Epilogue
A year later the house no longer creaked like it was keeping secrets.
I had her bent over the new kitchen island.
Solid marble now, the kind that didn’t shift under the weight of what we did on it.
Afternoon light poured through the restored windows and caught the faint sheen of sweat along the curve of her spine.
Maya’s hands were braced on the cool surface, ass pushed back, taking every hard thrust I gave her.
The wet sound of it filled the open space.
Her left hand kept slipping a little farther forward every time I bottomed out, and the diamond on her ring finger flashed each time it caught the light.
I gripped her hips harder and drove in deeper.
“Still so fucking tight,” I muttered, voice rough. “A year of this cock and you still squeeze like you can’t get enough.”
She moaned and pushed back to meet me. “Because I can’t.”
I reached around and found her clit, rubbing tight circles while I fucked her in long, claiming strokes.
The bond the ghosts had promised had settled into something permanent and restless.
After that last night we hadn’t lasted an hour without our hands on each other.
Not the next morning. Not the days that followed.
Elena had walked in on us less than a week later: me buried to the hilt in her daughter on the same parlor floor we’d first uncovered together.
Neither of us had scrambled to cover up.
There had been no point. The truth was already written all over both of us.
The divorce had been quiet and final. Elena left. We stayed.
Now the house was ours. Fully renovated, bright, every room rebuilt around the fact that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other for long. Maya’s ring had gone on her finger three months ago. The wedding was six weeks out. None of it felt fast enough.
I pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in hard enough that she cried out. Her cunt clenched around me in a greedy flutter.
“Look at you,” I growled, leaning over her back, mouth against her ear. “My fiancée. Wearing my ring while I ruin this perfect little cunt in the middle of the afternoon. You were made for this. Made to take me whenever I want you.”
“Yes!” she gasped. “Yours. Always.””
I fucked her harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the new cabinets.
One hand stayed on her clit; the other slid up to cup her breast, pinching the nipple the way that always made her shake.
She was already close—I could feel it in the way she fluttered and tightened, the way her breath turned into broken little sounds.
“Come on your future husband’s cock,” I ordered. “Let me feel it. Show me how much you still need this.”
Maya shattered with a sharp cry, walls locking down in hard, rhythmic pulses that milks me ruthlessly. I kept thrusting through it, chasing my own release, and when it hit I buried myself to the hilt and came hard—thick, heavy spurts flooding her while she was still shaking and clenching around me.
I stayed locked inside her afterward, breathing hard against the back of her neck, one hand splayed over her stomach. Maya’s forehead rested on the marble. The ring caught the light again when she flexed her fingers.
Outside, the late-autumn trees moved in the wind the same way they had the first day we arrived. The house was quiet now. Content. Ours.
I pressed a slow kiss to the damp skin of her shoulder and felt her smile against the counter.
We still had six weeks until the wedding.
I already knew we wouldn’t make it through the afternoon without needing each other again.