Epilogue

DATA: SEVEN MONTHS LATER

"It's almost perfect." My eyes take in the chair's craftsmanship as my fingers run down the wood, feeling for imperfections. Heather, one of our master builders, stands, waiting for more feedback.

The chair will be one of six, part of a dining room set from Harmony Housewares. In the months since I took over as CEO, the name change morphed our production into an entire catalog of furniture. We still produce pianos, which were the cornerstone of Harmony's success. They're part of our Legacy Collection of classic, clean furniture.

"Here." I point to the joint on the back, where the leg meets the backrest. Heather leans in, studying. "This needs to be cleaner." A small sliver needs sanding. "It should be seamless. I can come down to the floor and we can do one together if you like."

"No, you can't. It's time for you to go." Marsh stands at the door to my office, sunglasses atop his head. His charming half-smile sends a rush of adrenaline through my body.

I glance at my watch. It's almost one o'clock, and how did the entire morning get away from me ?

"You're leaving early. Remember?" Marsh sets his duffel by the office door and walks in.

While SNL didn't get the genius of Marshall Kaplan-Goldberg, Out with a Bang renewed his commitment to comedy. He's been writing new jokes nonstop and performing regularly at Pauline's since. And last month, SNL reached out to Preeti about writing on staff for the upcoming season. I was worried it would upset Marsh, but he's been more excited than her about the opportunity, constantly reassuring her that she deserves a seat at the table. Preeti is talking about connecting Marsh with the A-list performers, agents, and managers she'll meet. They're already planning to write a screenplay together during the show's winter hiatus.

"But, I just need to … "

"I got it, boss. More seamless at the joint." Heather winks, grabs the chair, and heads back to the production floor.

"Thank you, Heather!" Marsh shouts after her.

A heavy sigh overtakes my chest, knowing I'll be away for an entire week. The last few months have been chaotic, but under my direction, the company is doing well. Our sales have climbed steadily, and to top it off, Furniture Today recognized us as one of the top twenty new companies to watch.

"Now, you … " Marsh takes my hand, pulls me close, and his lips brush mine. "You are coming with me. After that shotgun wedding, you promised me a honeymoon, and it's time to deliver."

"Shotgun wedding? Neither one of us was expecting." I pat Marsh's belly, and he cups my chin before kissing me softly.

"I plan to fix that this week," he says, reaching around and grabbing my ass. "Or at least have fun trying."

"Me too." I grab his two full cheeks and we stand there, jiggling each other's ass and the smile on my face reveals my sheer glee standing in my office of the family company I now run .

"Come on, let's go before the traffic descends like a hoard of Laura Derns in Gay Jurassic Park." Marsh emits a high-pitched noise, his best attempt to mimic a raptor.

Between taking over the business and Marsh's booked calendar of gigs, we've barely been up to the cabin since we escaped from the storm. We've made good money from leasing it out in the interim, but with the business doing so well, we're planning to pull the cabin off the short-term rental market. Like Marsh, I want it all to myself.

A full week on Marshmallow Mountain with my husband. We've earned this.

As we approach the cabin, with the car windows down in our new full-size pickup truck, the smell of fresh pine, dirt, and crisp mountain air fills my lungs. There's more than enough room for us to both manspread, but we don't. My palm lies on Marsh's knee and I gently tickle him as his arm drapes behind my headrest. Wildflowers carpet the area on either side of the dirt road and the myriad of colors makes it hard to discern one blossom from the next. There's no threat of getting stranded in a storm now (sorry chickens) and the sound of the babbling brook that empties into the pond in the distance becomes louder as the cabin, now surrounded by the lush greens of both evergreen and deciduous trees, comes into view.

Marsh's hand lands on my thigh, squeezing gently, and I let out a deep sigh.

"Yeah," he says. "It's good to be back."

Entering the cabin, we head straight for the bedroom. I do my traditional backward flop on the bed, bouncing a few times as the springs creak. Marsh lies on top of me, his fingers exploring my beard as he considers my face.

