Epilogue #2
“Fine, fine! Well, I just… when you said I talk too much…”
“Oh.” Quill hangs his head against mine, and in the shuddering sigh that escapes his mouth, I read all his guilt. Which only serves to make me feel even guiltier. “I’m sorry, little cricket.”
“No, I’m sorry, Quill.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to apologize. I never want you to apologize. Everything is my fault. Always my fault.”
I bite down on a protest, knowing we’re about to enter one of our apology circles, which are the one thing that dampens our otherwise perfect happiness.
Most of the time, I recognize in him the old Quill, obsessive, strong, forceful, even, in the exact way I like it. But occasionally, the brokenness pushes through the cracks, and it’s like the realization of what he unconsciously did to me has opened up a bottomless pit of trauma.
If he was thinking of my trauma when he suggested the therapist, it’s his trauma I’m mindful of when I at last relent. “Fine. We can see a therapist.”
He rewards my words with a loud smack on my lips and an even louder smack on my ass. “You won’t regret it, cricket. It’s going to help us. I promise. Now let’s go make me some coffee. My head hurts.”
He lifts me up into his arms and carries me effortlessly into the kitchen.
“Quill!” I giggle. “I’m naked!”
“So? I’ve seen you naked before.”
“But Josh hasn’t!” I hope. “He’s here!”
“Then we’ll make lots of noise, so he knows not to come bother us.”
I roll my eyes, but then I take in his tented cock in his briefs. Yes please. It’s a relief knowing that it would take much more than tears to turn him off.
As if he’s trying to embarrass me, Quill throws me over his shoulder when we reach the door, and lets fly more resounding spanks on my ass with apparently the sole purpose of warning Josh away. It’s a lucky thing the latter sleeps in even later than me.
Still, I groan, dangling helplessly over his shoulder as he makes himself coffee and then tea for me.
“You know, I can sit down,” I protest. “That’s probably the first thing the therapist will flag. The fact that you can’t bear to not touch me at all times.”
Smack. “You can bear it even less than me. If you don’t stop squirming around, I’ll make it so you can’t sit down, whether you want to or not.”
Then he gets some milk out from the fridge, oats from the cupboard, and rummages around until he finds a saucepan and wooden spoon.
“Seriously, Quill? Are you going to fricking cook a full meal while you’ve got me over your shoulder?”
“Not a full meal, no. Just oatmeal.”
“Quill!”
Ignoring me, he tumbles the ingredients into the saucepan, then turns on the gas range. I start to squirm around on his shoulders, and even kick my legs up and down a few times, trying to get his attention.
At last he sets me down.
“Finally!” I huff. “I’ll have you know, Quill, that I’m not a sack of flour and—what are you doing?”
He’s smacking the spoon back and forth against his palm, as if testing its power. I widen my eyes. “Uhm, no, Quill, you are definitely not—”
“Turn around,” he orders with an evil smirk.
Fuck, I’m so wet. “Absolutely not.” I fold my arms, enjoying the sensation of him forcing me, whether I act like I want it or not. It feels soothing, going back to this dynamic after allowing ourselves to be vulnerable together. “You are not going to spank me with that!”
“Really?” he questions, his grin widening.
“You’ll burn the oatmeal!”
“I can multitask.” He finds a second spoon and lies it next to the saucepan, then whirls me around.
“I’m gonna make you holler nice and loud so Josh can hear you,” he threatens.
“Qui-i-ll!”
I know he would commit murder before he’d ever allow anyone to see me naked. But we both get turned on by the idea of someone possibly finding us. And lately, he also seems to enjoy the thought that Josh could be listening in.
I can’t help but be a bit turned on by that too, though I’m mostly relieved that Josh has purchased a stock of earplugs, so I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hear much if anything.
Quill pushes me against the counter, making me bend over, and nudges my thighs apart. Then he runs the spoon over my cheeks, then dips it lower, rubbing my pussy. I moan, arching into it, before… whap!
He brings the spoon hard against the spot where ass cheeks meet thigh. Sure enough, I howl at the sudden, throbbing pain. But he rubs the sting out with the spoon, then goes back to driving it back and forth over my folds.
Another hard crack on the other side, followed by more rubbing.
He keeps up at that rhythm for a while, alternating spanking and massaging, until I’m dizzy from the pain and the arousal.
At last, he puts the spoon away, and shoves me all the way onto the counter so my stomach is flush against the cool marble.
He kneels under me, latching his mouth onto my bundle of nerves.
“The… the oatmeal, Qui-i-il…” I moan, as his tongue runs over my drenched folds.
