EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

CHRISTMAS EVE

The riding crop hit Cela’s sweat-glazed skin with a satisfying thwack, a nice hard hit at the end of a quick round of lighter blows. Cela’s head tipped back on a moan, the chains holding her arms above her clinking. Beautiful. Foster lowered the crop to his side and stepped back, relishing the sight of that thick dark hair sliding back over her shoulders and dancing along the marks he’d made, his marks.

His angel was flying high. He could see it in the sway of her body, the slack in her muscles. Desire burned hot in his veins, urging him to take her, but he channeled his patience. He wanted to savor her, especially considering the risky Christmas gift he had planned. If tonight didn’t go the way he hoped, he may not have this privilege again—a thought he couldn’t even bear to let fully form in his head right now.

The glow of the fireplace flickered in front of her, sending shafts of orange light dancing along the walls, changing a room that had once held so much coldness for him to one full of warmth and beauty . . . love. He ran his palm along Cela’s back in a gentle caress, feeling the heat of her skin, the raised welts. She shivered beneath his hand and leaned into his touch. Everything in her reactions said she wanted more, but he knew that was her endorphins and need for release talking, her descent into subspace complete. He’d already worked her over for longer than usual, and he could sense she was close to begging.

But he hadn’t been able to resist pushing her. She didn’t know it, but tonight was a cleansing of sorts for him. He’d driven the long way to get here with Cela in a blindfold. She was under the impression he’d taken her to one of the cabins at The Ranch, but they were somewhere decidedly closer to home.

Foster set the crop down on a side table and wrapped an arm around Cela’s waist before hitting a button on a remote he’d secured to his belt. The chains attached to the ceiling lowered with a soft grind. He smiled, enjoying the addition to the newly remodeled house. Where his mother’s precious antique chandelier had once been, he now had recessed lighting and a hidden compartment for restraints. Cela sagged into his hold, and he laid a brush of a kiss along her shoulder. “Still with me, angel?”

When he stepped in front of her, she raised her face to him, and he could imagine those soulful eyes behind the blindfold, the trusting, full-surrender way she looked at him in these moments. He cradled her face, his heart squeezing in his chest at the sight of her. He already loved her too much—the power of it almost painful.

He laid a kiss on her mouth, her lips parting and taking him in as if she were parched and he would provide the water. She tasted of cinnamon and nutmeg, like the cookies she’d baked this afternoon, mixed in with the earthy flavor of raw need. He tucked his hand behind her, supporting her head, and then let his other hand drift downward over her bare belly and to the smooth skin beneath. He deepened the kiss as he found her wet heat.

She sighed into the kiss as he slipped two fingers inside her, stroking her with enough pressure to make her shudder but not enough to send her over. Her body clenched around his fingers, a hot, slick fist that made his cock throb against his zipper. A groan of pleasure escaped him. “You’re so ready for me, angel. I love how wet and desperate you get when I’m rough with you. I can’t imagine anything sexier.”

He grinned. “Oh, you’re still very, very good, my Cela.”

He dragged his hand upward, streaking her belly with her own arousal, and then cupped one of her breasts. The small metal clamp he’d placed on her nipple glinted in the firelight. He brushed a thumb across the hard point, and she gasped.

He smiled as he released her breast. When his sweet-mouthed girl started cursing, he knew she was barely clinging to her edge. He pushed her down to her knees and onto the thick carpet. “On your elbows, angel. I want that pretty view while I fuck you.”

Without hesitation, she went down onto her elbows, spreading her knees and presenting him with the sexiest Christmas gift he could imagine—the golden slope of her back, his marks coloring her skin, and her arousal glistening in the dancing light. Her submission, fully and unselfishly given. God, he wanted her. Not only in this moment. Not only tonight. And not only in his bed.

But right now he couldn’t let himself think that far. Right now he needed to do the one thing he’d been waiting for all night—claim the woman he loved.

—

I pressed my palms to the floor, my fingers curling into the unfamiliar carpet. Every molecule in my body seemed to be vibrating, like one wrong move and my existence would simply disintegrate into a mass of amorphous energy.

