Page 132 of Pistols & Peonies

Epilogue

VIOLET

Sunlight filters in through the gauzy curtains, crawling over my bare shoulder until it’s too warm to ignore. I groan, curling tighter and trying to bury my face in the pillow… except, as usual, Kane’s managed to claim the majority share of it in his sleep. His head is right next to mine, mouth parted, one hand slung lazily across my ribs. Fiercely possessive, even while deep in slumber.

Birds are chirping outside, the faint scent of the lake tickling my nose. The whole house is still, no city noise or buzzing phones to distract from the moment.

Just us.

I blink myself fully awake, stretch my legs under the sheets, and slowly turn my head to look at Kane. He’s out cold, which is rare. Most mornings, he’s up before me, stalking around the kitchen making coffee with military precision or barking commands to enforcers over the phone. But here at the lake, he actually lets himself relax, and I can’t help but feel a little smug in the knowledge that I’m the only one who ever gets this version of him. Less Commander and more… Kane.

I just lie there for a second and look at him. His face is softer in sleep, the hard lines gentler. There’s a little shadow of stubble on his jaw that I’m far too tempted to lick, and the flecks of gray in his hair have multiplied. He pretends to hate it, but I caught him checking himself out in the mirror once, low-key admiring the distinguished silver streaks at his temples. I told him it makes him look like an evil CEO, and he threatened to put me through the bedroom wall. Naturally, I kept baiting him until he followed through on that threat and fucked me into oblivion. The drywall still isn’t patched.

Some days I still can’t believe this is my life. That he’s mine.

I conjure up a grand plan to beat him at his own game by making the coffee for once, turning back over and trying to slide out from underneath his arm without waking him. Before I can make a clean getaway, he catches me around the waist and hauls me back into his chest.

“Five more minutes,” he mutters, voice ragged from sleep.

I wiggle, attempting to dislodge his ironclad grip. “I was just gonna start the coffee.”

“It can wait,” he growls, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, the rumble of his voice vibrating straight through my body. He’s warm as a furnace, the heat of him bleeding into my back.

“I need caffeine,” I mumble, even as I give up on trying to escape.

His hand slides up, tracing a path over my belly and skimming my ribs before settling on my breast. His thumb grazes my nipple, teasing just enough to make my breath catch.

“Later,” he murmurs wickedly, pinching my nipple between his fingers.

I try to stifle my gasp, but I know he can feel the way my body reacts, my pulse already picking up. “Are you trying to distract me from my duties as the Commander’s perfect mate?” I ask breathlessly, turning to glance at him over my shoulder.

Kane finally cracks his eyes open, and the look he gives me is pure hunger. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, dragging his hand down to grip my hip and pulling me flush against him.

We’re both still naked from last night, sparks sizzling between our skin. His cock is already hard and pressed between my ass cheeks, and I can feel the whole length of it hot against me. I grind back against him, just to be a brat, and he groans, sinking his teeth gently into my shoulder. “You’re going to pay for that, mate.”

I tip my head back to give him better access, and he takes it, kissing up to the crook of my neck and nipping the spot where he marked me. The skin is slightly raised there, a perfect crescent that’s half scar, half erogenous zone. It never fails to make me go weak, and he fucking knows it.

His hands are suddenly everywhere at once, palming my tits, rolling my nipples between his fingers, sliding down to cup my pussy. He parts my legs with one knee, then dips his hand between my thighs, circling my clit with a practiced touch that makes my breath stutter.

“Fuck,” I hiss, bucking up against his hand.

He grins against my neck. “You like that?”

I can barely think with the way his fingers are working me. He keeps going, rubbing my clit relentlessly until I’m gasping. “Yes, Daddy,” I whimper, because he loves it and I love how he reacts whenever I say it.

The growl that rumbles in his chest is pure satisfaction. He hitches my leg up, draping it over his thigh and lining himself up behind me. With one smooth thrust, he slides inside, filling me completely. I cry out, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room.

He sets a slow, deep rhythm, fucking me in a lazy spooning position that leaves me completely at his mercy. His hand stays on my clit, rubbing circles in perfect counterpoint to the way he’s moving inside me. The stretch, the fullness, the pressure… it’s all too much. My head tips back, mouth open, and I ride the edge until I explode, toes curling and body arching into him as I see stars. He keeps going, chasing his own release, and when he comes it’s with a low, satisfied grunt, his hand tightening on my hip as he spills inside me.

We lay there for a few minutes, panting while sweat cools on our skin. I think about moving, but Kane keeps me pinned, his arm heavy over my waist.

“Now you can get up,” he murmurs into my ear, but he doesn’t let go.

“You’re a menace,” I mumble, but my heart is thumping, content and full.

He slides out of me, rolling over and stretching his arms above his head, looking insufferably smug. “I’ll start the coffee,” he declares, voice returning to its usual, no-nonsense timbre.

My gaze homes in on his naked ass as he walks to the dresser and fishes out a pair of boxer briefs, pulling them on. Even after all this time, my heart stutters at the view. The man is fucking gorgeous, pushing forty yet still chiseled like a fitness model. He leaves the room to head for the kitchen, and I linger in bed for a moment, gathering myself.