Page 28

Epilogue II

Connor

I push open the cabin door, arms loaded with freshly chopped wood, still grinning at how Lucy teased me about choosing a remote mountain hideaway for our honeymoon.

To be fair, I can’t believe I managed to convince Coach Brody to give me time off mid-season. The man nearly had a coronary when I told him I needed a few days away—right in the middle of the season—to take my new wife on a honeymoon that couldn’t wait until the offseason.

But I didn’t care. I’d waited years for her. I wasn’t waiting a minute longer to make her mine.

So we compromised with the grumpy coach.

No beach resorts, no international flights. Just a fire lookout cabin tucked in the mountains outside Iron Ridge. Isolated. Quiet. Close enough to return in an emergency, but far enough that no one would dare bother us.

Just me, Lucy, and a whole lot of flannel.

And honestly? I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I don't know what she was complaining about. This place is perfect.

Still, we've only had two weeks of marriage, and every time I think my wife , my heart does this ridiculous flip in my chest.

"Pretending to read while waiting for your new husband to come ravish you?"

Lucy's sprawled on our oversized leather armchair, wearing nothing but my red flannel shirt, her wedding band catching the firelight as she holds up a dog-eared romance novel.

I dump the wood next to the hearth, remembering how she'd whispered husband against my lips right after our vows, making me forget the hundred guests watching us back beneath the clock tower in Iron Ridge.

"Please. I'm deeply invested in this story about a brooding hockey player who falls for his best friend's sister." She turns a page with exaggerated focus. "Though he at least took her somewhere tropical for their honeymoon."

"Funny." I pull off my sweater, letting it drop to the floor. "Here I thought you married me for my rugged mountain man qualities. Don't you remember how good I look with a beard?"

Lucy giggles and shakes her head at the memory. "Please don't grow that stupid beard again."

I shrug. "Fine. But I don't know why you're complaining. You're the one who said yes to two weeks in a cabin when I suggested it."

"Is that what we're calling this whacky honeymoon choice?" Lucy's eyes track over my bare chest, just like they had during our wedding night. "Well, Mr. Mountain Man, the guys are never going to let you live down picking wilderness over beaches."

I step closer, watching her breath catch as I lean over the chair. "That's mountain husband to you now, Mrs. Walsh."

Her book tumbles forgotten to the floor as I brace my hands on either side of her.

Our lips meet and every memory floods back—that first electric kiss in Vegas, the way she felt in my arms in LA, the moment two weeks ago when she appeared at the end of that aisle in white lace, making me forget how to breathe.

I ghost my lips along her jaw. "I thought a beautiful girl like you would like being in the middle of nowhere. For our honeymoon. With no way out."

Lucy's fingers thread through my hair as she pulls me closer. "When you put it like that… Sounds like the best decision I ever made. Right after saying 'I do.'"

"And spending fifty-grand on a date with me?"

Lucy giggles and nods as our foreheads press against each other. "Absolutely."

The fire crackles behind us as I drink in the sight of her—my best friend's sister, my greatest temptation, my bride. My everything.

I reach down and scoop her into my arms without warning, her laughter bubbling against my neck as I carry her across the room like we’re reenacting some cliché bridal movie montage.

She hooks her arms around my shoulders. “We’re going to have to go back to reality eventually, you know.”

“Not yet.” I kick open the bedroom door and walk us straight to the edge of the bed. “We’ve got a few more days in our little fantasy. Then we can go home, get back to HQ, beat Blake in fantasy hockey, and keep Ryder from tattooing something insane before the playoffs.”

Lucy snorts. “I’m not sure we’re qualified for any of that.”

I lay her down gently, my body hovering over hers. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

The mattress creaks under our weight as she pulls me into a kiss, her fingers skimming over my jaw like she’s tracing something sacred. I let myself sink into her, one hand fisting in her flannel while the other slides up her thigh.

When I reach her panties, I hook a finger beneath the band and tug.

My eyes lock between her legs and my cock throbs at the sight. She’s already soaked.

“Fuck, baby. I knew you weren’t reading that damn book,” I murmur against her sweet, warm skin. "You've been watching me chop wood through the window haven't you?"

She just smirks, arching her hips in invitation. “What can I say? My husband’s distracting.”

“Damn right I am.”

I drag the silky panties she bought just for our honeymoon getaway down her legs slowly, watching the soft stretch of her thighs, the slick heat glistening between them like a secret I’ve already memorized.

The firelight dances over her skin as I settle between her legs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the inside of her thighs, savoring every inch.

She gasps when I reach her center, but I don’t dive in—not yet.

Instead, I look up, watching her eyes flutter open.

“Let me take my time tonight,” I whisper. “We’ve got forever, baby. But I plan on worshiping you like it’s my last night on Earth.”

She bites her lip, breathless. “Then what are you waiting for?”

With a deep laugh, I slide my hands under her ass, lifting her closer, tilting her hips just right. Her slick heat is already coating my chest, the scent of her arousal thick in the air—salty, sweet, so fucking potent it makes my mouth water.

I don’t waste time.

I dive in and devour her like I’ve been starving for days. Tongue first, deep and filthy, lapping through her folds with messy, desperate strokes.

"Fuck, Lucy… you taste so fucking good, baby."

Her thighs tremble around my head, her heels digging into the bed as she moans, long and low, the sound vibrating straight down my spine.

