"Not enough," I grit out, thrusting deeper, harder. "You're mine now. This pussy is mine. Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”
"Yours," she whimpers, her movements frantic. "I'm yours."
The words send me over the edge. I flip us without pulling out, laying her back on the couch, and driving into her withdeep, possessive strokes. She wraps her legs around me, meeting every thrust, her cries filling the room. I angle my hips to hit that spot inside her, and she comes again, her walls milking my cock, pulling my release from me.
I bury my face in her neck, groaning her name as I spill inside her, hot and endless. We stay locked together, breaths mingling, hearts pounding in sync.
Eventually, I pull back, brushing hair from her face. She's smiling, sated and soft, but then her expression shifts—worry creeping in.
"What now?" she whispers, her fingers tracing my jaw.
And then I say, perhaps the sappiest, corniest thing I have ever said in my entire life. “And now we live happily ever after.”
If only those words didn't end up making a liar out of me.
Chapter 11
Saoirse
The brownstone disappears in the rearview mirror as Declan navigates through Sunday afternoon traffic. My hands twist in my lap.
"You're fidgeting." His voice is low, but not unkind.
"I'm not fidgeting." I press my palms flat against my thighs.
His hand leaves the wheel and covers both of mine. The warmth presses through my skin, and I don't pull away. I thread my fingers through his instead.
Something between us shifted so completely yesterday, I feel like I’m living a brand new life—one where the old ghosts, the old haunts of my past, are buried and will stay buried.
What started on the kitchen counter turned into hours — a bath he ran without being asked, his hands working shampoo through my hair with a gentleness that undid me completely, then his bed, his arms, the particular silence of a man who doesn't know how to say things but uses his body like a language. This morning, he held me closer when I stirred, his mouth at my temple, his voice rough with sleep.
We have time,he'd said.
Time. I've been turning the word over all morning like a stone in my pocket, checking its weight.
Time implies a future, and futures have never been mine to claim. But sitting here with Declan's hand holding mine, his thumb tracing absent circles on my knuckles, I let myself think it.
Maybe. Maybe I can have this. Him. A home that doesn't require an exit strategy.
I look at him. His jaw is set, eyes on the road, but his thumb keeps moving—that small, unconscious stroke that gives me more hope than I’ve dared have since…forever. Since forever.
Nothing prepared me for the estate.
Iron gates open to a driveway canopied by trees older than either of us. At the ends sits three stories of stone and elegance. The kind of house that looks more like a posh hotel.
"Breathe," Declan says, because I seem to need the reminder.
Declan rounds the car and offers his hand. I take it because my legs aren't steady and his grip is the only solid thing in a world that's suddenly very large.
"Stay with me," he murmurs in my ear. "You're safe."
Inside, I count exits before I can stop myself. The front door is behind us, and a hallway is to the left. At the end of the hallway, I see French doors and a garden beyond.
Declan's hand tightens on mine. He noticed me cataloging my surroundings.
"Old habits," I say.
"Keep them." His voice drops low enough that only I hear. “It's never a bad idea to know your exits. Even here."
