- Epilogue -

Conway

––––––––

The ropes cut into my hands. Sweat blurred my eyes. Digging deep, I contorted my body and tossed the empty pallet onto the pile in the truck. It clattered there among the rest, wood particles flitting through the golden beams of sunset.

This was hard work-the kind that drained your body and made the day fly by.

It was perfect for me.

“Good work today,” Vick said, waving as I passed.

My nod was sharp. “Thanks.” Vick was the master foreman, and he'd taken a liking to me once he'd seen how dedicated I was to the job. I never explained to him that I did the physical labor with such gusto because it kept my mind from wandering.

I was lucky I'd gotten the position at all. I had a sparse work history; almost everything had been under the table. When I'd shown up to apply, Vick had crossed his arms, looked me over, and said I was a big ass man. I'd laughed and agreed. Clasping my shoulder, he'd given me a single shift to prove myself.

After watching me for three hours, he'd hired me on the spot, saying I was worth the cost of two men.

In the corner of the parking lot was a jungle green Charger. It was nicer than I needed—a gift from Georgia for my birthday. She'd refused to return it. And after I'd taken it out on the road, I'd admitted I adored it.

Climbing into my car, I tossed my bag on the passenger seat. The sun was at the right position on the horizon to blind me. Setting my shades in place, I cranked the radio and drove down the street. I didn't listen to music. I always listened to the news.

While Georgia was sick of hearing about Horror Island—as everyone called our debacle—I was compelled to listen. Two months had gone by since the day I'd saved Georgia and my sister from Lonnie. No one brought up the event much.  It'd been replaced by fresher tragedies.

But one of the kidnapped girls was going to write a book about her ordeal. That meant people were chatting again. I'd heard clips from a morning talk show segment about it multiple days in a row. Now, I tuned in right in the middle of one.

“...Was only nineteen when she was yanked from her bed by Lonnie Adams, the youngest son of the late, but just as terrifying, Facile Adams.”

It wasn't healthy how obsessed I was with this story. I knew that. I just didn't know how to turn off the part of my brain that needed to understand how. How had my brother done all of this and kept it hidden from me? He'd been a puppet master.  I'd never seen the damn strings.

“We have with us Felicia Quail,” a voice on the radio said.

The one writing the book, I thought, turning the volume up.

“Felicia, could you tell us a little about what you went through on the island?”

“Sure,” she said, the right amount of confidence gained from multiple interviews. “I was kept in a room I barely saw. I was gagged and blindfolded. But I could hear other people, other women. I didn't know how many at the time.”

“That's awful,” the hostess gushed, sounding way too delighted.

“It was. It definitely was.”

“Did you think you'd make it out alive?”

There was a long pause. I gripped the steering wheel, darting my eyes from the radio to the road. Felecia said, “No. Not until Georgia arrived.”

Hearing someone else say her name made all of my muscles knot up.

“Georgia Mary King,” the hostess said. “The woman who'd been kidnapped once before.”

“Yes. So, sometimes, Lonnie would come into the room. He'd take us somewhere else in the house, he'd—do things to us. I'd try to shout every time, but it was hard. Anyway, one night when he tied me back to the bed, the gag wasn't on right. I was able to scream for help. I thought it was pointless but I hoped and hoped and... it happened. Someone heard me.”

Each breath I took was forced. My heart was slamming in my chest, experiencing all the adrenaline Felecia must have been the night Georgia had found her.

“Do you think, if Georgia hadn't been kidnapped that second time, that you would have ever been found?”

“I don't,” she said bluntly.

“Then she saved your life.”

“Yes, and that's why I've written a dedication in my book for her.”

“That's right!” the other woman crowed. “You can pick up Felecia Quail's true story of her time on Horror Island this Thursday, and we'll have—” I'd parked my car and cut the engine.

Multiple publishers had begged Georgia to sell them the rights to her story. She'd refused them all. “I'm done living that,” she'd said. “I'm ready to start something new.”

Unlocking the main gate to the complex, I climbed the stairs to the third floor. Georgia had requested that wherever we lived was up high. That, and it had to have an open-air patio. I would have worked five jobs if I'd had to in order to give her all of that.

Cracking the front door, I stepped inside. It was a large, open floor plan apartment that we'd moved into. Bright yellow counters, white walls, and hard wood floors—her friend Chelsea had called it “stylish” and I'd just shrugged.

The only reason I lived here... was because she did.

Georgia was facing away from me in the kitchen. She'd tied her long hair up in a tail. The blue eye on the nape of her neck watched me. Once, that image had brought my guts into my throat; I'd been shaken to my core. But now, seeing it, I was reminded of the plaintive wish the woman I loved had made to me.

If I'd run with her nine years ago, what would be different?

I'd spent so much of my time living as a martyr, thinking that every minute of distress at my father's side was worth it if there was a chance he could lead me to Emily. The bitter irony was that I'd never discovered a thing.