"What? Crumbs? "

"No." He kisses my chin. "I'd gladly gobble those up." He mouths at my whiskers. "I'm just looking at … " Another peck on my chin. "My husband." Marsh exhales and buries his face in my neck.

Pre-breakup, our visits to Marshmallow Mountain almost always started with a bang—as in fucking. Come to think of it, we had Break-Up Sex Part One in The General Store bathroom fairly quickly last time. But now we're together. Married. In our bed.

My cock swells under the weight of Marsh, and I'm excited to have a week of reading, eating, hiking, sleeping, and sex.

"Not here." Marsh lifts his head, and his serious face greets me.

"But … "

"Nope." And he's up, grabbing my hand. "Come."

"I was hoping we both would."

"Good one," he says, tugging me out the back door.

As we walk, Marsh and I trample the tall grasses and flowers that have grown over the trail down to the pond. The sun peeks through branches, and I crane my face to feel the warmth as Marsh leads me deeper into the privacy of the woods. We round a bend and it comes into view. The rock. Not the beefy star of The Scorpion King , but our rock. More of a boulder, it's easily five feet tall and the craggy edges provide the perfect place to hang wet bathing suits.

"There." Marsh stops, his breathing heavy from running. I raise my eyebrows at him and he pats his pocket, and the outline of his inhaler comes into view.

"Is that an inhaler in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" I ask.

"Both."

Not missing a beat, Marsh unzips his khaki shorts, and his cock, fat and firm, falls out. He's almost fully hard and the moment our eyes lock, his dick pulses fuller in my peripheral vision.

Marsh pulls off his shorts, digs into the pocket, and pulls out the mini carving of the cabin I made for him the last time we were here. He carefully places it on the rock, and turns toward me.

"Why did you bring that?" I ask.

"I've been carrying it around with me until we returned." He taps the roof. "It belongs here. With us."

"You big sap." I grab his arm and kiss his shoulder. "Did you want to go for a swim?" I tease, the calm pond water only feet away.

"Yeah." He tosses his shorts on the rock, and they fall to the ground. "In your ass."

"We don't have towels," I say, looking around for some secret towel stash left by forest fairies.

"Oh." Marsh's face falls, his spontaneous woods sexscapade in jeopardy.

I pull off my polo and throw it on the ground. "That will have to do."

Marsh yanks off his faux vintage Blockbuster T-shirt and carefully lays it next to mine, creating almost as much space as a towel.

"We'll make it work," he says. "Now … " he tugs at the waistband of my pants. "Get these off." Marsh's lips find mine. "Please."

Our tongues dance as we laugh into each other's mouths and stumble, struggling to remove my pants. When they're finally in a pile next to our shirts, we stand naked, with only the birds and the bees (and maybe a curious deer) to witness us.

"Now, if you'd do me the honor." Marsh nods toward the ground, and I know exactly what he wants.

I lower myself to all fours and arch my back. Doing my best to stay on the shirts, the dirt and gravel underneath won't stop what's about to happen. The buzz and hum of insects calm me. I close my eyes, taking it all in, and then Marsh's hands land on my ass. He spreads me wide and I wait.

"Dat ass. It's so fucking perfect."

Another moment of examining his workspace.

"I love your ass, Data, but I love you most of all. All of you."

With that, Marsh spits. He's preparing his canvas. Another lob of saliva and he dives in.

Opening my eyes, I see a chicken—a rooster with a bright red comb of feathers bursting out of his head—completely oblivious to us, saunter by the far side of the pond, pecking at the dirt.

"Cock!" I whisper-shout, not wanting to startle it.

"Not yet, baby, give me a minute."

"No." I laugh and my body shakes. "Over there. A cock. Rooster."

"Ah. Maybe Maddi sent us a welcome party." Marsh kisses my ass cheek and then resumes his masterful rimming as the bird pecks at something in the grass.

There's nothing new about Marsh eating me out, but being outside, surrounded by nature, the quiet noise of the woods, and knowing we get a whole week up here, somehow his tongue lodged deep inside ignites something new in my core.

