18. Epilogue #2
"Ricky!" He says, smacking my hand behind him with a warning. "Not in public. You know I don't like abrasive PDA."
I laugh, throwing my head back. "Oh yeah? That's a lie, and you know it."
"What?" He argues. "Since when? Since when do I like PDA—"
"Walking down the street just now. And you were all over me that day we had to go rescue Aubrey, remember? Back when we made us official. You're the one that threw me onto the hood of my car to start making out, before Eli and Aubrey even got back to meet us at the shop."
"Key word, before they got back to the shop."
"Admit it," I whisper, leaning in close enough that my breath ghosts across his ear. "Say you like PDA." My hand finds his ass again, squeezing enough to make him jump.
"Ricky!" he hisses, but the warning is undercut by the way he's leaning into me.
The crosswalk light flashes white, and we step off the curb into the sea of pedestrians.
"You're gonna get us arrested for public indecency if you keep that shit up.
And then who's gonna be in charge tonight?
Not you, that's for damn sure. You'll regret—"
I cut him off by scooping him up, one arm behind his knees and the other around his back.
He yelps, a sound that's half-shock, half-amusement, and I grin as I stumble forward with my precious cargo.
We make it maybe three steps before my foot catches on the uneven pavement, sending us both careening toward the opposite curb in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
A few passersby glance our way, their expressions ranging from amused to vaguely concerned before they hurry on.
"You okay?" I manage through a fit of laughter that's shaking my entire body. My knee is scraped, but I barely feel it.
Patrick pushes himself up on his elbows, his hair a mess across his forehead. "That's a loaded question," he gasps, heaving as he tries to catch his breath between bouts of laughter.
I help him to his feet, our fingers tangling together as I pull him up.
I reach out with my free hand, brushing a stray strand of crimson hair from his face.
The sunlight catches it, turning the ends to fire, making the freckles scattered across his nose stand out against his pale skin.
His eyes, the ones that somehow see right through me, are fixed on mine, crinkled at the corners.
"What?" he asks, softening as he notices the way I'm looking at him.
"Nothing," I lie, because what the hell am I supposed to say?
That I'm thinking about how this man—this beautiful mess of a man who comforted me after calling out a safeword because I couldn't handle being tied up—has somehow become my entire world?
That he makes my life feel purposeful and complete, even when he's tripping over his own damn feet?
That I never thought I'd be here, walking down the street with someone who makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world?
”Liar,” he smirks.
I cup his face, my thumbs tracing the line of his jaw. “I’m just appreciating you.”
I kiss him. It starts soft, but then it's not. It's the kind of kiss that makes you forget your own name, let alone that you're standing on a busy street corner in broad daylight.
Then I hear him mumble against my lips.
"Snail."
"What?" I pull back, my mind still fuzzy from the kiss.
He's already walking away, fast and determined, as if he's got somewhere more important to be. I watch, confused, as he nearly walks straight into a light pole. I sprint to catch up, yanking him back by the collar of his shirt right in time.
I reach for his hand, but he snatches it away.
"Snail," he says again.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I laugh, and then he's laughing too, that stupid, beautiful sound.
"No, I'm serious!" he insists, though he's still smiling. "You’ve gone full-on dom on me multiple times today, and you didn’t even realize. Don't let that shit get to your head, Uh-Ricardo. I still call the shots in this relationship."
I reach for him again, but he sidesteps, pulling away with a smirk that's downright evil.
"Patrick—"
"Nope," he says, spinning on his heel and making a beeline for the coffee shop. "I'm snailing you. You can punish me later."
I groan, but I'm grinning like an idiot as I chase after him and get back to the car.
We make it to the coffee shop as the afternoon rush starts to hit, and I lean against the brick wall outside, watching him through the window.
He's already behind the counter, his apron on, directing orders to the staff.
Every time he looks up, he catches my eye and shakes his head, the smirk still in place.
And I know, without a doubt, that I'm going to make him pay for this later. Hell, I'm already planning it. Because that's what I love about us, always pushing each other, always finding new ways to spark.
But as I watch him laugh with a customer, his head thrown back in that carefree way that makes him look years younger, I know I wouldn't trade this for anything. Not even for a quiet, boring life. This chaos, this beautiful, messy, unpredictable life with him, is exactly what I want.
"See you later," I mouth through the glass, my heart pounding in my chest.
He nods, his smile softening for a second before he turns back to his work.
And just like that, we're back in our roles—me the bookkeeper, him the manager—but I know we're both thinking the same thing.
Tonight, when the shop closes and he gets home, we'll be something else entirely. And I can't fucking wait.
I'd do it all again in a heartbeat for Patrick.
Every stumble, every argument, every moment of it, because that's what you do when you find the one person who makes your world feel complete.
You give and take, you pick each other up, and you never stop fighting for the person who makes you feel like you're exactly who you're supposed to be.
It's all I need. I'm Patrick's. It's the truth, branded so deep in my bones I can feel it when his eyes are on me. His. No one else's, only his.
And him? All this time, I wondered if I was enough for him, if I could give him what he needed. But when I'm his dom, watching him fall apart in my arms, I know. He's not just my sub in those moments, he's mine. Every broken piece, every stubborn inch, all mine.
We're the puzzle that somehow fits, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
THE END