Looking for Trouble-Extended Epilogue

Epilogue—Cyrus

Five Years Later

She’s wearing my shirt.

Five years, and that simple sight still has the power to ruin me.

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over my chest, watching her stretch across the kitchen counter like she’s not deliberately trying to kill me. The hem of the shirt rides up, baring the backs of her thighs and just the curve of her ass. Her sleep shorts, if you can even call them that, always leave me struggling to keep my hands to myself as is.

She knows exactly what she’s doing.

"That’s not your shirt," I murmur.

She doesn’t even turn around. Just keeps stirring her coffee, like it’s a completely normal morning and I’m not standing here trying not to drag her onto the counter and remind her why she needs to wear pants in this house.

"It is now. You left it on the bathroom floor," she says. "Abandoned property. I rescued it."

Before I can respond, the unmistakable patter of small feet breaks the moment.

"Mom! Dad!"

Presley turns, beaming as our five-year-old son Aaron barrels into the kitchen in a blaze of messy curls and dinosaur pajamas. He latches onto her leg with all the grace of a wrecking ball, nearly taking her down with him.

"Easy, tiger," I say, catching a juice box from the counter before he can grab it and spill it all over the floor like last time.

"Can we go to the park today? You said we could go if it didn’t rain!"

"It's not raining yet," Presley says, brushing her fingers through his hair.

"We’ll go after breakfast," I add, tossing him the juice box. "But only if you finish your eggs. Deal?"

"Deal!"

He takes off toward the living room with a speed that should be illegal at this hour.

Presley exhales a laugh, eyes meeting mine again as the chaos fades around the corner.

"So, about that trip upstairs?" she teases.

I close the distance in two steps.

"Rain check," I murmur, hands finding her hips, "but tonight… you’re not leaving the bed."

---

The morning melts into a warm, overcast afternoon. We walk hand in hand through the park, Aaron zigzagging ahead of us with a foam sword and no sense of spatial awareness.

Presley squeezes my hand. "He looks more like you every day."

"Poor bastard," I joke, but the lump in my throat is real. I never pictured this life. Not really. Not with anyone. But she made it possible.

"Are you still scared you’ll mess it all up?" she asks softly.

I glance at her. "Every fucking day."

"You won’t," she says confidently, laying her head against my shoulder.

I believe her. Every time she says it, I believe her a little more. But I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t always that tiny bit of fear that I could someday lose the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me.

"Aaron, not too far," I say, directing him toward an open area where he and I can play. "Go read." I kiss Presley on her temple, her Kindle already in hand as she makes her way over to a bench.

"Now where did that little pirate run off to?" I say in my best pretend voice as I turn toward my son. "There he is!" I point at him and he squeals with laughter, his little five-year-old feet doing their best to take off.

I chase him through the grass, tossing him over my shoulder when I catch him. The sound makes my heart feel like it’s going to burst with emotion every time I hear it. I glance up, Presley’s eyes locked on us, a smile on her face.

This is it…the reason, the point for everything.

"Again, get me again!" Aaron says when I put him down, already running away from me as soon as his feet hit the ground. I chase him through the grass until he wears us both out.

"But I don’t wanna," he starts to pout when Presley tells him it’s time to leave.

"I know, but how about we make a stop down at that bakery on the corner that you like?"

"Can I get a cookie?"

"Really, darling?" I chuckle, shaking my head, "bribing our son?"

"I’m pretty sure that’s how I get you to do most things as well, darling."

"What can I say, like father like son." I laugh, pulling her against me and kissing her neck as we make our way out of the park and toward the bakery.

"Well, if it isn’t my favorite little heartbreaker!" Carmella, the woman who owns the bakery, gushes over Aaron like she always does. "Oh, he’s just such a handsome little boy," she glances up at me with a different grin, "just like his daddy."

I glance over at Presley who’s laughing under her breath.

"Here’s your free cookie," she says, handing him the largest damn cookie I’ve ever seen.

"Thank you," he says, taking the cookie and immediately stuffing half of it into his mouth. Melted chocolate dots his stuffed cheeks as a few stray crumbs tumble down his shirt.

We order a pastry and coffee for ourselves and make the peaceful walk back home, just like we have most weekends for the last five years. It’s our routine, domesticated bliss some people would call it. I thought it was a load of bullshit most of my life, but I’ve never been happier to be wrong.

In the past, my weekends just meant more work, something I actually looked forward to because the time was uninterrupted. But now, work is the furthest thing from my mind on the weekends with my family.

It stands to reason your priorities change after marriage and certainly after a child, but it’s more than that. I’ve changed. I’m a better man because of Presley. She elevates me in every way possible, and she gave me Aaron, the light of my life.

By dinnertime, we're all a little fried. But it’s also our favorite time of the night because after dinner time, before bedtime, we snuggle on the couch as a family and talk about all of our favorite things we did together that day.

"And I loved the Lego store!" Aaron says, looking up at both of us.

"I did too, buddy. I loved getting to watch you have fun and explore."

"You did?"

"Very much," I say, kissing the top of his head. "It always makes Daddy very happy when I know that you are happy."

"Oh," he looks over at his mom then back to me, "I’m super happy!"

Presley and I immediately look at each other. Neither of us has to say it out loud, but we’re both thinking the same thing. Life doesn’t get better than this.

