Epilogue
Lacey
I’m standing in the middle of the house I now share with Oliver, my bare feet silent on the smooth hardwood floors.
The place is half-filled with boxes I still need to unpack—my art supplies, my books, photo frames, random knickknacks I’ve collected over the years.
Even surrounded by cardboard, I’m brimming with excitement. This is my home now. Our home.
It’s been a whirlwind these past few months.
After the big reveal—that Oliver and I were in love and planned to be together—my entire world shifted.
Friends and family had plenty of reactions, good and bad.
Most people, including the players on the Desperadoes and our mutual friends, have been surprisingly accepting.
There are still awkward moments, sure, but the negativity I’d feared hasn’t swallowed us whole.
Fiona and I are repairing our friendship, little by little.
She doesn’t flinch as much when I mention Oliver.
We’re even tentatively planning a weekend getaway—just us girls—so we can reestablish our bond on solid ground again.
The only real holdout is Oliver’s ex-wife, but that’s a story for another day.
I’m learning to shut out her pointed remarks and disapproval because, honestly, my happiness with Oliver far outweighs any drama she can stir up.
I exhale, sinking onto the leather couch near the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city skyline.
The view is gorgeous, especially at this hour—late evening, the lights twinkling like scattered stars.
I smile to myself, remembering the first time I visited Oliver’s place.
It felt like a whole new world: minimalistic, sleek, all glass and modern angles.
Now, there’s a hint of my personality here—bright cushions, a splash of color on the walls, my half-finished painting propped in a corner.
It’s ours, a merging of who we both are.
Footsteps approach behind me, and my heart does that familiar flutter.
Oliver steps into view, loosening the top button of his shirt.
He’s just gotten off a call with one of the Desperadoes’ agents—something about renewing a contract with a defensive player.
Even exhausted, he’s stunning in that quiet, commanding way.
His hazel eyes flick to me, and a slow, warm smile spreads across his face.
“You look like you’re dreaming,” he says, voice low.
“Maybe I am.” I tilt my head, taking him in. “Is it weird that I’m still half in disbelief that this is real? That I’m here, living with you?”
He crosses the living room, weaving between boxes, and lowers himself beside me on the couch. His hand finds mine, fingers lacing. “Feels pretty real to me.” He leans in, presses a lingering kiss against my temple, then murmurs, “Welcome home.”
Warmth blooms in my chest, and my worries about his ex-wife or any lingering tension with Fiona momentarily fade to the background. All I can think about is Oliver—his strength, his steadiness, the way he’s fought for us. For me.
“I’m glad Fiona’s okay with this,” I say softly. “Well, as okay as she can be right now.”
Oliver nods, his expression turning reflective. “She’s handling it better than I expected, honestly. I think she can see how happy we are.”
I bite my lip, remembering how Fiona hugged me goodbye after we’d unloaded the last of my boxes earlier today.
It wasn’t the carefree squeeze we used to share in high school, but the tension in her shoulders was gone.
“She told me she wants me to be happy. She even joked that it’s about time you had someone to take care of you. I think that’s progress, right?”
He laughs quietly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I’d say so.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “I’ve never done anything like this before—cohabitating after, well, after such a complicated start—but I’ve never wanted anything more.”
My breath catches. The love in his eyes stirs up the familiar rush of heat inside me, that heady mix of gratitude and desire. I shift closer until my thigh presses against his. “You haven’t lived with anyone since your ex-wife, right?”
He confirms with a small shake of his head. “No one serious enough. Or at all. Then you crashed in like a whirlwind.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Sorry for all the clutter.” I gesture to the boxes and random bins. “I promise, once I sort through everything, I’ll keep it tidy.”
He threads his fingers in my hair, tilting my face up to his. “I don’t care about that. I just want you here. Messy boxes, half-finished paintings, that weird giraffe lamp—I’ll take it all.”
I snort. “Don’t insult the giraffe lamp—it’s vintage.”
He grins, leaning in. “Forgive me.” And then his mouth finds mine in a soft, slow kiss that makes my eyes flutter shut.
The warmth of his lips, the light scratch of his stubble against my skin, the heady spice of his cologne wrapping around me—I sink into it, letting the tension of the day melt away.
When we break apart, his gaze drifts over my face. “First night in our new life,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “How do you want to spend it?”
My heart thumps harder. I know what he’s asking. I can see the spark in his eyes—a reflection of the same need twisting inside me. Butterflies stir in my stomach, and I let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “Any suggestions?”
He shifts, pressing his palm against my lower back to draw me closer. “I have one or two ideas.”
My pulse skitters at the promise in those words.
A thrill zips through me. He bends forward and claims my mouth again, more insistently this time.
Heat flares in my core, and I slide my hands up his shoulders, feeling the taut muscle beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt.
Everything about him feels strong and sure.
We deepen the kiss, and it’s like a fuse igniting.
All the pent-up excitement—from moving, from the tension of telling everyone, from being careful in public spaces—comes rushing forward.
My breath hitches as his hand coasts up my side, brushing the curve of my waist. I arch into him, my arms winding around his neck.
