Epilogue Hutch
I’ve just cracked a beer after wrestling the reclaimed copper farmhouse sink Ginger had to have—complete with a pot filler and some fancy as fuck spray nozzle—into place for the last two hours.
I lean back against the counter and tip back the frosty bottle, cold fizz coating my throat when she walks in like she owns the place.
Hell, she does. She fucking owns me.
She’s wearing nothing but one of my thick pullover hoodies that hits her mid-thigh and fuzzy socks. I wonder what pair of lace panties she’s got on underneath and imagine taking them off with my teeth.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” I murmur, dragging my gaze up her long legs.
She stops, tilting her head. “Just thinking.”
I smirk, my dick perking up at the sight of all that beautiful peachy pink skin on display. “Sounds ominous.”
Her eyes flick up, light and teasing as she steps further into the kitchen, hips swaying enough to make my grip tighten around the cold, glass bottle. I’ll never get enough of this woman.
Her eyes fall on the sink behind me, and they light up again. “It looks so good. Does it work yet?”
“’Course it does.”
“One step closer to finished,” she says, leaning against the kitchen table Mom and Pop gave me from storage.
It’s old as fuck, the edges marred with dents from chairs hastily pushed in, a round mark where the finish came clean off when Nat set a hot pan on there when she was sixteen. We’d had it forever, back before we were a family of however many we are now.
Her voice is teasing and sultry. “It’s lucky you’re so good with your hands.”
The smirk she’s giving me lights me the fuck up. Always has.
I set my bottle down and cross the distance, caging her in against the table, one arm on each side of her grippable hips. She tips her head back to look at me, putting those perfect pink lips and caramel freckles close to my face.
“Still got a few things left to finish up, though,” I say, leaning in to take her mouth.
She leans back, brow arched before I can, and wraps her arms around my neck, playing along like she always seems to know she should. The rickety table creaks under our combined weight. “Like what?”
Dropping my eyes, I slide a hand up her bare thigh, gripping slow and deliberate as I spread her knees so I can wedge my hips between them.
“Wainscotting,” I say with a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Finish trim.” A kiss on her jaw as she tilts her head to the side. “And…” I lean in, lips grazing her ear. “A table that won’t break when I fuck you on it.”
Her breath hitches before she hums in appreciation. “Sounds like a structural issue, Bigfoot.”
I chuckle, loving the mouth on her. “Trust me, baby, there’s nothing wrong with my structure,” I tell her, grinding my cock against her.
She lets out a desperate little moan.
“Boys asleep?” I ask, nuzzling her neck with my nose before lifting her to set her ass right on the edge of this shitty old table.
“Y-yes,” she stutters breathlessly when I run a finger over her lace covered slit, “but it’s gonna be an awfully awkward conversation telling your mom that you defiled her precious family heirloom.”
With a palm to her chest, I push her down until her back is flush with the tabletop and then use her hips to yank her forward. The table lets out a horrible shudder and she grabs my forearms, eyes widening in anticipation of the fall that doesn’t come.
Leaning over her, I rush my lips against her ear, dropping my voice low. “California, the only thing getting defiled tonight is you. And I plan on making you shatter over and over until you’re begging me to let you up off this table.”
She chuckles, her perfect mouth turning up in a smile, her blue eyes dancing with laughter as she gazes up at me. “God, you’re such a caveman. You’re gonna break this table and we’ll have nowhere to eat breakfast in the morning.”
“Fuck the table,” I say, dragging my hands up her thighs to grip her panties, before sliding them to the side. I trail a finger through her center, just enough to hear the sharp hitch in her breath, and I kiss her roughly, her fingertips digging into my biceps.
“Let it break,” I rasp against her mouth. “Hell, I hope it does. Gives me a damn good excuse to put you on your hands and knees on the floor and fuck your ass next.”
She laughs, shaky and breathless. “Since when have you ever needed an excuse?”
I nip at her bottom lip, growling, “You gonna keep running that mouth? Need me to stuff it with something?”
She opens her mouth to respond—some smartass thing on the tip of her tongue, no doubt—but I’m done talking.
Slamming my mouth against hers, I slip two fingers inside her, and she’s already soaked.
I curse under my breath and kiss down her neck, not giving her a second to breathe, before adding a third.
She clings to me like she needs me more than air itself, moaning my name as I work her over, mouth hot, sucking at the pulse point on her throat.
I take my time, pulling delicious sounds from her mouth with my fingers, teasing her clit with my thumb until she’s nearly sobbing with need. And when I fist her panties to the side and slide myself home, the table groans loudly beneath us.
I don’t give a shit.
I fuck her like I need her to survive now, because it’s true. She’s my entire world.
And when she finally shatters for me—head thrown back, thighs trembling, mouth open in the prettiest damn sound I’ve ever heard, and cunt gripping my cock so tight I see stars—I hold her through it. Every second. Like I always will.
And wouldn’t you know it? That old piece of shit table holds.
For now.