Foster had spanked me and hit me with the crop so many times, my skin tingled like there was electricity skating over it. I’d come once already, but since the initial release he’d brought me to the brink of orgasm at least four more times, licking me, touching me, and teasing me with a vibrator. My thighs were damp with my need, and my sex was throbbing, the pressure building past anything I’d ever experienced before. If he made me wait too much longer, madness or violence was a distinct possibility.

But Lord, I loved every minute of this. Being under his hand was like experiencing life on a different plane. Every color was brighter, every sound amplified, every touch like sparks. I wished I could pull off the blindfold and look back at him, see that dark power that rolled off him in these moments. But tonight I sensed he needed the shield of the blindfold more than I did. There’d been a quiet intensity about him all day.

Tonight was more. But how exactly I wasn’t sure.

I listened as Foster unzipped his pants and divested himself of his clothes—the room silent except for the popping logs in the fireplace. Then his hands were on me, spanning my hips, caressing me. He moved his palms along the curve of my ass, gently spreading me. “You have no idea how much I like seeing my marks on you, angel, what it does to me.”

I let the small of my back dip low, lifting myself to his touch, loving the grit in his voice, the strain.

Breath tickled my damp sex and then his mouth was on me, tenderly licking along my sensitive folds. My body shook under the simple touch, orgasm coiling in me, ready to break free. But I forced it back, breathing deeply through my nose and rocking against my forearms. “Please.”

He laid a wet kiss on my center, letting his tongue slide inside me, once, twice, then pulled back a second later as if knowing exactly how far he could push me without sending me over. “Such a patient girl. I think you need to be rewarded for that.”

I sighed into the rug as he shifted behind me, my whole being readying for what I’d been dying for all night—Foster on me, inside me, overwhelming me. But instead of the head of his cock pressing against my cleft, the slick tip nudged my back entrance. I stiffened in surprise.

Neither did I. And I couldn’t imagine ever tiring of his touch. I’d worried early on that the thrill of this kind of relationship would wear off. That the dynamic could get old after the initial intrigue faded. But being with him like this was my escape. Even if I’d had a day of work at the ER vet clinic that had made me want to take up heavy drinking, I could go into this sacred space with Foster and all of that would fade away, leaving only the two of us.

I loved it.

I loved him.

Though I hadn’t had the guts to admit how desperately yet.

He thrust into me again and I bit my lip, the sensation edgier and more intense than regular sex. Need built in me like a tsunami—looming there. I fought hard to hold back the tide, my fingers aching from my grip on the rug. But I knew I had only seconds of resistance left in me, especially with this bombardment of new sensation. It was too much, too good, too sweet. Foster slipped a hand onto my belly, angling me just right, brushing over my clit. The move seemed to send fire into my blood. I whimpered into the carpet, my brain going fuzzy with half-formed thoughts and fully formed desperation. “Foster, I can’t . . . please, sir.”

The blinding rush of sensation returning to my nipples shot through me like lava, making me scream and collapse to the carpet, my arms trapped beneath me. Orgasm rumbled on the heels of the pain, bursting through and crashing over me. Sounds I didn’t know I was capable of dragged from my throat.

I was pinned beneath him, writhing, helpless, his weight and motion dragging me against the shaggy carpet. The soft fibers teased my skin, tickling my clit and sensitized nipples, driving me past the point I thought I could take. I clawed at the edge of the rug, my noises and movements turning animalistic, primal. I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t do anything but let him have me.

Foster braced his forearms next to my head, and he rocked deep into me, his muscles tightening, his breath ragged in my ear. He was right there with me. Beyond control. Beyond restraint. Then his low, guttural moan twined with mine, and he was pulsing, his hot release jetting inside me.

And for that suspended moment, we were one—two bodies fused in the heady bliss of shared ecstasy. Two hearts . . .

I closed my eyes and rode the last waves of pleasure. Then, when my spasms finally quieted, I laid my cheek against the carpet and did the only thing my body could manage—I succumbed to the exhaustion.

—

My mind was drifting, my body surrounded by warmth and my limbs languid and heavy, like floating in a sea of gooey caramel. Lovely. I attempted to nestle deeper into the sensation.