He groans softly against my lips. “God, I’ve wanted you all day. Seeing you in those jeans, bossing the movers around—”
I nip at his lower lip, smiling. “I did not boss them around… too much.”
His laugh is husky. “It was incredibly sexy.” He kisses me again, and I get lost in the warmth of his mouth, the press of his body.
We tumble back into the couch cushions, half-laughing, half-gasping.
His weight over me feels comforting, grounding, and it stirs a wave of longing so intense I can’t hold back a little whimper.
I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as his lips trail down the line of my jaw to my neck.
Sensation sparks under every gentle scrape of his teeth, every press of his warm mouth.
My heart thuds wildly, and I shift, pressing my body to his.
The world narrows to his hands exploring my curves, the soft moans escaping my lips.
I want more—need more. He seems to sense it because he shifts his weight, hooking an arm under my knees, and stands, lifting me effortlessly.
I let out a startled laugh, flinging my arms around his neck.
“Daddy!”
He grins. “You’re not the only one who’s excited. Let’s celebrate this new beginning properly.” His voice is thick with want, each word sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.
He carries me to the bedroom. It’s still half-filled with boxes, but the bed is made, the soft lamplight glowing in the corner.
He sets me down gently, and I sink into the mattress, eyes locked on him.
He tugs his shirt off, revealing the sculpted lines of his torso.
My breath quickens, and a rush of heat surges through me.
He leans over me, brushing my hair off my face. “You good?” he asks softly, concern etched in his features.
Instead of answering with words, I grab the collar of his undershirt and pull him toward me, our lips colliding. He laughs into the kiss, sliding a hand under my sweater to caress my waist. The warmth of his touch is electric.
We shift and maneuver on the bed, our kisses fueled by a heady mix of emotions—love, relief, a fierce ache to solidify that yes, this is our reality now.
Clothes come off piece by piece, revealed skin brushing against skin, intensifying every sensation.
The need for each other builds, scorching away every worry or lingering doubt.
His gaze locks on mine, raw and unguarded. “I love you,” he murmurs, voice cracking with sincerity.
My heart feels like it might burst. “I love you, too,” I whisper, cupping his face in both hands. “So much.”
And then words give way to touch—urgent, tender, and everything in between.
We lose ourselves in each other, a slow crescendo of tension, lips and hands exploring, reacquainting, rediscovering.
Every brush of his fingertips, every hitch of breath, ties me closer to him.
Months of navigating other people’s opinions, of worrying we were doing something wrong—none of it matters in this moment.
We’re here, sharing a home, sharing a bed, and it feels indescribably right.
We come together in a rush of breathless intimacy that makes every nerve in my body light up. The rhythms of our hearts sync; the sound of my name on his lips sends a thrill through my core. He enters me in one brutal thrust, and I moan loud and long.
“Fuck, baby girl. You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers next to my ear.
Desire courses through me and he swivels his hips, the tip of his dick hitting the right spot deep inside me. “Oh, Daddy. Yes!” It’s like he’s got a map leading directly to my pleasure.
“I know what my little girl needs.” He wraps his fingers around my neck, his eyes boring into mine. “Now come for me, you little slut.”
That’s all I need to come crashing down around him. My body pulses uncontrollably. Pleasure peaks, again and again, until I’m left trembling in his arms, tears pricking my eyes from the intensity of it all.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” he groans out. He picks up speed, his dick pounding away inside me. He’s so big, and each time feels like the first time all over again. “I want you full of my seed, Lacey. I want you pregnant with my baby.”
My eyes widen at his words. He’s mentioned me having his child before, but in the moment, right when he’s about to orgasm… well, it’s really hot.
“I’m coming,” he grunts out, spreading my legs further apart as he empties himself deep inside me. “Take this come, you little slut. Fuck, you handle my cock so well.” He keeps coming, his body jerking on top of me.
When we finally collapse against each other, the only sounds in the room are our ragged breaths and the steady ticking of the clock near the bedside. My limbs feel weightless, my mind hazy with post-bliss languor. He brushes my damp hair away from my face, planting soft kisses along my forehead.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rumbling in his chest.
I manage a blissed-out smile, pressing myself closer to him. “Better than okay.” A laugh bubbles up. “I’m great. I’m… home.”
A tender smile spreads across his face. He pulls the covers over us, tucking me into the warm cocoon of his arms. I rest my head on his chest, contentment suffusing every inch of me.
The future stretches out in front of us—still messy, still full of challenges.
But right here, in our bed, I know we’ll face them together.
“Home,” he echoes, tracing lazy patterns on my back. “Yeah. You are.”
I close my eyes, letting the quiet hush of night settle around us.
The city lights glow beyond our window. The boxes still tower in the corners, half-unpacked.
The walls lack the art we’ll hang tomorrow.
But for once, I’m not thinking about to-do lists or outside judgment.
I’m thinking only of Oliver—my Daddy, my love—and the life we’re building.
And with his heartbeat thumping steadily beneath my cheek, I drift into a peaceful, sated sleep, convinced that no matter how complicated our path has been, it led us exactly where we’re meant to be.