Epilogue
Arianna
The couch creaks pitifully as I shift, trying to find a comfortable position for my big belly and the incredibly athletic baby kicking in there. I grab a pillow and position it under my belly, sighing in relief when the pressure leaves my back.
Christ, I cannot wait for this baby to come out already. In all my years of traveling, I’ve experienced all sorts of adventures, but none as big as this one. In the most literal of ways.
Three years ago, Conor and I did something reckless. We decided to extend what was initially supposed to be a ten-day trip and turned it to three weeks. When we finally circled back to New York, we were married.
Let’s get married.
Three years later, the words still give me goosebumps.
Fresh in my mind are the words we traded that night and the vows we exchanged—not in Vegas—but in a tiny little chapel in New Orleans.
Just the two of us, like it’d been the entire trip.
That is, if you don’t account for the stalker.
Still, it’s ironic that some of the best pictures of Conor and me were the ones Mia took.
Still, it’s because of that decision we made that night in Vegas that I’m here today, big as an elephant with a bump the size of a beach ball.
"What are you doing sitting alone in the dark?” my husband’s voice calls, breaking into my thoughts. The lights come on, and I blink against the harsh glare, trying to adjust to the brightness. "Are you okay? Is something wrong with the baby?”
"Too bright,” I whine, squinting my eyes at the tall man standing by the doorway.
"Sorry, I’ll dim them,” he says, and when I open my eyes next, the light isn’t as bright anymore.
I watch him walk toward me and settle down on the arm of the couch, wrapping an arm over my shoulder and pulling me to his side.
I bite down a whimper when his fingers start stroking up and down my bare arm.
"Are you sure you’re fine? Do you want me to get you a glass of water or something from the kitchen? ”
"No,” I sigh, nuzzling into him. Christ, he smells so good. Like leather, spice and something faintly smoky. "I came in to watch a movie, but then I…well, the moment I sat down, I couldn’t get up to grab the damn remote.”
"You should have called me, baby.”
"I knew you were working out, and I didn’t want to interrupt that,” I whisper, nuzzling deeper into his side, losing myself in his scent.
The new body wash he’s been using adds hints of smoky tones to his scent, and heavens above, it’s doing crazy things to me.
And the finger he’s stroking down my arm isn’t doing me any favors with the heat burning below my belly.
At this point, I can’t tell if it’s the pregnancy hormones messing with my brain or if it’s just him.
We’ve always had a healthy sex relationship since that night in that Chicago hotel, but lately, the need is a whole other beast. I want him all the time—in the bedroom, in the kitchen while we make dinner, in the car—and sometimes, the need consumes me so much that I am forced to interrupt his workout sessions.
I’m like a nymphomaniac. Insatiable. Uncontrollable.
I want him...no, I ache for him.
Every damn minute.
I can’t help it. And Conor—well, he treats me like I’m made of porcelain. I read the desire in his eyes, but there’s always an uncertainty when it comes to giving into it. As if he’s afraid I’ll break or something.
"What did you want to watch? Let me grab that remote for you,” Conor says, starting to get up, but my hands tighten on his arm, stopping him before he can move.
"Don’t…” I whisper, biting my lip even as I squeeze the hard muscles of his arms, sliding a hand underneath the gray sweater he has on and caressing the skin underneath.
Christ, he feels so hot and rugged…so strong.
Touching him as I am makes my heart race.
"I don’t think I’m ready to watch anything just yet. ”
Those blue eyes drop to the hand on his abs before lifting to mine. "And what is it exactly you want to do?” he asks, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and the finger tracing my arm stops. My heart skips a beat when he leans down and brushes his lips over mine. "I know that look in your eyes.”
"What look?”
I feel his smile against my lips. "The look you get when you want me to touch every inch of your skin, then give you that sweet release that only my cock can provide.”
I whimper at his words, my skin heating up sensitively.
“How wet are you, a rún?”
"Very,” I breathe before pushing in to deepen the kiss, my pussy clenching painfully with need.
