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As he fucks me into the mattress, I abandon the grooves my claws left behind on his back and use the headboard to ground myself.
He notices—of course, he does. His arms tuck under my shoulders and he holds me to him.
I don’t know why, but that makes his thrusts more brutal. I feel his length like a burning brand as he tunnels into me, planting a flag with his name on it because he’s the only one who ever conquered my pussy.
Tomorrow, I know I’ll be walking funny, and it’s so worth the sacrifice.
My fiancé—squee—knows how to fuck me reallllll good.
When he graces my teethmark-free nipple with another bite, not a nip but an out-and-out bite and then a deep hum that vibrates through the sensitive tissues, I shatter around him, unable to stave it off, going along for the ride now as he uses my body for his own pleasure.
My climax is as brutal as his endless thrusts, annihilating my bones, shattering them into a million tiny pieces, breaking me apart only to reform me in an image that takes every inch of his dick better.
While I disintegrate into the ether, he roars his release, filling me full. Draining himself inside me as my pussy cossets and clings, wanting every drop because he. Is. Mine. And his seed. Is. Mine. And his pleasure. Is. Mine.
Everything, every flaw and every quirk, it all belongs to me.
That bubble inside me is back to feeling like it’s on the brink of explosion, but in a good way.
In a ‘my cup runneth over’ way.
Unlike yesterday, it couldn’t possibly be overwhelming because he is perfect for me, and even if I’m not used to perfection, that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve it.
If anything, the bubble is proof that my dating history did a number on me because clearly this queen deserves her king.
When he slumps on top of me, my eyes focus on the ceiling as I cling to him and he clings to me, legs wrapped around his waist holding him close, never wanting to let him go because he’s my Butch and I’m his Calamity Jane and nothing will change that.
Not even the body found at the Seven Cs that had Callan in a panic when he called us.
Nor the fact that my future father-in-law could have murdered my best friend…
This maelstrom is us, and no matter what’s hurled our way, we’ll handle it together like the badasses we are.
Epilogue
Two weeks later
“Why’s it taken you so long to come and see me?” Nonna chides at Zee, who flushes but lets herself be dragged into the best type of hug—a Nonna hug.
“I-I’ve been a chicken shit,” Zee whispers, making Nonna laugh.
“At least you can admit it,coniglio.” She pinches her cheek. “Just like this one. Afraid to bring her man around to meet the family.”
I scowl. “Hey! I resent that.”
“Resent all you want. The truth stings,” Anthony mocks, but he merely grins when I flip him the bird.
A part of me might have been worried about Cody’s intro to the fam after the whole dead body being uncovered on the ranch thing, but the town’s rallied around us.
Clyde’s public enemy number one, of course.
Harry even hugged Zee last week and told her that he’s sorry for her loss.
If it evenisMarcy.
Truth is, Zee and I have grieved Marcy for so long that the idea of closure is frightening. Never mind the proximity of the burial site. That’s a whole other subject for a therapist to unpack.
Marcy’s loss is something we had to deal with too young, and I think we’re both realizing we never actually dealt with it in the first place. So, grief bubbles up from time to time. Anger too. Then loss. Just… loss. Thoughts of who she might have become. If we’d have stayed friends. If… if… if…