"Okay." He exhales—long, shuddering. His forehead drops to mine. We stand in the narrow hallway breathing each other's air, his thumb still on my cheek, my hand still in his, Hope weaving between our ankles.
I kiss him.
Not gentle. Not tentative. I rise on my toes and take his mouth with a fierce hunger—teeth catching his lower lip, tongue sliding against his, both my hands fisting the front of his shirt to drag him closer. He groans into the kiss, his arm banding around my waist, lifting me off the floor until my legs wrap around him and my back hits the hallway wall.
"Saoirse.” His eyes darken. The control he wears like a second skin fractures visibly, and what pours through the cracks is something feral and reverent at once. He carries me up the stairs with my legs locked around his waist, his mouth on my throat, my collarbone, the hinge of my jaw. Every kiss is a brand. Every press of his lips says mine, mine, mine, and I want the word burned into my skin so deep it never fades.
He lays me on our bed—not the guest room bed, not the couch. Ours.
He strips me with hands that shake. Not from cold, not from fatigue. From need so acute his fingers fumble with buttons, and Declan O'Rourke's fingers never fumble. The realization sends heat flooding through me. I'm doing this to him. Me.
"You're shaking," I say.
"I know." He pulls my shirt over my head and presses his open mouth to the hollow of my throat where my pulse hammers. "I thought I lost you tonight."
I pull his shirt off and flatten my palms against his bare chest. His heart slams against my right hand—hard, desperate, matching mine beat for frantic beat.
"You didn't lose me."
"I came close." He drags his mouth lower, lips tracing the curve of my breast, teeth grazing the nipple before he sucks it into his mouth. I arch off the mattress, fingers raking through his hair. "Too close. Never again."
He strips the rest of our clothes with urgent efficiency and settles between my thighs, his weight braced on his forearms, his cock pressing hard and hot against my entrance. He pauses there. Holds my gaze.
"Look at me," he says. "Don't close your eyes. I want you to see me. I want you to know who's inside you."
I nod, my breath ragged.
He pushes in—one long, devastating stroke that fills me so deep I cry out. His jaw clenches, his arms trembling with the effort of going slow, and his eyes never leave mine. Not for a second. This is not the mechanical sex of two nights ago. This is a man pouring himself into me with nothing held back, nothing reserved, no part of him off-limits.
"Declan—" His name breaks apart in my throat.
"I'm here." He pulls back and drives forward again, hitting a spot that makes sparks burst behind my eyes. "I'm right here, baby. I'm not going anywhere."
He sets a rhythm that's deep and rolling, every thrust deliberate, his hips grinding against my clit on each downstroke. I wrap my legs tighter, pulling him deeper, and he groans—a raw, wrecked sound that vibrates through both of us.
"This pussy," he grits out, his forehead pressed to mine, sweat slicking between our bodies. "This body… It’s mine. No one else's. Ever."
"Yours." The word is a gasp, a prayer, a vow. "I'm yours."
He drives harder. One hand slides under my hip, angling me up, and the shift sends him so deep I see white. My nails score his back. His mouth captures my scream, swallowing it, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips.
"Come for me, Saoirse. I need to feel you. Need to know you're here."
I shatter. The orgasm tears through me like a current—my whole body clenching, quaking, pulsing around him in waves that drag his release from him seconds later. He buries himself to the hilt and comes with a groan so deep it resonates in my bones, his body pinning mine to the mattress, his face buried in my neck.
We lie tangled together afterward, slick and trembling, his cock still inside me, neither of us willing to break the connection. His hand strokes my hair. My fingers trace the scar near his ribs.
Hope jumps onto the foot of the bed, circles once, and settles into a ball.
Epilogue: Saoirse
Two weeks later…
An agitated Hope meows at me as I pace the floor waiting for Declan to get home from the family meeting.
When he finally strides through the door, I’m on him in seconds. His arms wrap around me so tightly he actually lifts me off my feet.
“Tell me everything,” I murmur against his chest. “What happened?”