Lonnie was the one who'd found our sister.

The memory of everything I'd done in the name of the greater good was a constant knife in my chest. It kept me awake at night, tossing in my own stressful sweat. I'd have lain there anxiously, if not for the sweet, strong woman at my side.

Whenever I woke in distress, she'd wrap herself around me. Her hand would link with mine, our pinky fingers curling into an unbreakable knot. Georgia had helped me see that living a life full of regrets helped no one, least of all myself.

She turned at the sound of my foot on the floor. Blatant fear swam in her eyes. It didn't last more than a fraction of a second, gone as she recognized me. As brave as she was, her muscle memory would take years to shake off her instincts.

I knew I was responsible for much of her latent fear. The relief in her smile healed some of my shame. “Conway, hi!”

“Sorry, I have a habit of walking quietly. Didn't mean to scare you.” Dropping my things on the kitchen island, I circled it, hurrying to scoop her into my arms. “You look so sexy with your hair up,” I said, wrapping my hand in her ponytail.

She thrust her chest out, hands gripping the counter behind her. Tiny goose bumps rippled up her arms and neck. “That feels good. Tell me more about how sexy I look.”

Breathing in the perfume of her warm skin, I shut my eyes. Her pulse flapped like a sparrow's wings against my chest. When I leaned in, her breasts brushed over my muscles—her nipples were already hard.

My cock raged to life in my pants. The growl slid out from between my teeth, filling the air of the kitchen, joining her constant, and quickening gasps. I thought about how easy it would be to turn her around with my fist in her hair.

How quickly I could rip her clothes off, forcing her legs apart. Her pussy wet... needy.

What a gorgeous red her ass would be if I spanked it. She'd scream and moan and nothing would get between filling her with my fat cock and me.

Would she argue, worried the neighbors would hear? I didn't care—I wanted them to hear. I wanted everyone to know Georgia belonged to me.

No. She doesn't belong to you.

This wasn't a bare room in the middle of an empty house. This was the real world, with jobs, bills, and police waiting for me to misstep so they could throw me in prison along with my brother. And I probably belonged there.

“What is it?” she asked, watching me as I broke apart from our tangled limbs. “Ever since we've left the island, you haven't... we haven't...”

Fucked. We hadn't fucked. I'd barely touched her.

Hanging my head, I bent over the counter. “I know. I'm painfully aware.”

“Is it me, did I do—”

“No!” Whirling on her, I made tight fists. “Don't think that for a second.”

“Then what's going on, Conway?” She reached for me and I stepped back. The pain that stained her blue eyes was poisonous. “Talk to me. After everything, surely you can tell me what's wrong.”

“It's me. I'm wrong.” Pressing my molars together until my skull throbbed, I shook my head rapidly. “You think I don't want to touch you? Georgia, you're the only thing I crave. I'd swim the damn ocean to get to you. But I realized something about myself.”

She considered me with her fine eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Lonnie's right. I was never evil because of anyone else. It was always inside of me.”

“Conway, nothing your brother said meant anything. He was a terrible person.”

“So am I.” Outside our window the sun had set. “I thought I tortured you... twisted you... treated you so cruelly because I had to do it. But when I'm with you now, even in the bright fucking sun, I still see the shadows. I want to hurt you, Georgia.” Pulled forward by my urge, I tilted her face up to me. “I want to make you bow and break all for me. Just for me. How can that be okay?”

Her tremble went through her bones. “It's okay because I want it, too.”

I froze. “You what?”

“I want what you're talking about.” She grabbed my wrist, pushing her cheek into that hand while she shut her eyes. Her lashes lay thick as soot from a forest fire on her skin. “You said once that I'm strong. Well, do you know how scared I've been lately? I'm too nervous to ask you directly about this dirty stuff. I even downloaded a stupid BDSM porno the other night, thinking we'd watch it together and you'd get the hint, but I deleted it instead.”

All my senses swayed like kelp in the deepest part of the sea. “What are you saying?”

Her eyes caught the first beam of moonlight as the white circle settled outside the window beside us. “I want the pain you bring. I never felt so excited before.” She blushed but she dared me to say she was wrong. “I love you. As dark as you can be, you're also my source of safety. Life is balance. Even in sex.”

What were words in the face of her raw honesty? When she said she needed me, my heart had fluttered. Then she'd said “sex” and my cock had stiffened.

Brushing my nose along the back of her ear, I whispered, “Do you mean all that?”

“I'm tired of walking on eggshells, Conway. You're the boy I had my first crush on. Now, you're the man who opened my mind to how I love to be fucked. Stop coddling me. You know what I've gone through. If anyone in this world can handle you, it's me.”

The manacles holding back the monster inside of me shattered. Her acceptance freed me, all of me, for better or worse.

