Epilogue

Colleen

 

Whenever Alma would speak to me about my wedding, it always sounded like a circus: bright lights, dozens of people I had never met, and me as the clown, standing up there in some contraption she’d picked out for me.

 

This is much different. We stand at the altar of the church with the pews almost empty except for our hired witnesses. I don’t pay much attention to anything else, though, apart from Gabriel. Our eyes are locked on each other the whole time. Dimly, I try to remember what it was like to be frightened of this man: that day, months ago, when I was locked in a lonely room in Staten Island. But I can’t, which is good because I don’t really want to. This man is the father of my unborn child, and this man is the love of my life.

 

“I do,” I whisper, tears streaming again. My bump is not big yet, but it’s big enough to play havoc with my emotions. Everything is heightened and more important than I ever thought it could be. I wonder if this is what living feels like.

 

Gabriel crushes me against him and kisses me so hard and with so much passion that the officiator averts his eyes. Then he grabs my hand and leads me down the aisle as soft Celtic music plays—my suggestion—and out into the endless beauty of Wyoming. He takes me to the car and opens the door for me, all but pouncing on me when I give him the Look. He knows the Look well, since I’ve been giving it to him more and more frequently since the pregnancy hormones have taken a stronger hold. The Look means lust, love, pleasure, closeness. The Look means everything we ever wanted.

 

“A honeymoon at the house,” Gabriel says, grinning as he drives us home. “I hope that works all right for you, wife.”

 

“Call me it again!” I squeal, giggling in delight.

 

“Wife,” he says, with the tone of a promise. “Wife, wife, wife.”

 

We almost run into the house, our hands pawing at each other. I grab his cock as soon as the door slams behind us, push him up against the door and rub it on the outside of his trousers, rub it until I feel him go rock-solid for me. He smooths his hands up the backs of my thighs and grabs onto my ass, squeezing it hard. I bite his lip; he leans back, grinning viciously, and then squeezes my ass even harder.

 

“So that’s the game you want to play, eh?”

 

“Maybe it is—”

 

I giggle madly when he lifts me up by my ass cheeks, bracing his forearms beneath them and carrying me upstairs like that. I feel like I might fall, but only for a moment; he has me completely.

 

He lays me softly down on the bed and strips off my wedding dress, almost tearing it before I give him a stern look: no tearing the dress. He grins, shrugs, and then helps me to slide out of it. When I’m naked, he goes to his knees between my legs and grabs onto my thighs, kissing my clit and then kissing down my lips, all the way to my hole, before kissing back up again.

 

“You’re torturing me,” I moan, tingles moving ceaselessly over my body, everything heightened by the drug-like hormones. “You’re t—t—t—”

 

I throw my head back and scream, loud and long, nobody hearing apart from Gabriel and the animals in the forest around us.

 

He stops quickly, laughing when I groan at him. But he’s not laughing for long; he tears off his suit, ripping the arm of his jacket, and then drives his cock deep between my legs. I throw myself down on him; we spin. Somehow I end up on top with him thrusting up inside of me and me sitting down so hard on his cock that I must bruise his balls. He pumps his hips and I grind on him, taking every angle of pleasure, every blistering moment of it. The heat grows and grows and grows, until it is no longer heat. It is something else, both emotional and physical.

 

“I love you!” I gasp. “I love you! I—ah, ah, ah—”

 

I collapse atop him as the urgent pangs of pleasure electrify my entire body, completely scorching my pussy. My body is on fire and Gabriel is fanning the flames; with each movement, he heightens the pleasure, as though he can read my body better than I can. I almost slide away from him at one point, the pulsing of the euphoria is so powerful, but he grabs my hips and holds me there: holds me secure; holds me safe; holds me exactly where he wants me and exactly where I want to be. In the fray, I find his lips, kissing him as he kisses me.

 

And as the last moments of my pleasure pass, his just begin, so that our orgasms come almost at the same time.

 

I slide onto the bed next to him and immediately crawl into his embrace, resting my cheek against his chest.

 

“Your heart is beating like crazy,” I whisper.

 

“It never used to,” he says. “But then, I never used to feel a damn thing.”

 

“Now?” I ask, kissing his sweaty neck.

 

“Now?” He laughs and slides his fingers into my hair, massaging my scalp like he knows I like. “Now I feel everything.”

 

“Is that a good thing?” Another kiss.

 

He rolls over so that our noses are touching, a smile making him look young and carefree and happier than I ever could’ve imagined back when some Italian mobster came walking up to my porch. “It’s the best thing in the world.”

 

THE END

 

***

 

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