Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Private Griffin

Five Years Later

Iopen the door to our bedroom as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake my sleeping wife. God, I love calling Mercy my wife. The word alone has the power to soothe my soul and make me hard as nails, like I am right now, just looking at her sleeping outline in the bed. Her auburn hair is spread out on her pillow, the softness of her skin highlighted by the silvery moon rays coming in through the window.

We married the morning after I rescued her from the brothel. We didn’t even bother returning to the convent for her possessions or mine.

You’re the only thing I need, she whispered, as I carried her down the stairs of that place wrapped in my coat, while the soldiers cheered behind us. Though that night is one of my worst memories, it’s also one of the best, because it’s the night Mercy agreed to be mine forever.

Since then, the rebel uprising has been quelled and Mercy likes to claim the victory only happened after her husband was promoted to captain. I take my job very seriously, but I take my marriage far more seriously, so my work is done at the local base. Never in the field. If I had to spend a night away from Mercy, I’d go mad.

Tonight marks the first time since we married that we didn’t fall asleep in one another’s arms. But I had business to attend. Long overdue business.

My wife stirs beneath the sheets and turns over, smiling up at me drowsily.

Heaven above, the power of her beauty still knocks the breath clean out of my lungs. Motherhood has made her glow even brighter. Listening to her sing our daughters to bed every night fills me with a contentment and love I never thought possible. Not until Mercy. I could burst open from the magnitude of it.

“You’re home,” she breathes now, reaching for the lamp.

“No,” I rasp,” Don’t turn it on—”

The lamp clicks before I can stop her, casting the room—and my blood-covered body—in light. “Griffin,” she gasps, sitting up and crawling toward me on hands and knees, naked, as she always sleeps. When she reaches me, she settles her hands on my shoulders, understanding dawning in her beautiful eyes. “You found the captain?”

I grunt an affirmation, remembering with satisfaction the way his eyes had gone blind during that final twist of the knife, as I whispered “this is for my wife” in his ear. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

She runs her palms down my pecs and stomach, taking the hem of my shirt and lifting it over my head. “We don’t hide anything from each other.”

“No,” I say, groaning when she scratches her fingernails down my chest, grazing my nipples. “Never, angel baby. Never.”

It’s funny how I used to scorn the men in my regiment for obsessing over women when I’ve become the most obsessive son of a bitch who ever walked the earth. If she cries—even happy tears—it brings me to my knees. One time she scraped her ankle coming up the stairs and I almost passed out from fear that she was going to die. Don’t even get me started on childbirth. I had to be restrained in the hospital basement.

I’m my wife’s servant. I worship the ground she walks on.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now, she unzips my pants and situates her fist around my shaft, turning my breath into ragged puffs in an instant. So help me God, her eyes still light up with glee when she touches or sees my cock and it puts me in a painful state of arousal, every moment of the fucking day. My wife is obsessed with my dick and strokes it excitedly now, her teeth sinking into the pillow of her lower lip.

“Did you kill that bad man all for me?” she whispers, shyly.

“Yes,” I groan, precome leaking from my tip and dripping onto the bed “You are worth killing for, Mercy. You’re worthy of anything and everything.”

I shoot off a little more come and she collects it lovingly with her hands, making eye contact with me as she spreads the moisture across her hot, little tits.

“Fuck,” I breathe. “Oh fuck, little girl.”

With a toss of her gorgeous hair, she turns and falls forward onto hands and knees, presenting me her tight backside. “Can I please give you a reward?” Her knees slide farther apart, revealing her pink asshole. “I want to give it so bad,” she murmurs, giving me a pleading look over her shoulder.

I settle my hands on her buns and massage them roughly, eyeing up the back entrance I know she’s offering me. To say my wife is…adventurous would be an understatement. And just like her, it’s a gift from the Lord himself. I’ve lost count of how many times she’s enticed me to make love to her in public parks or film us so we can watch the footage later and fuck like animals.

She’s naughty. She’s kinky.

She wasn’t meant to be a nun, but sometimes, like right now, I swear she’s a motherfucking saint. And if anyone ever looks twice at her when we’re out, I clean their goddamn clock and ask questions later. Mercy is mine. End of story.

“Please let me have it, Griffin,” she whines again, rubbing her bottom against my lap. “I’m such a grateful girl. Use me.”

I’m groaning as I reach for the lube on our bedside table, my cock already full to bursting. Lasting for hours with Mercy has never been a reality. She turns me on to such an extreme, I’m usually only inside her for fifteen minutes before she wrings my come out with her little sexpot body. And that’s just fine, because by the time that fifteen minutes is up, Mercy is usually a sobbing mess from her multiple orgasms.

Have I mentioned I love my wife?

“I love you,” I tell her now, wrapping her hair around my left fist and pulling her face back for a wet, promissory kiss. “God, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says huskily, seriousness dancing in her eyes momentarily. “You could have been hurt.”

“No, Mercy.” I rub my cock against her asshole, up and back, before easing in my thumb inside and watching her perfect mouth fall open. “Nothing keeps me from you. I could never lose a battle with this much on the line.”

“Put it in,” she purrs. “I missed it.”

This is what I’m talking about. She’s a fiend for my cock and I feed it into her now, inch by inch, pressure flooding into my stomach. “Ah, Jesus. I love fucking this sexy, little ass.” I wrap an arm underneath her waist, finding her clit with my fingertips and stroking as I sink in deeper, deeper, listening to her moans gather strength.

She looks back at me over her shoulder, face flushed. “This feels too much like a reward for me,” she whimpers. “You better do it harder.”

My balls wrench up and I barely keep from coming, but I hear her loud and clear. She wants it rough and I give Mercy what she wants. Always.

I also know when she wants it rough, she wants to play.

For a while after leaving the church, Mercy felt shame for betraying her vows.

Not now. We found a way to own the shame. To embrace and enjoy it.

“This dirty, little nun wants it hard?” I tackle her onto the bed, still abusing her swelling clit with my middle finger, thrusting my cock into her snug back entrance and watching her pale cheeks jiggle from the force. “Better come fast or you’re going to be late for prayers,” I say in her ear, and she goes wild, sobbing and pumping her ass back to meet my drives. “I’m going to drip out of you every time you kneel and you’re going to love it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she wails, clawing at the bedding. “Yes.”

A shudder goes through her, moisture slicking my fingers, and I roar with victory over her finding her pleasure. Then I drop my hands on top of hers, holding tight, and I go for broke, slamming in and out of her sweet, pink asshole until lightning strikes and turns my spine to a livewire. My hips slap against her backside, my seed flying in every direction while I grind out her name, over and over again.

It’s heaven.

It’s life with Mercy.

It’s our life and I’ll treasure the woman I’ve been given every single day.

THE END

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The Loner’s Lady

is available now!

Lyssa had one job. Pretend to be her best friend’s doting girlfriend during a visit with his reclusive, ex-military hero father, John. But who could have predicted she’d be instantly attracted to the intensely rugged mountain man? Or that, despite their age difference, he’d not only want Lyssa, too—forever—but would catch on to the ruse immediately?

No way in hell Lyssa was his son’s actual girlfriend. They weren’t even convincing liars. Forcing them to admit the truth, however, could hurt his son and John refused to do that. One thing he couldn’t refuse, though? His burning hunger for Lyssa. And if he wasn’t mistaken, his son continued to create situations that left him and Lyssa alone. Not touching his golden beauty before the truth comes out might prove to be the one obstacle in John’s life he isn’t strong enough to overcome…

…and the result could be a wild, enduring love for the ages.

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