"Okay, little man, time for the bath." I scoop him up in my arms, promising to return him to Presley clean and ready for a goodnight kiss. And just like most nights, it takes twice as long as I anticipate.

Bath time is a splash war. Story time involves at least three books and a lot of negotiations. But finally, he's out. The house is still.

I rest against his bedroom door, letting out a long sigh. It’s not easy raising kids, but I know that someday soon, I’ll look back on these memories wishing so badly that time stood still.

"Baby?" I walk back into our bedroom, expecting Presley to be asleep already, but she’s not in bed. I make my way back downstairs to do my usual nighttime check when I spot her…or at least her bare legs in the refrigerator light.

"Quick snack?" I step closer when she closes the door, revealing that she’s wearing one of my white dress shirts and nothing else. I freeze where I'm standing, my eyes dropping down her body.

"We never did finish what we started this morning," she says.

"Bedroom," I order, voice low.

She turns on bare feet and walks. I follow, undoing buttons as I go.

The second we’re alone, I pin her to the wall with my mouth, one hand cupping her jaw, the other already working the buttons loose on the shirt. I kiss her like she’s mine to consume, to destroy, to worship.

"Fuck me," I groan against her mouth, "just kissing you has me on the fucking edge."

Her eyes darken, that coy grin playing at her lips that always gives her away. She slides her hand down my chest, her hand gripping my cock through my pants.

"I missed this," she whispers, pulling back just long enough to look me in the eyes. "You. Like this."

"I’m always like this with you." I drag my teeth gently against her neck, nipping her softly. "You just don’t get unlimited access to him when there’s a five-year-old running around."

"Good thing he’s asleep then, because I don’t plan on being a good girl tonight at all."

I lift her easily, carrying her to the bed and tossing her down. "Is that so?" I growl, falling over her before she can crawl away. I grab her hands, pinning them above her head.

"Tell me what you want, baby. You have something specific you need me to do?" I can always tell when she’s like this—she wants something. That she’s been thinking about a particular fantasy or situation that has her aching with need.

"I want to be… exhausted."

"Exhausted?" I crook my brow. "Exhausted can mean many things." I dip my head, flicking her already pert nipple with my tongue.

"Oh," she gasps at the whisper of a touch.

"Are you asking for no sleep because we fuck like rabbits all night?" This time I wrap my lips around her nipple.

"No," she moans, her back arching.

"Are you asking for rough?" I bite down. "Hard?" I lean over and bite the underside of her breast until she whines. "Painful?"

I pull back to look at her and immediately know. She doesn’t have to tell me—I can read her body like a book.

"Oh." I release one wrist, dragging my hand down to cup her breast in my hand. "You want to be my fantasy, don’t you?"

"Yes." She says it softly, her cheeks slightly pink at the admission.

I don’t need any further explanation. What follows is slow. Hungry. Reverent. I relearn every inch of her body like I haven't memorized it for years. I take my time until she’s gasping, clinging, trembling.

"Oh God," her nails dig into my ribs, her thighs squeezing me. "Oh, it feels so good."

"Oh fuck, that’s gonna make me come," I groan, thrusting my hips upward and hitting her G-spot, making her explode on my cock. "Jesus Christ." I pump into her two more times before holding still and spilling every last drop inside her. "Hearing you say that, in that breathy moan while your pussy milks me should be fucking criminal."

"Don’t move," she bites down on her bottom lip, squeezing me again and riding out the last few aftershocks of her orgasm.

"Fuuuuuck, don’t do that." I groan when her walls clench around my cock that’s still inside her.

"Don’t do what?" she says, leaning up to nip my earlobe. She knows it drives me crazy when she does that. "This?"

"Ohhh," my eyes flutter closed, my cock pulsing.

"It’s my turn," she says, rolling me onto my back and riding me until we’re both panting again.

"Let me watch you, sweetheart. Use my cock to come." I clutch the sheets in my fists, leaning back to watch her rub her clit. "That’s right, baby. Make yourself come for me."

A second later, she’s crying out my name. I follow right behind her, lost to the only thing that’s ever truly undone me.

Her.

Afterward, we lie tangled in the sheets. Her head on my chest, her leg thrown over mine. I brush her hair away from her face and kiss the top of her head.

"Remember when I said I was the most dangerous man you'd ever met?" I whisper.

She laughs quietly. "Still are."

"Damn right."

"But now you're also the man who makes the best pancakes in Chicago and tucks a five-year-old into bed better than anyone."

"I’m a man of many talents."

She lifts her head and looks at me, serious now. "You're everything, Cyrus. Everything I never knew I needed."

"So are you, Presley. You’re my world, and I couldn’t be happier that you didn’t listen to me and chose to go looking for trouble when I tried to warn you away."

"Sounds like not being the good girl is actually what got me my happily ever after then, didn’t it… Professor?"

"Are you misbehaving now, Miss James? Because I can think of a really appropriate punishment for that kind of behavior."

She giggles against me, sliding her hands into my hair and pulling me in for a kiss.

"For the record, I’m really glad that I chose not to listen to you either." She rests her head against my chest, her body snuggled up against mine as we both drift off to sleep. "Sweet dreams," she murmurs.

But I don’t have to dream anymore.

I’m already living in one.

Because she’s mine.

Forever.

Looking for Trouble

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