The voice seemed to come from both far away and inside my head at the same time. Was someone calling me? My lips parted to respond, to ask who was there, but instead everything came out muffled and slurred.

Foster.

That pulled me from my dream state, dragging me back to the memory of what had happened tonight. I blinked, trying to clear the fog in my brain, and the flickering orange glow of a fire filled my vision. “Maybe.”

Foster, who’d apparently been stretched out along my backside with his arms around me, shifted from behind me and sat up, tucking me back into the cozy corner of the couch. He smiled down at me, pushing my hair off my forehead. “I was starting to worry you weren’t going to wake up until our flight in the morning. Your parents already think I’m some crazed, obsessive boyfriend who stole you away. They would really hate me if I caused you to miss Christmas.”

I rubbed my eyes and glanced around, trying to get my bearings now that I didn’t have a blindfold on. But when I looked to the left, I had to do a double take. A wall of windows overlooking the slope of a hill and a moonlit lake beyond spanned the far side of the room. What the hell? The Ranch didn’t have any hilltop cabins. I peeked behind me, finding an archway to a large gourmet kitchen. And they definitely didn’t have cabins this modern or this big. Confusion swamped me. I turned back to Foster. “Where are we?”

He glanced toward the stretch of windows. “We’re in a place I never thought I’d come back to again—the house my family moved to after Neve disappeared. I own it.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You own a house?”

I let my eyes drift around the room, over the expensive furniture, the beautiful stonework around the fireplace, the polished wood floors. The place was gorgeous and, from the looks of the shadowed hallways, huge. “I think you could fit your entire apartment into this room alone. Why haven’t you used it?”

He sighed. “It’s a great house and view, but the times I spent here were some of my roughest—lonely years. I basically lived here with a rotating herd of paid caretakers while my parents traveled doing their charity work and chasing leads about Neve.”

I frowned, reaching out for his hand, knowing that, though his parents were making an effort to build some sort of relationship with him again now, there were still decades of hurt to heal.

The sadness that crossed his face made my heart hurt for him all over again. My parents may have smothered me, but at least I was never short on attention or love. Christmas at my house was so full of people, there was hardly space to sit down. “Oh, Foster.”

He turned back to me then, a resigned smile. “It’s okay. I’m not telling you this so you feel sorry for me. Just explaining why I’ve let this place sit. A big, empty house filled with those kinds of memories was the last thing I wanted.”

Foster brushed his knuckle along my cheek, watching me, studying. Debating. He frowned. “You asked me a few weeks ago what I wanted for Christmas, and I told you nothing, that I had everything I wanted.”

I leaned into his touch, giving him a small smile.

That gave me pause, a little pinch of worry, I tucked the blanket more tightly around myself. “Oh?”

I nodded.

I wet my lips, my stomach dipping a bit at where his words could be leading. “Okay.”

I could hear him take a long, deep breath, as if he needed extra oxygen to say what he needed to say. “I promised myself I wouldn’t put pressure on you, wanted to give you time to explore this kind of relationship because you were so new to everything. I told myself it was to protect you, but really, it was to protect me.”

I frowned, not understanding.

The insecurity in his words tugged at me. “Foster . . .”

My brows knitted. “I’m at your place almost every night, or you’re at mine.”

He looked down at our linked hands, brushing a thumb over my knuckles, then raised his face to me. “I don’t want to just date you. I know we haven’t been together that long, but I also know what’s in my heart. And what I think I see in yours. I want more with you. I want everything, Cela.”

I blinked at him in the muted firelight. His expression was as stripped bare as I’d ever seen it. Vulnerable. Nervous. The sight made it hard for me to draw breath. I was so used to seeing the confident and collected Foster that this side was a revelation. He’d left his armor at the door tonight.

Then his request finally registered. I want everything. My voice shook a little when I managed to get words out. “What are you asking?”

I stared at him, struck speechless by the requests. Live with me. Wear my mark. One day wear my ring. My heart knocked hard against my ribs. He was asking me to move in, to be his—forever, putting himself out there in a way I knew had to be punching old fear buttons for him.

