Epilogue | 8 months later
Grier ghosted her fingers along the ink-darkened skin of Tobin’s ribs, tracing the cherry blossom tattoo that concealed evidence of her accident, its branches teasing the breasts Grier loved bringing to life.
But this morning, it wasn’t a lascivious wandering.
She had woken only a few minutes ago, with the mid-summer dawn streaking through the curtains of Tobin’s—their—bedroom, rousing her from her big-spoon position wrapped around Tobin’s lithe, naked body.
Tobin had unofficially moved her in following her release from the hospital in September. They’d officially discussed her permanence a few months later, long after she’d recovered.
Much of Grier’s memory following the wildfire was hazy at best. She had awoken nearly twenty hours after the rescue, in a hospital bed surrounded by her entire family, including Grove and her parents.
But mostly, she formed consciousness from the fingers up, entwined as they were in Tobin’s, lying next to her in the hospital bed. She had refused to leave her side.
She had suffered second-degree burns on her feet and much of her calves, but the rest of her skin had been spared.
The more pressing concern had been her lungs; smoke inhalation injuries and airway burns had made every breath a battle.
It had taken three weeks for her throat to heal enough for more than a whispered conversation.
Thankfully, she and Tobin had always needed few words, making short work of verbal exchanges and opting instead for the more direct, physical conversations their bodies yearned to share.
At first, Tobin refused to let her out of sight, and Grant couldn’t argue with Tobin’s dedication to nursing Grier back to health.
Her parents had offered to set her up in their home for recovery, but she and Tobin agreed she’d be more comfortable at Tobin’s.
They slipped into each other’s lives as easily as breathing, until one day Grier realized the only thing left to do was change her address—everything she valued had already migrated to Tobin’s in innocuous transitions, the assimilation as fluid and natural as if it had always been that way.
Now, Grier lay on her side, propping her head in the palm of her upturned hand, and walked her fingers delicately through the blooms and branches until she reached her favorite spot—the one Tobin had asked Dagny to embellish before her love-sick return home eight months ago.
She traced the gentle curves Dagny had woven into the branches, two arcs curling toward each other before resolving in the tip of a branch: a perfect, scripted ampersand.
Her.
The symbolic sobriquet—her de facto callsign—inked into Tobin’s skin beside the scar that marked her survival. They were tattooed on each other’s hearts; Tobin just wore hers on her skin, as well.
Grier bent her head and gently pressed her lips to the tattoo.
Tobin hummed sleepily beneath her lips. “If you’re trying to be subtle, you’re failing. Miserably.”
Grier’s lips curved into a pleased smile. There were certain perks to living with the woman you loved—perks that just made her heart hum… and a few other organs, too.
“Shhh, you’re supposed to be asleep. I was trying to admire my view silently,” she teased, trailing kisses along the underside of Tobin’s breasts, her intentions readily adapting with the degree of Tobin’s consciousness.
“Keep that up and I’m gonna make you put your… mouth where your mouth is.”
Grier hummed, drawn to the husk and hunger of Tobin’s voice.
“I don’t think threats are supposed to be so tempting, love,” she murmured, intentionally slipping her tongue out to flick at her girlfriend’s skin.
Her free hand settled against the soft plane of Tobin’s stomach as she kissed her way along the inked trail, following the tattoos as far as her reach allowed.
Tobin’s breathing shifted—shorter, erratic. Grier felt her shiver, twitching under her lips, before Tobin moved with sudden purpose. In one fluid motion, she rolled onto her back, pulling Grier with her and guiding her on top.
“You’re going to make us late,” Grier chided, her lips wandering over the smooth slope of Tobin’s décolletage.
“We have absolutely nothing going on today,” Tobin countered huskily, as she fisted a handful of Grier’s loose brown waves.
She used the grip as leverage to bring their mouths together, and Grier parted for her, letting Tobin’s tongue slip past her teeth—only to catch it gently between her own. Tobin hissed.
Grier widened her knees as she released Tobin’s tongue, extracting another, needier hiss from her. Pushing up, she swung a leg over and straddled her, their centers meeting. Warm, wet pleasure slid through her core—Tobin was just as ready as she was.
Fuck. Morning sex was her favorite.