Then I bite my lip, because I do not want to be talking about oatmeal while he’s pleasuring me. At the same time, I also don’t want to be in a burning house, and thankfully, he reaches over and turns off the stove, before going right back to attacking my pussy with his tongue.
“Quill,” I moan, wiggling my ass around as he continues to lave at my folds.
He grabs my wrists and pins them to my lower back with one hand, while the other sinks its fingers into my flesh, keeping me still. Then he sucks in my clit, rolling it around in his mouth, until I come in a shuddering orgasm.
As soon as I sag against the counter, the aftershocks rippling through me, I feel his cock nudge against my entrance, then push in.
“Fuck,” groans Quill, as I moan loudly.
It feels so fucking good, his cock inside me, driving in and out hard, his balls slapping against me, his hands squeezing my sore ass.
He fills me completely, a perfect fit, each of his thrusts touching that spot deep inside me that makes me see white.
He goes hard and fast, and I don’t even need him to squeeze my neck, I feel breathless enough as it is by the way he’s taking me.
My core has turned to liquid heat, I’m puddling around his cock with desire, when he suddenly pauses and then pulls out. My moans turn into a plea, but he only flips me around and enters me again.
“Quill,” I moan, wrapping my legs around his waist.
He grabs me in his arms, pressing me to him, then goes back to thrusting.
Only this time, each thrust is slow, deliciously slow and deep, and he kisses me passionately at the same time.
One of his hands holds me up, the other one strokes my lower back and the welts left by the spoon.
I melt into his arms, feeling him take me in this new, loving way.
He’s never fucked me quite like this before, and it fulfills a need in me I never even realized I had.
I’ve never felt so connected to him as I do now. So loved. So special.
We come at the same time, an orgasm that builds, little by little, in intensity, then washes over us both.
I shiver in his arms, feeling so incredibly safe as he holds me.
The world around us feels distant, everything else is far away, unimportant.
The only thing that matters is us, the bubble of love that we share.
I hear a cell phone ring in the distance, but I’m so in the moment I don’t register it at first.
“I’m going to spend every single day from here to eternity making you happy,” breathes Quill in my ear. “We’re going to have the best life.”
“Yes, Quill,” I murmur, my voice muffled in his chest.
The ringing dies down at last, only to start back up a moment later.
“I’m so in love with you, my little cricket. My own little wife.”
I sigh in happiness, wrapping myself around him all the more. He gives me another kiss, then sets me down gently at the kitchen table.
“Stay right here,” he says, “I’ll be back with the oatmeal.”
“It’s probably burnt to a crisp by now,” I giggle happily.
“Behave.” He gives me a third kiss before tearing himself away from my arms. It’s a real undertaking for us both, to have to separate our bodies just long enough for him to walk across the room, losing the touch of him for just the few seconds it takes for him to ladle porridge into bowls.
It’s a struggle to be without his soothing warmth, no matter for how short a time, but I keep my eyes glued to him, to his muscular body and dark, shaggy hair, the tattoos winding up his back and his neck, and on his upper shoulder.
My god, he’s so beautiful. And he’s all mine. What have I ever done to deserve him?
The ringing starts back a third time, and I sigh in aggravation, as my eyes leave him for a second and note the phone on the table. It’s nice, after all this time, to have a new cell phone, though I hardly use it. But whoever is calling must have something important to say. They’re very insistent.
Sighing, I grab the phone and look at the number. It’s unknown.
Frowning, I press the green button, then bring it to my ear. “Hello?”
A woman’s voice is on the other end of the line. “Is this… Aurora Moretti?”
My mouth goes dry. What the fuck? I thought everyone who knew my real name was dead. Was Logan wrong? Am I in trouble?
On the other side of the kitchen, Quill has paused in his ladling of the porridge.
He turns around at the sound of my voice, then freezes when he takes in what I can only assume is my very shocked expression.
A moment later, he’s crossing the room, grabbing me and holding me in his arms as I answer.
“Who is this?”
“Are you Aurora Moretti?” insists the voice.
I lick my very dry lips. I have no idea what to answer. I don’t see what the voice on the other end of the line could be if not a threat. I should deny it.
But if she’s calling me, she probably already knows. Is there really any use in denying it?
I have no idea what to do. Finally, I say, “That depends on who’s asking. Who are you?”
I wait with bated breath. And then I feel myself grow faint with actual shock when the voice answers, “I’m Lia Moretti. Your mother.”
-
This is the end of the Monster Duet, but it is far from being the end of the story.