Epilogue

EPILOGUE

GRAVE

A LITTLE OVER ONE YEAR LATER…

The light flurries preceding tonight's massive snowstorm fall from the sky. The icy droplets blow against my face and stick to the wool of my camel-colored jacket before promptly melting. Temperatures are dropping fast, and the brisk winter breeze is growing colder every minute that I wait for her.

With my hands shoved into my pockets to keep warm, I sit in the same place I do every Thursday afternoon; a wooden park bench across the street from Branford Hall, where she has Mixed Media Studio with Professor Jameson until 4:25 p.m.

Pulling my phone from the front pocket of my jacket, I take a quick glance at the time— 4:42 p.m.

She's late.

She's always late.

At times, I think she might be more obsessed with this art class— with all of her art classes— than she is with me. The door to the building pushes open, and Kayce briskly walks toward me, still pulling on and buttoning her navy peacoat.

Reaching me, she huffs, "I know, I know. I just couldn't stop. We have plenty of time to get across town to meet them."

She unnecessarily apologizes because I don't care that she's late. Even on the nights she completely loses track of time in her studio and leaves me waiting for hours, I don't care.

Because she's mine.

I know exactly where she is, and I absolutely love how fucking happy this move to Massachusetts has made her.

Pulling my plaid crimson and navy cashmere scarf from around my neck, I loop it around her before using it to drag her close. I won't let my girl feel the cold. Forcing her onto her toes, I pull her toward my mouth to finally taste her pouty lips.

It's been hours too long.

I teasingly run my tongue between them, and she eagerly opens for me. I take full advantage of her offer and plunder her mouth until she's breathless and needily whimpering into mine as we stand in the middle of the busy sidewalk.

I hold tight to the scarf as she unsteadily lowers herself from her tippy toes. Running my thumb over her already swollen lower lip, I gently demand, "I want you to remember those words, cinnamon."

She looks up at me with bewilderment as she tries to catch her breath from our passionate kiss.

"Later. After dinner with your parents, when I finally get you home and all to myself, you're going to hear them again," I promise.

A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, and a devilish glint sparkles in my favorite caramel eyes as her bewilderment turns to intrigue.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, I dip my head until my lips are pressed against it and whisper, "When you have your knees draped over my shoulders and those thick fucking thighs trembling against my face, I'm going to continue to lick and suck until pretty little tears are streaming down your face. And when mascara stains your face and you look like my dirty little whore, I'm going to keep making you come on my tongue as I remind you that I just couldn't stop ."

Her chest heaves against me, and her sputtered, warm breath blows over my cheek as I continue, "When you're spent, and on the verge of exhaustion, I'm going to use you like the dirty little whore you are. Fucking you hard and filling all your tight little holes with my cum because I just couldn't stop . And when I've finally had my fill of you, I'm going to spend the rest of the night reminding you how much I fucking love you."