Epilogue
Asher
"She's going to eat them alive," I say, adjusting my sleeping daughter in my arms, my eyes locked on my wife.
She's standing halfway across the glassy expanse of her new lobby, surrounded by a pack of studio heads and magazine editors.
She works them with ease, a glass of champagne in hand, and a smile curving her lips that has absolutely nothing to do with actual happiness.
Not that anyone in this room can tell the difference.
They're too busy being in love with her, the way everyone always is.
She's in a fitted black dress that hugs her curves so tight, I'm jealous of the fabric just like I always am.
Her ring catches the light every time she gestures, sending a familiar mix of pride and awe through me.
Every now and then, she glances at me, something in her eyes that makes me forget anyone else exists.
Liam chuckles beside me, a whiskey in one hand and a miniature cupcake in the other. "You can't keep your eyes off her," he says, grinning.
"She's nervous," I say.
"She's always nervous. But she's also a goddamn killer. Watch."
He's right. Brielle's face is pure steel as she corners a casting director against the window, determined to get what she wants. Whatever she says makes the woman laugh a little too loudly, her eyes shining with adoration.
"She's better at this than I'll ever be," I murmur, completely serious.
She never has to threaten or browbeat to get what she wants.
All she has to do is smile, and they're falling at her feet, ready to give her whatever she asks.
She swears it's because they look at her and see her mom, but I know better. It's because they see her.
"That's because she's not an asshole, Ash."
I shoot her brother a dark glare, just to remind him that I'm still capable of making his life hell with a single text.
Just because I don't automatically reach for that option these days doesn't mean I can't—or won't—use it when necessary.
I still do. I'm just a little less reckless with that power now.
For her sake, I had to learn to be. For my own, too, perhaps. I don't need to be the biggest monster in the room to get my point across, not anymore. Now, I just get to be her monster.
Learning wasn't easy, not by any means. But every goddamn setback, every fight, every time I thought she might leave again, every single second when I thought maybe she'd be better off without me, has been worth it to get here. I've never known happiness like this, and I know she hasn't, either.
Liam smirks at me, reaching for my daughter. "Hand her over."
I don't want to let go—I never want to let go when she's in my arms—but I do.
Liam settles Addison in the crook of his arm, smiling down at her. "She looks like you," he murmurs.
"She's better than me." It's true. She's got Brielle's green eyes and wild, black hair, but her scowl is pure Blackstock. She's nothing like me, though. She's all Brielle, loud and fierce and so goddamn sweet it hurts.
"Go steal my sister for a minute. I've got this little one."
I hand over her bottle and step back, watching as he cuddles her against his chest, already whispering and cooing at her.
I shift my focus back to Brielle, who is talking to a group of editors. She's so alive, so fucking electric, that I can't look away. The world could end right now, and I'd just stand here, burning with the certainty that I did at least one thing right in my fucked-up life.
She catches my gaze, her expression softening.
I crook a finger, beckoning her to me.
She excuses herself with an apologetic smile, heading straight for me. The entire room ripples as she moves, all eyes on her, but she only sees me.
"You look like you want to murder someone," she says, looping her arm through mine.
"I always look like that," I say. "But if you're offering to let me, I'd like to start with the prick in the blue jacket. I overheard him saying that you're hot for a new mom."
As soon as he realized I was within earshot, he went white. He's been dodging me ever since, keeping the entire room between us. Fucking coward.
Surprised laughter spills from her lips. "Hot for a new mom, huh? Maybe I should let you add his head to your wall."
"Just say the word," I growl, my hand settling at the small of her back, right above her ass. I'm never subtle about claiming her. She doesn't want me to be.
She leans into me, her scent making my balls throb. "Where's our little monster?"
"Liam stole her from me," I say.
Brielle glances over, smiling when she sees Liam trying to juggle Addison and a cupcake at the same time. Addison is awake, reaching for his cupcake with her little lips pursed.
"She's going to be a force," Brielle says, a little awe in her voice.
"She already is, just like you." I stroke the back of her hand, needing her closer. "I need you for a minute."
She glances over at me, one brow lifted. "Do you now?"
"I really, really do."
