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EPILOGUE
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OPHELIA
Three weeks later…
“HARDER.”
“No,” Judge gritted out.
Slouching on the couch with his head resting against the back, he looked up at me while I fought to ride him. His hands gripped my hips through the thin fabric of my skirt, slowly moving me up and down.
“Faster,” I tried.
“No.”
“You’re only torturing yourself.”
“This isn’t torture for you? I’ll slow down.”
“No, no, no.”
I tried again to move, but he held me still and smiled up at me. “Love you.”
Every day. Multiple times a day.
We’d spent two days on the road to Tennessee. Two days in town—long enough to be there for Madison and see the bastard found guilty in what had to be a record-breakingly fast deliberation. Then three days headed home, taking an easier pace so everyone could enjoy the open road and the indescribable calm it brought.
We’d been back for over two weeks and, in all that time, Judge told me every day, multiple times a day he loved me. And without fail, no matter the position or speed or vibe, he told me while he was inside me.
Rough sex.
Quickie sex.
Wall sex.
Shower sex.
Bike sex.
Blow jobs.
Whatever.
He’d give me that dangerously charming smile and say he loved me.
Usually, I loved it. Each time would sear itself into my memory, and when I was old and gray, I’d be able to replay them—hopefully using some advanced, 3D virtual reality technology.
But right then, when he was teasing me to the point of violence, his dangerous charm wasn’t going to work.
Okay, it kinda still did.
But I glared anyway. “Then fuck me harder.”
“Love you so fuckin’ much, Ophelia.” His smile shifted to a smirk that looked extra sinister in the dim lighting and shadows. “But I never did make you beg.”
It seemed like years but had only been weeks since he’d told me I’d beg before he touched me.
