Epilogue - Mason

Mason

“ A nother.”

Hannah’s head falls back against the pillows beneath her, shivers moving through her as she floats back to earth from her last orgasm.

“I’ve come three times already.” She gasps when I release her clit with a draw of my teeth and climb back up her body, aligning myself with her hips and sliding back inside her tight, wet heat.

“And it’s been eight weeks since I’ve been inside this little cunt, baby.”

My control slips and I let myself feel her gripping me, my head kicking back on a groan.

Fucking perfection.

I could fuck her for hours.

“I’m too young to die,” Hannah pants, still wrapping her legs around my hips.

Leaning forward to give her all my cock and despite her words, she moans, her back arching off the bed. I chuckle darkly, thrusting inside her as if to engrain every cell in her body with me. She can’t get enough of me, either.

“Yeah, you fucking are,” I bite. I grip her pretty little throat in my hand, squeezing and using my purchase to fuck her deeper. Harder. “So, you better keep up, little wife .”

“You’re going to break me,” she whimpers, a war waging inside her. She knows the safe word. She just doesn’t want to use it because she gets off on me as much as I get off on her. Her little cries have never sounded sweeter filling this house.

“While I love to break you, little doe, you were fucking made for me,” I remind her with a sharp nip to her collarbone. A sexy little moan slips free and her fingernails scour the flesh of my shoulders. We’re both trembling, on the precipice of shattering at hour tightly we’re fit together, but it’s not enough.

It’s never fucking enough.

“Now . . . you’re going to take my cock like a good girl.”

Releasing a deep breath, I wrap my arms under her shoulders and lift her to my chest, caging her against me and driving into her to the hilt. She yelps, but it dissolves on a moan when I circle my hips, my groin brushing against her clit.

It’s been eight. Fucking. Weeks. Since I’ve been inside my wife— my wife —and now that she’s finally been cleared for physical activity, I don’t plan on letting her come up for air for days. Especially with our honeymoon a week away.

She can only blame herself. She made me this way.

“Oh my god,” she moans, her voice choked with pleasure at the steady thrust of my hips against hers.

“God’s not here right now, baby, but I am.” I thrust inside her deeper, emphasizing my point. “You’re squeezing me so tight, I can barely fit.”

“Please don’t stop, Mason,” she pants, sweat glistening on her skin.

“Yeah?” I bite back another groan. “You want it deeper?”

“Yes,” she breathes, ending on a high-pitched cry when I reach back and tug her legs up over my shoulders, contorting her until the head of my cock is brushing over that sweet spot inside her.

She arches her hips, spreading wider for me and I reach between us to circle her clit with my thumb, drawing out a hushed fuck under her breath.

“There’s my good little whore.”

“Mason . . .” she moans, and heat settles in the base of my spine. I crowd over her, tongue rimming the seam of her lips until she gives me hers. My cock swells, and it’s all I can do to keep from spilling inside her.

She tenses, pussy clenching around me while I stroke her clit faster, desperately shoving her toward her climax so we can both fucking come undone.

Like I flipped a switch, her eyes roll to the back of her head and her back bows off the bed. She always comes so hard after the first time and her pussy is like a vice grip, greedily sucking me inside her until there’s nothing left of my fucking sanity.

“ Fuck, Hannah !”

My head falls back and the orgasm that rockets through me is not of this world. My vision blurs, blinding me as the pleasure radiates through me and I fill her with eight weeks of pent-up frustration until it slips down the curve of her ass.

Struggling to catch my breath, a tremor racks through me as I slowly, gently pull out of her.

“Fucking hell,” I murmur, my teeth clenched from the electricity zipping through my cock.

I grab a warm rag from the bathroom and come back to clean her and find her still panting in the center of the bed. Right where I fucking left her.

I almost laugh at the look on her face.

“Wear you out, little doe?”

She nods, sucking in deep breaths through her teeth when I pry her thighs open to clean her up.

“I deserve cheeseburgers for that.”

I chuckle, tossing the rag in the laundry hamper.

“I’m not sure if that was a reward or a punishment.”

“I live to punish you, wife , but only if it ends with you coming on my cock.”

Even after five weeks of marriage, she still blushes from my mouth.

Our wedding took place at Mom’s, in the backyard underneath an old red oak that was probably there before the house was. Hannah looked beautiful, of course, her eyes shining like a thousand fucking stars in the late evening sun.

It was small. Only my family— our family—and a few friends. Mom cried—shocker. Puke brought his new girlfriend. Britt from Rummie’s came and even, despite my hesitation, Dawson. He’s doing better now. Not as skittish and he understands Hannah had nothing to do with what happened to him. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think he could use a friend and Hannah’s the one to do it, if it can be done.

My wife could befriend a caterpillar.