With ease I turned her around, crushing my chest against her spine. Her breasts formed deep cleavage as they hung over the sink. “Fine,” I whispered. “No more avoiding this. I'll fuck you as hard, as fierce, as you've been aching for. Spread your legs for me. Wide as you can. I want access to this greedy pussy.”

Every sinew in her body was taut. She parted her thighs and balanced on the balls of her feet—expectant. I was drawn to her perfectly plump ass. Lust had built up from week upon week of being celibate. Well, almost—I'd jerked myself off whenever I could to the perverse thoughts of Georgia in my grasp. I'd always erupt easily just thinking about her.

My nails grazed up the backs of her thighs. She jerked slightly from my touch. “Regretting being so honest?” I asked.

“No, just excited,” she said, looking over her shoulder.

Tracing her back, I palmed her hips, where her pink skirt fell in waves. Folding it upwards, I revealed the round globes of her ass. Her panties were white as virgin snow. They made a lovely sound when I tore them in two. “Hey!” she cried.

“These belong to someone innocent,” I said, dropping them to the floor. Cradling her puffy lower lips, I squeezed until she shivered. “This slutty pussy isn't innocent, though, is it?” My thumb wedged through the crack of her ass. “This is mine, and my pussy is filthy. It loves cock, it dreams of being stretched just to the point of breaking.”

“Yes,” she groaned. Her hips swayed. Parting her labia, I ran two fingers through her juice. She was soaked.

Inching my jeans down my hips, I left them mostly on. They hung there as I freed my cock from my boxers. I stroked it from base to tip. “Touch yourself,” I growled. “Finger your greedy clit. I want you to get yourself to the edge, but don't you dare come until I say so.”

Georgia didn't hesitate. She obeyed me with natural ease, and that made my dick expand with an even greater rush of lust. This amazing woman had accepted me—broken as I was—and that level of comfort was new. I wanted to control her and I didn't hate myself for seeking such a corrupted desire.

I watched from behind as she rubbed her clitoris. “Turn around,” I said. She did, her back pressing into the counter. We faced off, a foot away, each of us masturbating. I lowered myself to my knees—her pussy was right in front of me.

Breathing her in, I shuddered, jerking myself frantically.

“Not so close,” she whimpered.

“Why? I want to watch your little clit bounce. I want to see how pink you get, how your lips swell as you get close to orgasm.” Smirking, I put my cheek on her hip. She was blushing madly overhead, staring down at me. “Look at how wet you are. There are strings of it sticking to your fingers.”

“Please...”

“That works you up, doesn't it? When I point out how turned on you are?” Kissing her leg, I put my hand on top of hers. With my guidance she circled her clit faster, harder. “You're right there. You need to come—it almost hurts. Tell me.”

“I need to come,” she panted. “Let me come, tell me I can come.”

“No.” Pulling her hand away, I grabbed her and lifted her in the air. She squeaked as I set her on the kitchen island. “Hands and knees.”

There was a flash of uncertainty in her stare. Keeping her on her toes was intoxicating. My nostrils flared, I chased after that sensation. Georgia scrambled into the position I'd asked for. Grabbing her blouse, I pulled it over her head—her ponytail swung like a bell.

Her breasts perched in her demi-cup bra. I reached for it, but she beat me, unclipping it and throwing it aside. “I didn't want you to tear it,” she said sheepishly.

“Face down. Reach back and spread yourself open for me.”

Looking away, she put her cheek to the cool surface of the marble. Her manicured fingers reached behind, opening herself up so I could see the inner, shiny walls of her cunt. Her asshole winked at me.

The best parts of her were eye level now. Leaning in, I took a slow, long lick of her pussy and crevice. Her moan was glorious; her shout of surprise when I spanked her even better.

“Don't let go, Georgia. Keep yourself wide open for me. Show off your pretty, hungry little pussy.” My open palm came down on her rear-end again. Each time I spanked her she jumped. By the fifth slap, she was rolling her hips, juice leaking down her inner thighs.

Running my index finger through her slit, I flicked her clit. “I need to come,” she whined.

“I know. I can tell.” My finger was slippery. I rubbed the tip on her asshole, guiding it inside, past her tight, resisting ring. She opened for me eagerly. Georgia writhed, bucking on the insertion like it was my cock.

I fucked her asshole with my finger, petting her clit with my free hand. She was strong but I could ready her signals. She wanted to obey me—wait to come—and she couldn't. “Fuck,” she cried out, shaking all over. “I can't hold back! I'm coming!”

She came hard, asshole flexing on me. Gripping my cock I fisted myself, my urge for my own release driving me wild. Watching her orgasm would never get old.

Pulling my finger free, I grabbed a paper towel from nearby and wiped myself clean. Then I shoved my pants and boxers all the way down, abandoning them on the floor. She sat up to face me, her feet dangling over the island's edge. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “I couldn't stop myself.”