Her gaze locked on Tobin’s, the hooded, dark pull of want there threatening to consume her. Digging her toes into the mattress, she rocked her hips slow over Tobin’s, biting back the pitched gasp that rose as the pleasure slithered through her.
Tobin’s thumbs brushed over her nipples, and goosebumps pebbled across every inch of her exposed skin—which was to say, all of her.
Grier caught Tobin’s wrists, pressing her hands firmly to her breasts, squeezing herself through Tobin’s fingers.
Tobin bucked beneath her, and Grier ground down in answer, their need meeting pump for pump.
She set the rhythm, but Tobin matched her effortlessly, perfectly synchronizing their movements.
This was the rhythm of their love, and their bodies needed no direction.
“Grier!” Tobin exclaimed—her name an exclamation in its own right. She was close.
“Me too, love,” Grier responded, her body edging closer with every thrust.
Tobin pulled her hands from Grier’s breasts and set them firmly on her hips, locking their centers together as their clits glided against each other, throbbing in tandem need. Grier bent forward, gripping the sheets to pull herself even deeper into Tobin’s heat. “Yes,” she breathed.
“Ye—” Tobin’s pleasure consumed her voice.
“Don’t stop, I’m cl—close!” Grier urged, coaxing them on.
Tobin thrust hard between her legs, and with it came a gargled explosion that might have been Grier’s name—lost in the haze of sensation coursing through her.
Her own climax was only seconds behind. When it hit, the force of it arched her back, snapping her upright, her hair tumbling around her head and face so that she was completely blinded by her pleasure.
She felt Tobin’s warm hand leave her hips and thread through the mane of her hair. Tobin chuckled at what Grier could only imagine looked like a thoroughly debauched version of herself atop Tobin’s still-heaving torso.
“You have no right to be so proud of yourself for that—I started it!” Grier whined without conviction, then blew a raspberry through her hair, sending it flying in all directions and accomplishing literally nothing to tame it.
Tobin laughed beneath her. The shudder of her gaiety teased Grier’s still-sensitive clit, making her squeeze her legs tight around Tobin’s hips to subdue the borderline-painful sensation.
“I don’t know how rights work in terms of initiation, but I do believe it is my right to enjoy the show you’re offering,” Tobin said, sitting upright quickly, bringing them chest to chest and shifting Grier’s ass onto the bed.
Their legs spidered together, their still- throbbing centers inches apart.
“And I am very much enjoying your show, Cinderella.”
Grier felt Tobin’s cool hands dip beneath her loose hair, combing it off her face; the air hit her skin like a refreshing whisper alongside Tobin’s gentle fingers. “There you are…” Tobin whispered when she’d uncovered Grier’s eyes.
Grier beamed beneath her hair, ready to pounce on her girlfriend the moment she was released from her furry cage.
She caught the twitch in Tobin’s lips, knowing her intentions were poorly concealed, and leaned into it.
She closed the space between their mouths and greeted Tobin’s lips with her own.
It was soft and familiar and imbued with a love she could taste.
“Speaking of shows,” she mumbled through conjoined lips, “we need to get dressed. We actually do have plans today.”
The kind of plans that’ll change your life, she mused.
Grier broke their kiss and scrambled off the bed.
She tried to tug Tobin into the bathroom so they could shower together, but Tobin resisted, pulling Grier back onto the bed and into her arms as if cradling a baby.
Grier looked up into the familiar swirls of green, gray, and brown, and her breath caught in her throat.
Tobin dipped her head down and resumed kissing her gently.
She found that she neither could nor wanted to resist.
“I wasn’t done kissing you,” Tobin stated matter-of-factly, finally releasing Grier’s lips.
“I hope you’re never done kissing me, Tobin,” Grier responded, cupping a gentle hand along Tobin’s jaw. “We can resume this in the shower.”
“You have the best ideas,” Tobin cooed, allowing Grier to pull her out of the sheets.
Grier turned, walking backward as she led them into the bathroom, raking her eyes along the length of Tobin’s body.
She didn’t hide what she was doing, and she didn’t hate the responsive pink that colored Tobin’s chest and neck as she did it.
Even after everything they’ve shared, they could still make each other blush.