watches him from across the room, a wicked smirk on her face. Her arms lift slowly, both middle fingers aimed straight at him.
For the rest of the night, he doesn’t leave his seat. And his eyes never leave Theresa.