She looked at my face and her breath caught. Did she see how truly obsessed with her I was? Had she glimpsed the creature she professed to love, the one that had dreamed of claiming her since the start?

I meant to speak; I kissed her instead, and that was just as well. I sucked on her lower lip, exploring the roof of her mouth. Her tongue rocked against mine and when I opened my eyes, I saw she was still staring at me.

No fear. No worry.

Only love.

Georgia ripped my shirt over my torso. Her fingertips swiped over my hard muscles, as if it was the first time she'd seen me naked. We'd spent so much time in the dark, that fucking like this, in the middle of a well-lit room was novel.

I was tall enough that I could screw her as she sat on the island. Instead, I curled her in my arms and carried her through our home. “What's wrong?” she asked, clinging to me.

“Nothing,” I said, settling her on the mattress. It was a huge bed with silken blankets the color of gold. “Except that we've lived here for over a month and I haven't fucked you in our own bed. Let's fix that.”

Fanning her fingers through my hair, she dug in, bringing me down for another kiss. My body melded with hers under mine. Rocking together, I thrummed with pleasure at the sensation of my cock sandwiched between us. The pressure was glorious; I was ready for more.

Leaning over, I reached into the nightstand. I'd bought condoms forever ago, and the package sat, unopened still.

“Wait,” she said, stopping me. “No condom.”

I went still as a panther on the hunt. “Georgia, are you sure about this?”

“I am. And I think you are too. If you think about it, it's something we want, right? Both of us wouldn't regret a baby.”

Her acceptance of me was full; she didn't just love me, she loved the idea of making another life with me. A baby. A family. Those things had never fit into my world. They couldn't have... until Georgia.

Flaring with the knowledge that someday her belly might swell with our child, I gripped her hips and buried my shaft inside of her in one massive thrust. “Ahh,” I groaned, sinking in, reveling in the sensation of our bodies colliding. “Georgia!” Paradise surrounded my brain.

“I'm coming again,” she whimpered.

One spasm came, then another.  The muscles in her pussy squeezed of their own accord as I climaxed deep inside of her. I saw nothing—felt nothing—but the existence of us. I fucked her like I was stuck in a loop. I'd already come but I kept thrusting. Nothing could end until I let it, and this—what we had—I wished it to go on forever.

But bodies aren't as strong as desires. Eventually, I shivered and slowed; content to hold myself inside of her. Georgia's wet walls flexed on me. Her aftershocks were their own brand of deliciousness.

I'd been terrified that if I touched her, I'd taint her. My brother's words had worn on me like a curse: “You're no better than me.”  According to the woman I loved, he was wrong.

Lying there in the low-burn of our body heat, listening to her undisturbed rhythm, I could believe she was right. And when I palmed her soft belly possessively, imagining us raising a baby someday...

I knew she had to be.

****

Setting our glasses on the little table, I stretched out on the wicker couch. Georgia followed me onto the patio. The sun was high in the sky; the building's trim shielding us from the worst of it.

Smoothing her skirt, she dropped down next to me. “I'm happy you get Saturday off from work.”

“Me too. Vick says that in five months, I can earn vacation time.”

Her eyes focused on her hands in her lap. “Fantastic. We get to plan something super crazy normal, like a camping trip. Or a trip to Disney.”

I snickered in amusement. “Do you even like Mickey Mouse?”

“Of course I do. Who doesn't like Mickey Mouse!” she answered too loudly, and then she laughed, her fingers pushing her hair behind her ears. “I'm sorry. Talking about vacations... work... our future and everything, it's just so weird. Isn't it?”

I circled her in my arms, chin settling on her shoulder. “Not weird. It's more like a dream. I love you, Georgia Mary King.” Saying it created a flow of white warmth up my body.

“I love you too.” Our ankles crossed on top of each other on the coffee table. Overhead, the sun was bright enough that when I looked up, I had to shut my eyes. Colors filtered through my lids like a kaleidoscope; I breathed deep, marveling in the serenity of the fresh air.

Of being free.

“Are you ready?” she asked me.

Looking down, I spread the book on my knees. It was the one that came after The Valley of the Horses, the story I'd slipped her in secret forever ago. I crowded close, her body hot where it touched my arm. “I've waited forever to read this with you. I'm surprised you didn't already.”

“I couldn't handle it,” she said, voice dropping. “Reading it without you would have been too painful. Like I was moving on.”

Grasping her hands, I leaned down, kissing her plush lips as tenderly as you'd touch a snowflake, wishing it not to melt. Our tongues caressed, the sensation all butter and static. Georgia thrummed in my arms. Her head nuzzled into the perfect crook of my shoulder, fingernails resting on my chest. “Let's do this.”

I spread the pages to reveal the printed ink inside. “Here we go. The love story continues.”

And so did ours.