Epilogue
I’m putting a rectangle vase full of gorgeous deep-pink lilies, white daisies, and purple daisy poms in the center of the counter when Ryker steps through the front door. His feet stop and he scans the room. While he was at work today, I decided to…decorate some more?
I had a picture of him from the Murphy fight blown up and framed, and I put it on the main accent wall of the living room. It’s right when he won, when he was submerged with elation. His fists are above his head, his eyes are screwed tight and the muscles in his neck protruding as he screams.
Okay. I might have also added curtains with indigo accents and a matching rug in front of the sofa to brighten up the living room too. And a tall floor lamp beside the couch. Possibly a few pictures of us on the bookshelf.
He scratches the back of his head. “What the fuck have I done?” A deep laugh rumbles from his chest.
I prop my hip on the side of the counter and cross my arms. “That’s a way to thank me,” I snicker.
He stalks to me with long, quick strides and tugs me into his chest. Glancing to the flowers and then back to me, he chuckles again. “It’s dainty.”
“And you like it,” I counter.
“If it comes with you, I’ll like pink walls. Might not be happy about it, but I’ll deal.”
His gaze drops to my lips and he lifts me by my hips. Softly, he kisses me as he carries me to the couch. I brace to be dropped, but instead, he lays me down slowly, his body descending on top of mine. His fingers dig into the side of my head, brushing through my hair as he grips the back and pulls me closer.
I’m flooded with heated lust and he flexes his hips into my center. He loves winding me up with so much eagerness, I lose all reason. He tugs my lower lip as he pulls away and lifts me, tossing my shirt somewhere behind him as he tugs out of his own.
He shimmies my pants down my legs and pushes out of his. His fingers dip low between my folds and he inserts his finger, pushing in gently. I’m almost embarrassed at how ready I am for him. One look and he can get me ready without even touching me.
He poises his tip at my entrance and then thrusts in. We hiss simultaneously as he withdraws to the edge, shoving back in. I run my hands over his flexing taut muscles in his back and he dips his head to my neck, grazing the skin.
Cupping my breast, he nibbles the crook of my neck and a wave of heat begins drawing from my toes. His lips skim my jawline and he presses another kiss to my lips. I’m startled by the passion behind all of this. Ryker doesn’t do slow and easy, love and passion.
“I love the way you love me,” he whispers against my lips like he was reading my mind.
He shoves forward forcefully.
It’s his balancing act again—sentimental affection fighting the dominant.
His forehead drops to mine and he rocks unhurried, burying himself deeply, and drawing out slowly. He clutches my hand and pulls it to his chest clenching his jaw.
I hate he fights the battle, but love he does it for me.
Incredible intimacy submerges me, stirring the tremors. Sensing it, his pace begins to pick up.
He takes a shaky breath. “Whit. I can’t…” He grits his teeth combating the restraint of slow and easy. His eyes are a blaze, flaring with eagerness, and he shakes his head. Scorching heat slams me and I shove my head into the cushion, squeezing my legs into my glorious ride.
I moan, digging my nails into his back.
His restraint breaks, and he pushes up, pumping with powerful strokes. I thrash under him, writhing and begging for…I don’t know…everything. He moves my legs, forcing my knees to my chest and drives down with mind-blowing strides.
He grips the back of my neck and tightens down, pulling me into him as he thrusts. He’s grunting between his pumps. Everything coils back up, my muscles on the verge of erupting. He juts forward, surging into me, and I fall over the high cliff again.
He’s wildly bucking into me as he reaches his climax, stringing along a tirade while his muscles in his arms tighten with his drive.
He releases my legs and lowers his head to my forehead. “Love you, Whit.”
I’m lost in a sated fog when I smile up to him. “Love you.”
He shuffles behind me and wraps his arm under my shoulder, pulling me into him, my back on his chest, his head on mine.
“Out of all the pictures, you pick a bloody, twisted mess?” he says against my ear.
I shrug. “I like it. It speaks to me. Shows you overcoming a lot in your feat.”
He silences.
For some weird ass reason, he wants to cook dinner. Ryker and cooking only screams the fire department is on the way. He’s baking something that smells divine in the oven and flipping shrimp in a pan when I enter the kitchen and wrap my arms around my waist.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
“Dinner.”
“I know that. But for what?”
He empties the shrimp onto a plate, glances up at the clock and turns to me. He kisses my forehead. “Well…” There’s a knock at the door and a relieved grin with a mixture of nerves slide across his face. “We have company.”
He walks with me and opens the door.
I suck in a sharp breath as my mom rushes in and hugs my neck, her purse swinging around and hitting my side. “Whitney!”
“Mom. What are you doing here?
Dad steps in and blankets me with a hug. I inhale the Old Spice I didn’t really know I missed so badly until now. “Ryker invited us.” His tone is scruffy.
Ryker sticks his hand out and shakes Dad’s hand before bending to hug mom.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Mom says with tears in her voice. “You’re a handsome man. Whitney, he’s really handsome.”
I grit an embarrassed smile. “Mom.”
“Ryker called and invited us to stay. We have a dazzling hotel. Thank you,” Mom says.
I look to Ryker confused and he peers down, confidence braiding with something rather shaky. “I’ve got some talking I need to do with your dad.”
He’s desperate for my dad to like him, to accept him for who he is. And knowing Ryker as well as I do…
He’s up to something.