Epilogue
Griffin
T he valley yawns open beneath us, bathed in amber and violet as the sun sinks low. Golden grasses ripple in the wind, asters and late-blooming daisies scattering their color along the ridge. The lavender’s gone. The sunflowers too.
Reese exhales beside me, soft, wistful. “My flowers are gone.”
I curl around her from behind, my palms flattening against her stomach, my mouth brushing the slope of her neck. Her skin is warm from the sun, and I press a kiss there, breathing her in. “They’ll come back.”
She melts into me, so trusting in my embrace. “I hope so.”
“Or maybe,” I murmur, my lips dragging up to her ear, my voice rough, “we make something better here.”
She turns her head, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. “What do you have in mind?”
I back her against the old oak tree, its bark rough against her spine. The wind catches her dress, and I fist the fabric, dragging it higher.
Her eyes go wide. “Griffin, what if someone sees?”
“So what?” My breath rips out of me, already shaking with need. “I don’t care.”
The truth is brutal in my chest: I want the whole world to see. To know she’s mine. That I’ll never let her go again.
I drop to my knees, the damp earth cold through my jeans, and shove her dress higher, baring her to me. My shoulders wedge between her thighs, spreading her open. She gasps, fingers pressing into my scalp like she can’t decide whether to pull me closer or push me away.
“I don’t care about anything but you,” I reply, and then my mouth is on her.
Her taste wrecks me—sweet and salt and musk, pure Reese. I lick her slowly, savoring every inch, then deeper, harder, until her thighs tremble against my jaw.
“Griffin,” she cries, the sound breaking on the wind. She bites her lip, her whole body quivering like she’s fighting me and clinging to me all at once.
“Let go.” My words grind against her skin, my tongue stroking her harder. “Don’t hold back, Reese. Not from me. Never from me.”
Her body seizes, and then she’s gone, coming apart on my tongue, her cries tearing out of her throat, echoing through the valley. I hold her through it, greedy for every tremor, every shudder, swallowing her down like she’s the only sustenance I’ll ever need.
When I rise, my mouth wet, my chest heaving, I’m wrecked. I hook my hands under her thighs and lift, pinning her higher against the oak. The bark scrapes her shoulders as she locks her legs tight around my hips.
Her eyes—fuck. Shock and lust all tangled, dark and wild as she clings to me.
“If you’re mine,” I growl, my voice shredded, “then I’ll take you whenever and wherever I want.”
“Yes,” she pants, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Please.”
I shove my jeans down just enough, the denim catching on my boots. And then I’m inside her—surging into her hard, burying myself so deep it feels like coming home. Her head tips back against the tree, mouth open in a cry that shatters me.
The bark bites into my palms as I grip harder, thrust harder, faster. Every sound she makes drives me closer to the edge—the slap of skin, the rip of fabric, the scrape of her boots sliding higher on my back.
I kiss her—hard, messy, claiming—our teeth clashing as our tongues tangle.
Her eyes lock on mine, wide and trusting even as I fuck her like I’m losing my mind. She knows. She knows I’d sooner die than hurt her. That every feral thrust is love in its rawest form.
“Mine,” I snarl against her lips, the word breaking out of me.
“Yes,” she gasps, nails carving down my back. “Yours.”
When she breaks again around me, it’s like the valley itself answers—the wind whistling, the asters bowing, the oak groaning beneath us. And I’m gone, spilling into her with a roar that rips me open and puts me back together all at once.
I bury my face against her neck, her pulse hammering against my lips as I breathe her in. The scent of her, the sound of her, the feel of her wrapped around me—it’s everything.
I hold her there, trembling, spent, still buried deep.
“Forever,” I whisper against her skin, the words breaking, my chest cracking open with the truth of it. “This is forever.”
Her arms cling tighter, and for a long moment we just stay like that—pressed against the oak, our hearts beating in unison.
When I finally ease back, her dress is ripped where I dragged it up, fabric frayed at the seams. She glances down, then up at me with her crooked smile.
Damn, I love that smile.
I love her.
“There’s a good tailor in town.” I brush a thumb over the torn fabric. “They can fix it.”
Her fingers trace down my jaw, soft and sure. “That’s okay. It was worth it. You’re always worth it.”
She shifts then, her hand sliding back to the oak. Her fingertips graze the faint carving in the bark—our initials, the ones I’d marked that first night like a damn fool. “When did you do this?”
“That first evening. I wanted to commemorate the moment.”
Her breath catches. “You really knew that first day.”
I swallow hard, the memory rushing back to me. “I knew the second you got out of the car.”
Her lips curve, teasing. “You mean when I fell on my ass?”
I huff a laugh, tugging her close again. “Yeah. Don’t worry, it was the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen.”
She blushes, smiling up at me with so much love it makes my knees weak.
I kiss her once more, slow and certain, then press my forehead to hers. “Come on, belleza,” I whisper, voice low, reverent. “Let’s go home.”
The End
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