So many things zipped through my mind—the sheer gravity of the decision, the implications, the permanence. For all these months, we’d spent so much time together, but we’d still kept some space. We would sleep over at each other’s place, but not every night. And though I wore a collar when we made trips to The Ranch, it was only on during scenes. It was as if we were both playing with parachutes, always anticipating that one of us might jump off the plane.

If I said yes, I knew this would transform, deepen to a level I couldn’t even fathom. I knew what Foster craved from me—a craving I’d felt blooming within myself with each passing week we were together. Owned. When I came home after work, I’d become his, my submission a daily gift. Even though I had let myself imagine it, fantasize about it, it was a lot to process. But as I closed my eyes and pictured what that life would look like—Foster and me sharing a home, the two of us facing the world together, intense nights of being under his command mixed in with days of being surrounded by his laughter and love—well, I couldn’t quite access any fear over that.

Instead, like water rising in a well, an overwhelming surge of happiness spread within me, filling every nook, and threatening to burst through my pores. I knew all too well the sense of loss I felt when he unlatched my collar at The Ranch or when we had to part for the night.

In the beginning, the idea of true submission to Foster had scared me, had made me worry about putting myself in another suffocating situation like the one I’d grown up with. But my parents had controlled me through guilt and shame, and had used my natural urge to make those around me proud and happy against me. They’d let their love and overprotectiveness of me overshadow what may have been right for me.

But in my heart, I knew Foster would never take advantage of my desire to please that way. He’d been the one cheering me on these last few months while I went through my tough ER position. The one who’d held me when I lost my first patient in surgery. He wanted me on my own two feet in the world—strong, capable, successful. But behind closed doors, he wanted me under his care.

And I could think of no place I’d rather be.

He leaned over to the coffee table to grab something, then squared himself toward me on the couch. In his hands, he held a small, flat box. I stared down at it, my breath quickening as he flipped it open. Inside lay a delicate choker-style necklace with a silver pendant in the shape of . . . a wing.

My lips lifted.

Tears coated my throat, but I held them back, not wanting to taint the moment by crying. I reached out to trace the curve of the angel wing. It was a piece of jewelry I could wear out—a day collar—and no one would know what it meant. But I would. I’d be wearing his mark. And the thought made everything go warm inside me.

I grinned and raised my fingers, pressing them against his mouth. “Shut up, Foster. Nervous rambling is my job.”

He smiled beneath my fingertips, but the worry still hovered at the corners of his eyes.

Seeing his uncertainty only made me fall for him more. His hard, dominant side spoke to me on an elemental level, but that tenderness beneath affected something much deeper, filled spaces and corners inside me. I held his gaze, lowering my hand and told him exactly what I’d been feeling for months. “Don’t look so worried. You remember I’m in with love you, right? Like, stupid, crazy, drawing-hearts-in-my-journal in love with you. I want it all, too. Forever, Foster. Us. Like this.”

He was silent for a moment, as if he hadn’t heard anything I said. But then all the starch seemed to leave him.

I leaned back against the arm of the couch. “Yes, it is a big step. And if we’re sticking to the honesty rule, I can say that I’ve never imagined wanting a relationship like this.”

He nodded, going a bit somber, like he was anticipating the gauntlet.

I reached out and brushed my fingers against his stubble. “Not until you.”

The beaming smile that broke through that five-o’clock shadow of his was bright enough to rival the moon outside. I’d never seen such a beautiful sight. My man, shirtless and grinning, his happiness like pure light. And now I was going to get to wake up every morning to his face, feel that love around me, and be his.

I let the blanket slip off my shoulders, not wanting anything between us, and climbed off the couch. I eased myself down to my knees, all the while holding Foster’s eye contact. Then I lowered my head and presented my neck to him, the submissive move making me feel more in control of my life than I ever had before. Finally, I was on the path of my own choosing. “Merry Christmas, sir.”

He gathered my hair to lay it on one shoulder, and I felt the quiver in his hand, the depth of emotion behind the simple caress. And when he fastened the choker around my neck, and the cool curve of the angel wing touched my collarbone, a soul-deep, peaceful calm settled over me, leaving no doubt as to where I most wanted to be.

Never have I ever . . . been this happy.