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EPILOGUE

Eric

E ric’s fingers clawed into the leather cushions, his breath punching out of him with each harsh thrust of Wolfe’s hips.

“How does it feel, darling?”

Eric could only moan in response. It felt too fucking good. True, his belly was digging into the arm of the couch, all the blood rushing to his head, but who could focus on the vague discomfort when arousal had his cock tip leaking like a fountain, Wolfe’s satisfied grunts ringing in his ear?

When he didn’t answer, Wolfe flipped him over bodily, Eric’s back now arching over the couch arm. He gasped as Wolfe pulled his hips up with one smooth jerk.

He tried to take advantage of the brief reprieve to form a coherent sentence. “I was supposed to be reading for my book club.”

“And you were.” Wolfe leered down at him. It was unfair how sexy he looked, his hair mussed and his sharp cheekbones flush with color. “And then I interrupted. That’s the deal. You get your hideous man cave; I get to fuck you senseless in it.”

Senseless was right. Eric tried to organize his mushed-up brain waves to keep complaining, partly out of habit and partly because he knew it amused Wolfe to no end. “How—how is it my hideous space when you set yourself up a whole workstation in the corner? You’re in here just as much as I am.”

“I like to be close,” Wolfe answered easily, his hands digging into Eric’s thighs, lifting his legs practically over his head.

“Codependent,” Eric accused, trying to reach for his dick and pouting when Wolfe batted his hand away.

“As if you aren’t the neediest little cock slut in all the land,” Wolfe countered, lining up that beautiful cock and pushing into him.

“Oh fuck.” Eric keened at the renewed stretch, trying not to come at that feeling of fullness combined with Wolfe’s filthy words.

He said stuff like that sometimes, and it had no right to be as hot as it was.

It didn’t feel like before, when people in town had thought Eric was an unrepentant sleaze (and wasn’t it amazing what a wedding band did to change people’s minds about that?).

There was no malice or judgment in Wolfe’s dirty little accolades.

Only appreciation. He liked Eric needy. He adored him desperate.

And it was all truth. Because Eric was a fucking cock slut for Wolfe, no doubt about it.

Their bond may have been stable now—it didn’t physically or mentally wreck Eric to be apart from him—but he somehow always wanted to be close anyway.

He wasn’t content unless they’d had some sort of sexual contact at least once a day.

And since leaving the hospital—his life just up to the brim with unending stretches of free time—it was often much more than that.

Wolfe renewed his merciless rhythm, and Eric let his head fall back on the seat cushions, giving into the mindless, brain-numbing pleasure of it all. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.”

“Come for me.” Wolfe growled the order. Eric didn’t have to look at him to know he was staring. He always was.

“Touch my fucking cock, you asshole.”

“No.”

But Wolfe did lift Eric’s hips even higher, punching that bundle of nerves with each forceful push. Psycho fucker wanted Eric to come untouched. It was his favorite thing, Eric’s obsessive mate.

And he’d get what he wanted, wouldn’t he? Eric could already feel the electricity building at the base of his spine, his toes curling up in the air.

“Coming. Coming. F-Fffuck.”

It went fucking everywhere. His belly. His chest. The couch underneath him. Wolfe groaned in appreciation, and then Eric was his sex-blissed rag doll, limp and sated, as Wolfe sought his own release, bending over to cover Eric’s body with his as he did so.

They lay panting afterward, contorted in what would have been the most uncomfortable position had Eric not been so fucking drained. Eventually Wolfe rose, puttering about and cleaning Eric up, as he always did.

Caring for his most prized possession.

When Wolfe had righted him to standing, Eric stared down morosely at the new stain on the couch. “You’re just trying to ruin this thing so you can replace it with one of your pretentious numbers, aren’t you?”

Wolfe pressed a warm kiss to Eric’s bare shoulder. “Alas, my evil plan has been all figured out.”

“Yeah, I’m onto you.”

Wolfe tugged him out of the den and up the stairs, presumably to get dressed in clothes that hadn’t been torn to pieces in a lustful haze. “Have you grown bored yet?”

“Of marriage?” Eric asked.

He was given a vicious look for that. “Of your retirement, pet.”

“No. Should I be?” For a brief moment, familiar insecurity plagued him.

Was it bad, that he didn’t mind not being a doctor anymore?

His mother certainly thought so, although the one time she’d had the nerve to say it in a phone call Wolfe had calmly grabbed the phone from Eric and hung it up, and then come tax season, she and his dad had been mercilessly audited.

Apparently it was a minor miracle they hadn’t gone to jail.

But the insecurity didn’t last long, not with Wolfe’s clear delight at Eric’s answer.

Eric tried to frown at him. “Don’t look so smug. At some point, I will get tired of reading all your weird nonfiction books and actually want to do something.”

“Perhaps I’ll take you fishing,” Wolfe mused, stepping into their closet and selecting clothing for them both, tossing items at Eric seemingly at random.

“You’ll have to anyway,” Eric teased. “Jay’s threatening a camping trip. He wants to wait until Luc and Jamie can swing it. Now that the Tucson debacle’s all settled.”

“Took them all long enough.”

Wolfe began dressing. Eric held his own clothes in his arms, holding off for himself. He liked to watch the process with Wolfe. Because it was a process. Undershirts and vests and pocket squares having to look just right.

That was, until Eric caught a glimpse of the ornate clock on the wall. Then he hurried to the dresser, tossing Wolfe’s selected items aside and fishing out his athletic wear. “Shit. I’m late meeting Gabe. We’re supposed to go running.”

Eric could feel Wolfe rolling his eyes behind his back. “You know romping in the forest isn’t actually conditioning you, don’t you, pet? You can’t go far or fast enough for that.”’

“I know, I know.” Eric threw his clothes on in record time. “But we like it anyway; it still feels like exercise. Plus, the beast enjoys it. Soren wants us to try yoga, but Gabe’s resisting, I think just to piss him off. That’s, like, how they flirt or something.”

“You and your friends,” Wolfe muttered darkly.

“Aw.” Eric sidled over to give him a goodbye kiss. “You’re still my number one, babe.”

When he turned to leave, Wolfe grabbed his arm, his eyes flashing red in the bedroom light. “Tell me.”

Eric didn’t have to ask what he meant. It was always the same. “I love you,” he said, voicing each word clearly.

That warm, sweet feeling pulsed through the bond, even as Wolfe’s lips quirked, fighting his smile. “More than your friends,” he pushed.

“More than anyone,” Eric agreed.

“And you’ll never stop.”

And he thought Eric was the needy one? But Eric stepped close anyway, pulling on the ridiculous paisley tie Wolfe had chosen until their faces were only a breath apart. “And I’ll never, ever stop.”

Now Wolfe did smile. “My perfect darling.”

And Eric felt perfect. He always did these days. Like he was good. Like he was wanted. Like he was enough.

“Yours.”

The End.

Want to see Wolfe take Eric on his first solo hunt? Read their bonus epilogue here.