Epilogue #3
Breathy moans fall from her perfect lips.
My other hand cups her breast, thumb circling her nipple, and my cock presses hard against her ass.
I don’t rush. I let my fingers work her, curling them just enough on each withdrawal to draw out that gasp, that stutter of her hips, that desperate little push back into my palm.
I fucking love when she does that. I expertly play her body like my guitar.
She’s panting now, forehead pressed to the mattress, and I feel her start to tighten around me.
She falls apart with a cry, and I stay knuckle-deep, drawing it out, feeling every pulse and flutter until she’s stopped whimpering. Only then do I line myself up.
“Okay?” I ask, my voice lower than I expect.
“Yes.” The word is barely a whisper.
I push into her. The first inch steals my breath. The next one makes her mouth fall open. I slowly work deeper until I’m fully seated, and I lean forward to press my lips between her shoulder blades. Both hands find her hips, fingers digging into her skin.
Even in this position, I still feel so close to her.
My eyes roll back at how fucking good my girl feels. I drag myself out, slow enough to feel every inch of resistance, then slam back in. Her gasp is swallowed by the music.
My hips roll against her in time with the bass line.
She meets every thrust with a soft, breathy sound.
My hands slide up her sides, over her ribs, pulling her upright against my chest. Her back presses to my front, her head falling back against my shoulder, and I reach around to cup her jaw, turning her face toward mine.
That’s when I see the tears. They’re slipping down her cheeks, catching the low lamplight.
“Emma.” I stop moving. Still inside her. “Hey. Look at me, baby.”
Her eyes find mine, more beautiful than ever, because she’s smiling. She’s not hurt. She’s overwhelmed.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.
She nods. “This is just…” She sniffs, gathering herself. “For so many years, I dreamt of this. Of becoming your wife, and loving each other every day for…forever.”
I brush my thumb across her cheek, catching the tears before they reach her jaw. “I love you,” I tell her, and my voice cracks on the words.
She smiles, a sob catching in her throat.
Gently, I turn her. Lay her back on the bed, and settle between her thighs. When I push inside again, I keep my eyes on hers. I don’t look away. I can’t. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and I kiss her, slowly and deeply, while I find a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat.
Several songs pass while I love her in the most meaningful way I can. Deeper drives of my hips draw a soft yelp from her mouth into mine. I swallow each one.
My Emma.
This incredible, beautiful, brave woman who walked through fire to find me again. The way she loves me…I know that it’s rare in this great big world. It’s what everyone wants. And I’ve got it. By some goddamn miracle, I’ve got it. And I’m never letting it go.
The next song is one that I recognize instantly. “Unworthy” by Vancouver Sleep Clinic. That aching, ethereal swell fills the room.
She clenches around me, and another tear slides toward her temple. I kiss it away.
“I’ve got you,” I rasp against her skin.
Her hands skim my back, nails trailing light lines down my spine. “Jude—” Her voice breaks on my name, breath hitching, body tightening beneath me in that way I know by heart now.
I don’t speed up. I don’t get harder. I stay right there, sinking into her with that same deep, relentless rhythm. “There you go, baby.”
Her head kicks back, and she shatters around me. Her body clamps down, pulsing, and I watch her face the whole time. I’m obsessed with her face. I always have been, but more so after everything I was put through in Moscow.
I ride her through it until my own release slams into me.
I bite down on the place between her shoulder and neck, gentler than I want to, and empty everything I have inside her with a groan.
Before I can catch my breath, she’s pulling me into another kiss.
Her hands cup my face, her tongue sliding over mine, and I sink into it, giving a few more deep thrusts until I’m spent.
The song swells, and I press my forehead to hers.
Her thumb traces the line of my jaw. “Jude.” Her voice is hoarse, barely there. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
I didn’t realize I was crying now, too. Damn.
She brushes the wetness from my cheek, and the tenderness of the gesture has me closing my eyes for a moment. I kiss her palm, her wrist, her ring finger where the band sits. And then I meet her eyes, those light brown eyes that hold everything I’ve ever wanted.
“I love you, Emma Graves,” I whisper against her skin. “Thank you for never giving up on me. Even when I wanted to give up on myself.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but I kiss her before she can.
***
After a shower and some cupcakes from the reception, we end up on the back porch with the door left open behind us.
It’s dark enough that we can’t see the ocean in front of us, but we can definitely hear it.
Emma sits on my lap, wearing one of my baggy band shirts and my favorite pair of white boyshorts.
We don’t bother lighting the fire, because right now, existing in the darkness feels right.
My arms settle around her, my fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against her skin. She leans back into me with a soft exhale, and I press a kiss to her cheek, then her jaw, then the place just beneath her ear where she shivers slightly and smiles like she’s trying not to cry.
Neither of us speaks for a while. We don’t need to, after what we’ve just done.
Eventually, she tilts her head back, eyes finding the sky, her voice soft. “We really did it,” she says.
My arms tighten around her. “Yeah,” I answer, voice low against her hair. “We did.”
The wind moves gently through her damp hair, carrying the scent of saltwater and summer across the porch while the waves crash below us. From inside the house, the soft glow of the lamp spills across the wood floors.
Emma playfully scrunches her nose when I kiss beneath her ear again. And suddenly I’m overwhelmed by the smallest things. Her heartbeat beneath my hand, and Nova snoring somewhere inside the living room.
A life.
Our life.
The kind I spent so long convinced I would destroy before I ever got the chance to keep it.
Emma’s fingers lace quietly through mine, where my hand rests against her stomach, and for a long moment, we just sit there together beneath the stars.
Here, there are no cameras, violence, or running.
There are no ghosts staring between the barrel of my gun and their body I just snuffed the life from.
There’s just…this. My wife.
My fucking wife.
I rest my forehead softly against her shoulder and close my eyes for a second, letting the sound of the waves settle where grief used to live. I finally look back out into the dark horizon stretching endlessly beyond our home, my thoughts swirling.
Emma turns in my arms then. “What?” she whispers with a smile.
I brush my thumb gently across her cheekbone before answering. “Nothing,” I murmur.
But it isn’t nothing.
It’s the sound of the ocean outside the home I always promised her.
It’s the painting hanging in the living room that is finally finished.
It’s Micah and Heather, only a street away, in their own home, where we ride bikes to every Sunday evening for dinner.
It’s her smile every morning and every night. It’s waking up tomorrow.
And the next day.
And the next.
It’s all the impossible, beautiful things I somehow survived long enough to hold.
Emma shifts in my lap, and when I tilt my head back toward the stars with her tucked safely against my chest, I catch the sudden streak of light cutting across the sky.
A shooting star.
Bright enough to steal my breath before disappearing into the night. For years, I would’ve thought that was the tragedy of it.
Emma sees it too. I feel the small hitch of surprise in her body before she laughs softly, the sound full of wonder.
Emotion swells inside my chest, and I grab her chin, kissing her slowly.
And somewhere between the ocean, the music, and the warmth of her in my arms, the last aching part of me finally understands something I’ve been searching for since the day I left her.
I was never falling away from her.
I was just finding my way home.