Our wedding was fucking perfect. Now. Finally. After eight goddamn weeks, we’re consummating that marriage in every single position I can put her in.

Taking her hips in my hands, I tug her down the bed until she’s right in front of me. Then, I sink to my knees, amused at the slight way her legs tremble on either side of me.

I bring her lips to mine and feast on her. My fucking wife—before pressing them to her ear. “Two weeks. You and me on the beach. Not a fucking soul around.”

She moans softly, a shiver rolling through her.

“That sounds like heaven.”

“Heaven’s wherever the fuck we are, little doe.”

She smiles but captures my lips again and despite my cock protesting in pain, blood rushes through it.

Fuck. I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough.

She tries to deepen the kiss, but I catch her hands when her stomach growls audibly between us. I don’t know what the caloric burn of two hours of rough, consecutive fucking is, but I know I’m fucking famished.

That and I’d probably hit my knees if my cock got hard right now.

“Cheeseburgers, first. Then . . . we’re going to take a bath,” I murmur, pulling her to her feet. She wobbles and I resist the urge to make a joke. “Then, I’m going to spend the night showing you exactly what it means to be mine, little doe.”

She smiles and my chest feels like it’s in a vice grip.

“You forget, you’re mine, too.”

How could I?

I pull her to a stop at the closet door, tugging her back to me and nipping her bottom lip.

“My soul’s always belonged to you. You just weren’t ready to claim it.”

“Monica is convinced there’s going to be a malfunction with the plane,” Hannah says from the other side of the kitchen while we make dinner.

Cheeseburgers, of course. I think I created a little monster.

I just chuckle and shake my head. Mom inherited a “bungalow” out in Hawaii in her divorce from Parker. The house is fucking huge and I plan to fuck my little wife on every single piece of furniture. The best part is, it comes with a private beach.

“First name basis with Mom, now?”

She blushes, coming back to the stove.

“Actually . . .” she clears her throat. “She told me I could call her Mom, too.”

I cock a brow, but otherwise, don’t look at her. I know this is big.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“You sound like Kenda.”

I can feel her glaring daggers at me. She’s told me some about her sessions with Kenda. They seem to be helping, though she’s reluctant to go. She’s told me about her time in the church. Some of her childhood she’s starting to remember. Her father. Her mother murdering him. I want to be the one she shares those dark parts of herself with, but . . . I also understand we have the rest of our lives to worry about it.

For now, I’m content calling her mine . . . and feeding her.

“You don’t have to call her that if you don’t want to.” I place the spatula down and take her face in my hands, pointing those green eyes up at mine. “And even if you do, it won’t erase Laura.”

I fucking hate saying her name. I fucking hate that Hannah still thinks about her. If I could, I’d take those memories of her time locked away, if it meant she wouldn’t have to bear the burden, anymore.

She gives me a soft smile and reaches up, placing her hand over mine, her ring glittering in the kitchen lights. “Is it bad if I said that I would be okay if it did? Erase her?”

“Never, little doe. Family’s not family because they’re blood. You and I will create our own family. With whoever you want in it.”

“That’s just your excuse to get me pregnant.”

I chuckle darkly because, well, she’s not wrong, and lift her ass onto the counter.

“I would love to put a baby in you,” I murmur, pressing my lips to hers. “But I’m content with just us for now. We’ve got the rest of our lives.”

She grins, a twinkle in her eye.

“We can practice, though?”

“You fucking bet, we can.”

She laughs, but the sound dies down when my phone rings from the counter beside her.

“I think she has a sixth sense for when someone’s talking about her,” I murmur gruffly, silencing Mom’s call.

Listen, I’ve been working on shit myself. Forgiving Mom. Welcoming her back into my life. Just the other night, she and Bob were over for dinner and it’s the first time she’s set foot in my house since she and Dad divorced. It was strange at first, but . . . as the night wore on, I found it easier to relax.

Hannah’s a big part of that. Bob, too. The fucker’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met. How he convinced my mother, of all people, to go on a date, is beyond me.

“Hi, Monica,” Hannah beams when she answers the phone because the little brat knew I was going to ignore it. She hops down from the counter, giggling when I smack her ass, but that laugh falls off, ending in nothing but silence.

“Okay, he’s here.”

She hands me the phone, her face crestfallen and it feels like someone’s stuck a knife in my chest. With an internal groan, I take the call.

“Mom?”

She blubbers something out, her voice unrecognizable from the tears clogging her throat.

“Mom?”

There’s shuffling and then the phone is handed over to someone else.

“It’s Logan. You need to come to the hospital.”

“Now?”

“Right fucking now.” My gaze flicks to Hannah and her eyes go wide.

“What the fuck’s going on?”

“It’s Mila,” Logan murmurs gruffly. “She was attacked.”