She knows that tone. There's a wicked little glint in her eye. "You want to sneak off and leave our party?"
"Your party," I correct her.
"You only showed up because I threatened to fire you as my husband if you didn't, huh?"
"I showed up because you're here," I murmur, running my thumb over her ring. "I'm always where you are, princess."
Her expression softens as she leans up, kissing my jaw. "Lead the way, Blackstock."
We move through the crowd together. I hear little snippets of conversation as we pass—her name said with reverence, my name with grudging respect. They're all watching us, but I don't give a shit.
We reach the hallway that leads to her private office, and I pull her in close, trapping her against the wall for just a second.
She looks up at me, her eyes bright. "You're going to mess up my hair."
"Good," I mutter, kissing the tip of her nose. "I can do what I want."
"You can," she agrees without hesitation. The way she says it makes me ache. Christ, the way she lets me do whatever I want to her is so fucking addictive. I'll never get enough of it.
When we finally reach her office, I open the door and guide her inside. She steps in first, surveying the room like a queen inspecting her throne.
I close the door behind me, locking it.
The party noise fades to nothing, leaving just the two of us.
"You want to ruin me, don't you?" she teases.
"I always want to ruin you." It's nothing but the truth. Every moment of every day, I want her in my arms, falling apart on my cock, mine all the way to her soul.
She leans back against the desk, her expression feral. "Then come get me."
"I love you."
"I know," she says, smiling brightly.
"Arrogant."
She shrugs one bare shoulder. "You like it."
"Yeah," I admit, moving closer. "I really fucking do, princess."
She reaches for me, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me down to her. Like always, her kiss is the only goddamn thing in the universe that matters.
"I want you to eat me alive," she whispers against my lips, her voice a dirty dare.
"Plan on it," I murmur, reaching into my pocket to pull out the small, flat box. It's wrapped in plain black paper, the kind I know she loves because she thinks it's more decadent than any diamond.
I press it into her palm.
"A present?" She raises an eyebrow, then tears off the paper and pops the box open with zero ceremony.
She laughs when she sees the lace panties nestled on a bed of tissue—the same panties I gagged her with back when she thought she hated me, and I knew she didn't. Back when I ruined her for the first time.
"You're unbelievable," she says.
I take the box from her hand and set it aside, smirking down at her. "Can't have you making too much noise, princess," I say, then ball the panties in my fist and stuff them in her mouth before she can say anything.
She moans, the sound lost in the lace. Her hands go to my shirt, dragging me in closer, then up under the fabric, her nails scoring my chest and shoulders. She always marks me like this, almost like she wants to remind herself that I'm real and I bleed, too.
I wear each scratch and bruise like a badge of honor.
I lift her by the hips, dropping her on top of her desk. She sprawls back, her legs spread, inviting and insolent all at once.
When I push her dress up her thighs, I find exactly what I always do—bare skin, no panties. She's already wet for me, her arousal coating her pussy and the inside of her thighs.
I spread her open with my thumbs, then slide two fingers inside her, curling them up. She bites down on the panties, her moan vibrating through her whole body.
I keep my eyes on her face as I fuck her with my fingers. Her eyelids flutter, her cheeks flushing as she grinds against my hand, desperate for more.
She doesn't beg. She knows she doesn't have to.
I pull my fingers out, popping them into my mouth to suck her taste from them.
She holds my gaze the whole time, moaning around her gag.
I flip her over on the desk and bend over her, nipping at the inside of her thigh, the curve of her waist, her perfect ass.
I bite just hard enough to leave marks, because I want her to remember this every time she sees herself in the mirror.
I want every inch of her marked with the proof that she's mine.
She spreads her legs wider, hiding nothing from me. I press my thumb against her asshole and feel her shudder, her hips jerking up in silent invitation.
"My greedy little slut," I praise, slowly pushing my thumb inside her, watching the way her tight little asshole spreads around it.
She rocks against me, her whole body shaking, and I know she's already close. But I keep her balanced on the edge with my thumb in her ass and two fingers in her cunt, until she's panting through the gag, her hands clawing at the edge of the desk.
"Good girl," I say.
She whimpers in response, the sound muffled.