Epilogue #2
"You can." I curl my fingers, stroking the spot that makes her legs shake, while my tongue flicks her clit. "You're going to come on my mouth, then I'm going to fuck you in our bed."
"That is—Oh fuck—That is an excellent plan."
I eat her until her thighs tremble against my ears.
My tongue working her clit in fast circles, my fingers pumping in and out, curling on every stroke.
She's soaking my hand, dripping down my wrist, her moans climbing higher with every pass of my tongue.
I suck her clit between my lips and press my tongue flat against it. Her hands slam the mattress.
"I'm coming. Nash. I'm coming."
She comes against my mouth, her pussy pulsing around my fingers. Her thighs clamp against my head, and her hips grind into my face. I hold her hips down and keep licking through it, gentler, drawing it out until she's shaking and pushing at my head.
"Stop. Stop, I can't. It's too much."
I pull back. Wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. She's sprawled across the bed, her chest heaving, with her legs open. Her pussy is swollen, flushed, and dripping. The red lipstick is smudged where she's been biting her lip.
I stand. Unbuckle my belt. She watches from the bed, her eyes heavy, tracking my hands as I unzip and push my jeans and boxers down. My cock springs free, hard, the head slick with precum. Her eyes fix on it.
"Get up here," she says.
I climb over her. Her legs wrap around my waist immediately, pulling me closer. I grip my cock, drag the head through her folds, coating myself in her wetness. She whimpers every time I slide over her clit.
"Nash. Stop teasing."
"I've been waiting all day." I notch the head at her entrance, push in an inch, pull back. She groans. "You made me wait. Those shorts. That fucking lipstick."
"I'll wear the lipstick every day for the rest of my life if you put your cock inside me right now."
I push into her. All the way. One slow, deep stroke that buries me to the hilt. Her pussy stretches around me, hot, soaking, gripping every inch. Her mouth falls open as her nails dig into my shoulders.
"There," she breathes. "God, yes. Right there."
I hold still inside her. My forehead against hers. Both of us are breathing hard. The feeling of being fully inside her, buried deep, her body wrapped around me in our bed in our bed in our house, settles somewhere deeper than want. My cock throbs inside her and she clenches around me in response.
"I love this," she whispers. "You and I. In our bed. In our house."
I pull back inch by inch and push in hard. She gasps. I do it again. And again. Long, deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, the wet sound of her pussy taking my cock fills the bedroom.
"You feel incredible," I say against her ear. "So wet. So tight. This pussy was made for me."
"It was." She pulls me closer, her heels pressing into my back. "Harder."
I give her harder. My hips snap into hers, the bed shifting beneath us. The headboard knocks against the wall. She moans with each thrust, loud; her nails rake down my back hard enough to leave marks. I grip her thigh and push it higher, opening her up, the angle shifting deeper.
"Right there," she gasps. "Oh fuck, right there. Don't stop."
"I'm not stopping." As I fuck her deep, my hand slides from her thigh to her ass, gripping hard, pulling her into every thrust. "I'm never stopping. This is mine. Every night. In our bed. Mine."
"Yours." She's panting, her pussy clenching around me with every stroke. "All of it. Yours."
I shift my weight onto one forearm and slide my other hand between us, finding her clit.
My thumb presses against it, rubbing fast circles while I keep thrusting.
Her whole body arches beneath me, her head thrown back, her throat exposed.
I lean down and suck the skin below her ear hard enough to leave a mark.
"Nash. I'm going to come again. I'm so close."
"Come on my cock." I thrust deep, grinding against her clit. "I want to feel you come while I'm inside you."
She comes screaming. Her pussy clenches in waves around my cock, her body shaking, her legs tightening around my waist. The clench of her pulls me over. I bury myself deep and come inside her, my cock pulsing in long, heavy spurts. My mouth presses against her neck, and her name tears out of me.
I stay inside her while the aftershocks roll through both of us, her pussy still fluttering around my cock. Her fingers loosen on my shoulders, her breathing ragged against my ear.
I roll to the side and pull her with me. She curls into me immediately, her leg thrown over mine, her hand on my chest, her hair spread across my shoulder. My cock slips out of her and she makes a small sound at the loss.
"Nash."
"Yeah."
"I just want you to know that the sex in our bed in our house is significantly better than the sex in the tattoo chair, which was significantly better than the sex on your desk.
Which was significantly better than the sex at Vesper, and that was already life-ruining.
So basically you've created an escalating situation that cannot be sustained, and I need you to know that I hold you personally responsible for whatever happens next. "
"What happens next?"
"I don't know. But it's going to have to be spectacular because the bar is unreasonable."
I pull her closer. Press my mouth to her hair. My hand rests on her hip. Her fingers trace circles on my chest.
"Nash."
"Yeah."
"Thank you for choosing me."
I tilt her chin up. Kiss her like we have all the time in the world.
"Every time," I say.
She presses her face into my chest. Her breathing slows. Her body goes heavy against mine, the particular weight of a woman who trusts someone enough to fall asleep on them.
I look at the ceiling. Our ceiling. The house we picked together, the bed we share, the hallway hung with her art in frames I built.
The woman on my chest with red lipstick smudged across her mouth and my name tattooed into her compass rose.
I spent years containing everything. Holding the perimeter. Watching rooms from walls. Pressing my thumb against an elastic band and counting the cost of every minute I was too late, every person I couldn't protect, every feeling I wouldn't let through.
Ruby walked in, and the yard got louder. And I let it.
Her hand curls against my chest in her sleep, fingers resting over my heartbeat like she found her place even unconscious.
The same heartbeat she recorded at three in the morning and tattooed onto my arm.
The same one that beats for her now, steady, unhurried, the rhythm of a man who finally stopped running the perimeter and came inside.
I press my mouth to her hair and close my eyes.
Home.
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