Epilogue One #3
Connor's rough hands framed my face, drawing me down for a kiss that started tender but quickly deepened, his tongue licking into my mouth. “Mine,” he said against my lips, the word standing firm and true.
Later, wrapped in Connor's arms with my cheek pillowed on his chest, I watched the moonlight cast silver patterns across our bedroom. The bracelet on my wrist caught the light occasionally, the tiny key a tangible reminder of all we'd built together.
“What are you thinking?” Connor asked, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my bare shoulder.
I smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest, directly over his heart. “That I never thought I'd have this,” I admitted softly. “A home that's truly mine. Someone who sees me and wants me anyway.”
Connor's arms tightened around me, his lips pressing against my hair. “Not 'anyway,'” he corrected, his voice a low rumble I felt more than heard. “Because of. I want you because of who you are, Sierra. Every bit of you.”
The words were an absolution for all the years I'd spent believing I was too much and not enough all at once. With Connor, I wasn't a collection of flaws to tolerate or a project to fix. I was simply Sierra—complicated, sometimes panicked, but worthy of being loved exactly as I was.
“Tell me about tomorrow,” I murmured, changing the subject before emotion overwhelmed me completely. “What does the great Connor Graves have planned for our first full day in our new home?”
I felt his smile against my hair. “Whatever you want, sweet girl. This is your world now. I'm just living in it.”
“Maybe we could have Jax and Adrian over for dinner?” I suggested, tracing the tattoo that curled around his bicep. “As a thank you for yesterday.”
Connor's laugh vibrated through his chest. “Adrian will invite himself over anyway,” he pointed out, not incorrectly. “He has no boundaries when Toffee’s involved.”
I smiled, thinking of Adrian's friendliness and Jax's equally genuine affection. “They care about you,” I told him. “Both of them. They're brothers to you.”
Connor was quiet for a moment, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration of my skin. “They were all I had,” he admitted finally. “Before you.”
The confession made my heart ache with understanding. These men, bound by violence and shared history, had created their own family in the absence of conventional ones. They might express it through insults and competition, but the love between them was as real as any blood bond.
“They're my family now, too,” I said softly. “Aren't they?”
Connor shifted, rolling us so I was beneath him, his weight braced on his forearms as he looked down at me. In the moonlight, his eyes were impossibly dark, holding mine steady .
“Yes,” he murmured. “They are. All of this—” he gestured vaguely to encompass the penthouse, our life together, “—it's yours. Including them.”
I reached up, framing his face with my hands, overwhelmed by the gift he was offering. Not just a home or material possessions, but entry into the closely guarded ring of people he trusted, people he considered his own.
“Thank you,” I whispered, the words inadequate, but all I had. “For everything. For finding me.”
Connor turned his head, pressing a kiss to my palm. “I'd find you anywhere,” he promised, the words true and sincere. “In any lifetime, in any world. You're mine, Sierra. And I'm yours.”
He lowered his mouth to mine, sealing his vow with a kiss that spoke of possession and protection in equal measure, and I let myself believe him completely. This man, dangerous and gentle, feared and loving, had chosen me, and I had chosen him.
Connor’s touch became intimate, fingertips tracing the bones of my wrist where the gold bracelet rested before continuing their journey up my arm. The moonlight painted his features in silver and shadow, his eyes dark with desire as they held mine.
He kissed me again, his hand sliding into my hair, angling my head to grant him better access. His tongue swept inside, tasting, claiming, the familiar dance making heat pool between my legs.
I arched against him, my body seeking more contact, more friction, more of everything he could give me. Connor groaned, the sound vibrating between us as his hands moved to my hips, gripping them firmly.
“I need you,” he growled against my lips, already tugging at my sleep shirt. “I need to feel you.”
I lifted my arms, helping him remove the barrier between us.
The cool air blew over my skin, raising goosebumps that Connor chased away with his mouth, trailing hot kisses down my neck to my collarbone.
He took his time, as if we had all the hours of the night, all the days of our lives to explore each other .
“So sweet,” he murmured against my skin, his breath warm as he moved lower, lips closing around a nipple. The sensation shot straight to my core, drawing a moan from my throat as my back arched off the bed. “So sweet for me.”
His hands skimmed down my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts before continuing their journey to the waistband of my shorts. He hooked his fingers beneath the elastic, dragging them down my legs with torturous slowness, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re going to come first,” he instructed, his voice rough with desire. "Okay?”
I nodded, filled with need as he settled between my thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them wider.
His tongue against my core had me crying out, fingers clutching at the sheets as pleasure sparked through me.
Connor knew exactly how to touch me, how to use his tongue and fingers to drive me to the edge and keep me there, trembling on the precipice.
One hand moved to tangle in his hair, the pleasure almost overwhelming. I’d never get over the sight of his muscular back rippling as he worshipped me.
He moved up my body, his weight settling over me, making me feel protected. His cock pressed against my entrance, hot, hard, and insistent.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, waiting until my eyes met his before pushing forward, filling me in one slow thrust.
The stretch and fullness drew a moan from deep in my chest, my body adjusting to accommodate him. Connor held still, his forehead pressed against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.
“Perfect,” he whispered, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. "You were made for me.”
He began to move, setting a rhythm that was both tender and demanding, each thrust driving deeper than the last. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he changed the angle so he hit the spot inside me that made me whimper loudly.
“That's it,” he encouraged, one hand sliding between us to rub my clit with his fingers. “Feel good, sweet girl? Think you can come on my cock for me?”
His request pushed me over the edge. My orgasm had me writhing in pleasure so intense I cried out his name, my nails digging into his shoulders as my body clenched around him.
Connor hissed and followed me moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep, coming inside me. Afterwards, he lowered himself beside me, pulling me close to his chest, his heart thundering beneath my ear.
As our breathing slowed and our bodies cooled, Connor's fingers drew circles back, occasionally dipping lower to the curve of my bottom or higher to brush the hair from my back. The bracelet on my wrist caught the moonlight again, the tiny key gleaming, representing our home.
In the quiet sanctuary of this new home, surrounded by the life we were building together, I understood what it meant to love and be loved in return.
Connor Graves, with his fighter's hands and protective heart, had given me more than a home. He'd given me a future. A place to stand. A foundation upon which to build the life I'd always been too afraid to dream of. I knew that this love, this home, and this man were where I belonged.