I press my face deeper, flattening my tongue and dragging it up from her dripping entrance to her clit. The second I find it, I suck it into my mouth and flick fast, hard, and relentless.

She arches with a gasp, her hands flying to her breasts, tugging at her nipples as her hips rock against me in frantic rhythm.

“Connor—fuck— Connor! ” she cries, the sound cracking on my name.

Her screams drive me insane.

How is it possible I got this woman to marry me? A dorky goalie from Iron Ridge? She was always the off-limits fantasy. My best friend’s little sister. Now she’s my reality. My wife. My future.

I groan into her, my cock straining against my sweats like it’s ready to burst. I reach down, wrapping my fist around the thick base, pumping slow and tight to keep the pressure under control. But she’s making it so damn hard. Every roll of her hips grinds her soaked pussy against my face, her clit dragging over my tongue, her slick painting my jaw.

She’s fucking my face like she owns it. Like she knows she can.

And she can .

She can do whatever she wants, this woman. I don't care. So long as I'm right here with her.

Her grip on my hair turns savage, pulling me tighter, rocking harder, grinding until my nose is nudging her clit and my tongue is buried deep, fucking her slow and deliberate while I stroke myself, every pulse of her heat sending another drop of precum down my shaft.

I hum against her, and she shatters.

She screams—loud, messy, so fucking real —as she comes hard, her thighs quaking, her juices spilling over my chin while she writhes above me, shaking and gasping and gripping me like I’m the only solid thing in the world.

And I am . I’ll be that for her. Every time.

I drag my tongue through her again, slower now, lapping up every drop as she trembles through the aftershocks.

Then I rise, slow and feral, licking my lips like a man high on her taste.

My cock is in my hand, thick and twitching, already wet from how hard I’ve been working it. Her eyes drop to it, dark and greedy.

“I need to be inside you,” I growl, voice ruined from restraint. “Now.”

Lucy nods, chest still rising and falling, flushed and glowing, completely wrecked—but still hungry.

“Please,” she whispers, spreading her legs wider for me. “I need you. I need all of you.”

Her legs wrap around my waist as I line myself up, the thick head of my cock brushing through her slick heat. She gasps, already so sensitive, her hips bucking to chase the pressure.

“Easy,” I rasp, running my hand down her thigh, gripping her knee and pushing it up to open her wider for me. “I’ve got you, baby. Let me take care of you.”

She nods, breathless, her eyes locked on mine—dark, blown wide with need, but soft, trusting.

I push in slow, dragging every inch through the heat of her, watching her mouth fall open in a silent moan. My cock stretches her, thick and full, until I bottom out, buried in the tightest, hottest place I’ve ever known.

“Fuck, Lucy,” I groan, forehead dropping to hers. “You feel so goddamn perfect.”

She whimpers, her nails digging into my shoulders as her body clenches around me, pulling me deeper. “Connor… move. I need it. Please.”

I pull back and thrust in hard, setting a rhythm that’s deep and deliberate, every stroke rocking her up the mattress. Her hands scramble for purchase—my arms, my back, the sheets—anything to hold onto as I drive into her again and again.

Each thrust sends a ripple through her body. Each cry from her lips makes my control fray.

“You were made for me,” I grit out, my voice breaking. “This pussy, this body—mine.”

“Yes,” she moans, biting her lip as her eyes flutter shut. “Yours. Always.”

I grab her hips and tilt her just right, slamming in deeper, angling to hit that spot that makes her lose it every time. She cries out, her legs locking tight around me as her orgasm builds again—tighter, hotter, louder.

“I want you to come for me,” I growl. “Soak me. Let me feel it.”

She breaks with a scream, her body pulsing around me as she shudders through her climax. The sight of her completely wrecked beneath me is all it takes—I lose it.

My hips snap forward in one final, punishing thrust, and I come with a roar, buried so deep inside her I swear I can feel her heart beat around me.

I stay there, locked tight, our bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction, her arms tangled around my neck like she’ll never let go.

And I’m not going anywhere.

I press a kiss to her shoulder, her collarbone, her lips, still trying to catch my breath.

“You’re mine, Lucy Walsh,” I whisper against her skin.

Her soft laugh makes my chest ache.

“Good. Because I’m not letting you go. Ever.”

I collapse beside her, dragging her into my arms before she can even catch her breath. Her legs are still tangled with mine, her skin hot and flushed as she buries her face in my chest, laughing softly.

“Jesus,” she murmurs. “That was... very married of us.”

I grin, brushing my thumb over her bare shoulder. “Was that a complaint?”

“Not even close.” She tilts her head up, resting her chin on my chest. “Pretty sure you’ve ruined me for mountain getaways now.”

I kiss her forehead. “We’ll just have to come back every anniversary.”

Lucy’s eyes light up. “Every anniversary?”

“Hell yeah. You think I’m ever gonna stop wanting you in flannel and nothing else?” I pause, brushing her hair from her face. “I want this, Lucy. All of it. Every year, every version of us. Just like this.”

Her smile softens into something that punches me straight in the chest. “You really are the world’s most lovable, romantic hockey player... aren't you?”

She curls into my chest, breath slowing, skin still flushed. I press my lips to her hair, breathing her in.

I used to hide behind my gear, my jokes, the mask. But now? She sees me. Every raw, real part of me—and she still chose me.

“And you really are the girl who married him.”