"You've got five minutes," I say.

"Huh?" He's come up for air. I turn around and his face, wet and sloppy, tilts in confusion.

"Then I want yours."

Marsh nods quickly. "Fair."

And he's back, licking, slurping, and thrusting his tongue inside me. Even though there's no rush, there's an urgency between us. The summer heat, kept at bay by the canopy of trees, weasels its way toward us, and I brace myself so I'm able to push back against Marsh's mouth .

I reach down and palm my cock, hard and ready, and desire rumbles in my belly.

"Okay, my turn."

I flip over and lay on my back. "Back it up," I say, motioning Marsh in like an airport marshaller. "Sit." I point to my mouth.

"Happy to oblige." Marsh squats over me, his cheeks spreading as he uses his hands to balance himself on my thighs.

"Perfect." I grasp his ample ass, and my eager tongue immediately explores the inviting warmth of his hole.

"Fuck, Data, Fuck."

Reaching around, I grasp his cock, making sure he stays hard and ready for what's coming next.

I tug down gently, and Marsh takes my signal to grind on my face, allowing me to bury myself even deeper. With my heart racing, I'm eager to get fucked.

I slap his ass, our non-verbal cue, and he lifts off me.

"You, okay?"

"Lube. Did you bring lube?" My breath is heavy.

"I may have forgotten the towel, but I'm not a troglodyte."

Marsh stands, scrambles over to his shorts on the ground, and retrieves a tiny bottle of lube.

"Is that … "

"Yup," he finishes. "Same bottle. Thank you, General Store."

Kneeling between my legs, Marsh squirts a good amount on his hands, and to my surprise, applies it to himself.

"Wait," I say.

"Don't worry. You're first. I'm just … preparing."

I'm unable to contain my smile. "Smart. Very smart."

Marsh's eyebrows pop up and down. He's so fucking charming. I want to grab his cheeks—the ones on his face—and kiss every inch of him .

"You okay on your back?" He's over me, lifting my ankles on his shoulders.

"Fuck, yes." I do my best to assist by hoisting my feet and he grabs the left one, kissing the top.

"Now … " He places the tip of his cock at my hole. "Ready?"

I nod slowly. "You've opened me right up with that tongue of yours."

"Yeah, I did."

Marsh pushes in and the pleasure of having him inside me, filling me up, completing our connection, takes over. My head falls back and hits something. A rock. A patch of dirt. I'm not sure, and I don't care. I paw at his back and pull him closer, deeper.

"There's my Data." His fingers brush my forehead and I'm complete. Not only because he's inside me, but also because he's by my side. Now and forever.

We finish with me railing Marsh, leaning against the rock. He loves playing a game of shooting on it and seeing how much rock real estate he can cover. My orgasm crawls up quickly, and I pump deep inside him, urging his release. And when he comes moments later, there's no holding back. The poor boulder never saw what was coming. Literally.

"Fuck, Marsh." I'm still inside him, leaning over, peppering the back of his neck with kisses.

"Yeah, baby. Damn that felt amazing."

Being here on the mountain with him, I'm consumed by an overwhelming sense of peace. Marsh may be hilarious. Charming. Sexy as fuck. But most of all, he makes me feel a little more whole.

"Can we swim?" he asks.

"But we don't have towels."

"We'll air dry. My skin is too delicate for a towel." He slaps his ass cheek. "Or use our clothes. Or put them on wet." He turns around, gathers me up, and I nestle into his chest.

"I don't care," he says.

"Me neither."

Hand in hand, we stroll towards the pond, knowing Marshmallow Mountain will be the backdrop for a week of blissful relaxation. But more importantly, I see our future together. Side-by-side until we're old and gray. Like the small cabin lovingly carved with care, watching over us from the rock, we've transformed into a perfectly crafted piece.

Two Marshalls. One heart.

Bryce's story continues in Cut to the Feeling . Turn the page to learn more!