Page 117 of Where We Ended

He shoved forward, pushing his granite erection inside me with one push. I let out a cry of pleasure as he hit my G-spot in one go, then he retracted, pulling out to play with me.

“Silas!”

He thrust back inside me, and this time, he set a pace that allowed me to feel everything as he moved. My hips were pulled back, my arm was too, my hand pinned to my hip as he took me deeper.

Our mingling gasps and grunts filled the room right alongside the soundtrack of our slapping skin. He fucked me until I was coming so hard, he muttered there was a ring of cream around his cock. Still, he continued to fuck me. I was sweaty, but I felt so good it was difficult to comprehend ever stopping at all until he was spilling deep inside me once again with a deep, guttural groan.

We were both sweaty, breathing hard and collapsing to the bed, but as he pulled me into his arms again, I had a feeling this was going to be a long night that sleep wouldn’t dare interrupt.

For the next week, I fell into a familiar rhythm where Silas and I would wake up together and eat breakfast. All the windows in the cottage were open, so the smell from the orchards flowed through our home, and it settled that tiny ball of nerves that liked to tighten up on occasion, that doubted this was real.

I baked every morning, but this particular morning, I found my black apron modified.

There across the chest, were the words, “Property of The Roman.”

My gaze snapped up, seeing my husband standing in the doorway, smirking at me.

“Did you think that name would be retired, just because I am?”

“Sorta.” I laughed, smoothing my hands over the stitched words, loving how it made me feel to wear it. With Silas no longer in a motorcycle club, I had no reason to wear my patch anymore. This was a nice memento he’d created for me that I secretly loved.

He shoved off the wall and made his way toward me.

“Do you remember what I said I’d do to you when I made it?”

Excitement fluttered in my chest, working its way down my body.

“You promised to fuck me in it.”

His dark brow rose. “No you promised to fuck me in it.”

My head was shaking as his hands gripped my hips, and he lifted.

“Yeah, the moment you put it on, you made a nonverbal commitment to lift that dress, and slide that pussy over my cock.”

Heat pooled between my legs as Silas marked my neck with open-mouthed kisses, and while he moved me to the counter, and then we made our way to the floor, I couldn’t stop smiling. A new way I’d fallen in love with my husband was seeing all the different ways he craved me while we existed together. Doing the very thing we always dreamed we’d do.

Hiking my dress up, I straddled his hips, seeing he had already pushed the band of his boxers down. His erection was gripped in his fist while he stroked up and down, waiting for me to slide down. This position was still a process to adjust to him, so I let out a tiny breath as I lined myself up. Letting the tip of him carefully press through my slick entrance, he shifted his hips up, so that I took more of him.

My mouth parted as he filled me, and then his ghost-like gaze was on the words covering my chest. He reached up, slipped the straps of my dress down, so that under the apron, the tops of my breasts pushed against the black material.

“Fuck me, Caelum,” he rasped, gripping my hips.

I smiled down at him and rocked forward while pushing my hands to my hair, lifting the heavy weight off my shoulders while Silas set the rhythm of how we moved.

Sunlight poured in over the counters and soaked up the floorboards. Tiny dust motes danced in the air, as I rocked over my husband’s cock. I took him, letting him lift me, and slam me down against him, all while I absorbed the moment of peace and the sense of joy that had finally found a place inside my soul.

There on the floor of the cottage I always dreamed of living in, I fucked my husband while wearing the remnants of his property patch. Relishing that from now on, the only person who had his loyalty was me, and the home he’d ever return to again would be ours.

THIRTY-TWO

SILAS

PRESENT DAY

Fable was buried in an unmarked grave.

Killian’s mom was standing over the fresh soil we’d poured over the six foot deep hole. I watched as she stood there, crossing her arms tight over her chest. Her face twisted into a sneer as she spit on the grave.

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