Epilogue

One year later

Kelly

I adjust the lighting one final time, stepping back to admire our work. The exhibit gleams under the soft luminescence, each piece a testament to months of labor, love, and a little bit of luck. Around us, the museum buzzes with visitors, but it feels like it's just Greg and me in our own little world.

"Looks amazing, doesn't it?" I say, sweeping my gaze over the digital canvases we've created together.

Greg nods, his eyes reflecting pride and something deeper, something that warms my insides. "Couldn't have done it without you," he says, his voice steady but I catch the flicker of emotion there. He's not one for grand speeches, but his few words always hit deep.

"Likewise," I reply, bumping my shoulder against his. He grins, and I swear my heart does a somersault. Who knew a former soldier could have such a disarmingly sweet smile?

We walk through the gallery hand-in-hand, weaving between installations that tell stories of bravery, loss, and new beginnings. It's our story too, in a way. His past meets my designs, creating a narrative that speaks without words.

"Remember when you said you couldn't draw a straight line?" I tease, stopping in front of a graphic that melds his precise, tactical insight with my artistic flair.

"Still can't," he chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "But I've got you to make my ideas look good."

"Always," I affirm, squeezing his hand. It's more than just the exhibit. It's a promise for all the tomorrows we'll face together.

"Think we've got a future in this?" Greg asks, his question laced with hope and a hint of vulnerability. The man who's faced down danger now looks to me for a different kind of courage.

"Definitely," I respond without hesitation. My past insecurities fade away when I'm with him. "As long as it's you and me, the possibilities are endless."

The exhibit hums around us, alive with visitors and whispers of appreciation, but all I see is the man beside me—the one who's taught me strength comes in many forms, including letting someone else into your heart.

We're in the quiet corner of the exhibit, the soft hum of hushed conversations fading as we slip behind a partition designed by yours truly. Greg leans me back against the cool surface, his hands tracing the silhouette of my hips with a familiarity that sends shivers up my spine.

"Kelly," he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck, "this...us...it's everything."

My heart races, the sound drowning out any remaining murmur of the crowd. "You're everything," I manage to get out, my voice barely above a whisper.

His lips find mine, insistent and fiery, stoking a need deep within me that only he can satisfy. I tangle my fingers in his short-cropped hair, pulling him closer as if I could somehow meld us together. There's a hunger in his kiss, one that speaks of a passion that's both raw and achingly sweet.

"Want you," I breathe against his mouth, and that's all it takes.

He looks into my eyes, those intense depths that have seen too much yet still gaze at me like I'm the center of his universe. "Here?" he asks, a hint of that measured, deliberate manner seeping through despite the urgency in his touch.

"Here," I confirm, emboldened by desire and the thrill of being surrounded by our success—the exhibit that tells a story of overcoming the past and embracing the future.

Greg smiles wickedly and falls to his knees in front of me. I suck in an intake of breath as he puts his head under my dress and pushing my panties to the side.

And then I feel his tongue licking me.

I hold onto his shoulders.

My knees weaken as waves of pleasure crash through me. Greg's touch is electric, skilled, every move calculated to draw out the deepest moans that I struggle to keep hushed. The hum of the gallery fades to a distant murmur, drowned out by the rapid beating of my heart and the slick heat building between us. I can't it. I begin riding his face, seeking more of the pleasure only my husband can give me.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer, urging me on. I feel every bit of the rough texture of his callused hands, reminding me just how much this man has been through, how much he's faced. And yet here he is, worshipping me with fervor reserved only for those who have truly battled through darkness.

"Greg," I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders. The partition shields us from prying eyes but adds an exhilarating sense of daring to our escapade. His tongue flicks more insistently, and I feel that familiar climb, the coiling tension that threatens to snap.

I look down at him, his intense gaze locked on mine, dark and full of desire. It's a look that says he's not just here for release but for connection, for something that transcends the physical pleasure we're giving each other.

Suddenly I'm there, tumbling over the edge with a silent scream and a cascade of shudders. Greg guides me gently through it, his hands steadying me as I quake under his touch. Finally, he rises to his full height and kisses me deeply, sharing the taste of my surrender on his lips.

"My turn," I tell him as I fall to my knees and slip his cock out before he can protest.

I take him deep into my mouth until I feel his cock hit the back of my throat.

Greg groans, his hands finding their way to my hair, guiding me with a gentle urgency. The roughness of his fingers interwoven in my strands is both raw and intimate, a tether that connects us beyond words.

I look up at him, seeing the way his eyes close with the sensation, how his jaw clenches, a warrior undone by pleasure. It's powerful, this ability to unravel such a man, to watch him surrender under my touch. I increase the pace, driven by the desire to give him as much bliss as he has given me.

His breathing becomes ragged, punctuated by deep, guttural noises that resonate through the quiet partition. The thrill of our secret encounter mixes with the fear of discovery, heightening every sensation. Our world narrows down to just the two of us and the electric connection sparking between our bodies.

"Kelly," he breathes out, his voice strained with need. "I'm close."

I double my efforts, drawing him deeper, feeling him swell in response. And then he's there—his body stiffens, and he gives himself over to the ecstasy with a low growl that vibrates through his chest. I savor him, the taste of him mingling with the rush of power and affection flooding through me.

Gently easing back as he recovers, I stand and we share a slow, deep kiss that speaks of gratitude and love more than any words could. "You're amazing," he murmurs against my lips.

"And you," I reply with a soft smile, "are everything I ever wanted."

We adjust ourselves quickly as we hear footsteps approaching. Slipping back into our public personas just in time, we step around the partition hand-in-hand, faces flushed with more than just triumph over our exhibit's success.

As we mingle back among the guests admiring our work, I can't help but feel a profound sense of completion. This project was not just about our professional talents melding. It was also about discovering the depths of our personal commitment and desire.

We receive compliments and congratulations on the exhibit's impact and design from several visitors who note an almost palpable energy in our displays. Little do they know how much of ourselves—our challenges and triumphs—has infused this space.

As the evening winds down and we prepare to leave, Greg pulls me close for one final look at our creation. "This is just the beginning," he promises with a confident smile that reaches deep into his eyes. "I'm going to give you the world, baby."

"Just you is enough," I tell him.

And I mean it.