It’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. My hand drops from his abs to his zipper, moaning when I feel the bulge behind his fly lengthen.
He gasps into the kiss when I tug down the zipper and grip his cock in my hand, pushing deeper into the kiss as I pump him in long strokes. "Want you, Conor.”
"You have me, baby. Always,” he growls, his hips jerking from my movements. “In whatever way you need me. I’m yours.”
“Then make love to me.”
The words are barely out before Conor breaks contact.
He moves lightning fast, shifting to sit beside me on the couch.
He guides me to turn away from him, helping me settle back against his chest, my back supported by his broad frame.
His hands slide around to cup my belly protectively before traveling lower.
His lips are on mine before I can think, moving over my shoulder, tracing my skin. I’m sobbing with need by the time he tugs down my dress, his mouth nuzzling against my throat.
“Conor!” I sob, arousal flooding me and leaving me an aching mess. I arch against him, seeking that sweet release only he has ever offered me.
Please.
“I want you too, baby,” he breathes into my hair, his hands sliding over my belly to palm my breasts. “There will never be a moment when I don’t want you. Every inch of you. So beautiful. My baby. A rún, Mo chroí.”
And now, it’s more than just my body that’s aching.
My heart trembles every time he speaks to me in Gaelic.
The same words he spoke three years ago, and nothing has changed.
Not the way he looks at me or talks to me.
Not the way he treats me either. Almost like I am the most precious thing in his entire life.
Hell, he kept his promise about staying by my side, and even when I got pregnant, he didn’t try to halt our adventures.
We only stopped five months into the pregnancy, and the decision to stay a year or two before going back on the road was mine.
It didn’t matter to him if we were on the road or in New York, as long as we were together.
And how lucky I am, that I got both after all? The man and the freedom I’ve craved my entire life.
"Make love to me,” I whisper, my words softer. The need to connect with him and feel his heart, body, and soul stronger than it’s ever been. "Make me yours. Again, and again.”
Our eyes meet in the reflection of the darkened TV screen when his cock slips into my wetness, filling me…stretching me. Marking me. My back arches with a sob when he starts moving, his thrusts slow and deep, angled perfectly for my comfort..
“I love you, Ari.”
We move in a practiced dance, and when I finally climax, the world shifts from under me. I cry out, clenching hard around his cock as pleasure shoots from the top of my head to my toes, leaving me breathless. And only then, does he follow.
***
Conor
“What movie did you want to watch?”
Arianna murmurs something about letting me pick before nuzzling into me and burying her face in the arm acting as a pillow for her head. I smile as I reach for the remote, ready to start our nightly tradition of cuddles and movies when Arianna suddenly goes stiff against me.
“Oh God… Oh!
Her alarmed voice sends me into a panic as I quickly sit up and look down at her. “What’s wrong?”
“My…I…ouch!” She winces, grabbing my arm to pull herself up so I quickly place a hand on her back and help her sit up. “I… Conor, ouch. I think my water just broke!”
“What!” My eyes drop to her lap and gasp when I see the wet spot on her dress, and the pained look on her face is enough to send me panicking. “Shit, sorry, I’ll…crap… Hospital.”
“Good idea,” she says with a pained laugh.
Somehow, it’s a blur, but I manage to grab Arianna’s maternity bag and carry her to the car without going into shock.
Hearing her groan in pain the entire ride to the hospital breaks my fucking heart, and for some reason, I am transported back to that night three years ago when I realized she was alone with a stalker.
The thought of someone hurting her…of my stubborn little wife being in pain nearly crushed me that day.
I wanted to marry her that night so everyone knew she belonged to me, but Arianna wanted out of Vegas as soon as possible.
The decision to drive through the Southern U.S.
and up the East Coast was born from our unwillingness to part.
The wedding in that charming little chapel in New Orleans happened by chance.
The moment just felt right for us to finally bind ourselves to each other.
To say my mother was upset that her second son had a spur-of-the-moment wedding like her first son was an understatement.
She lamented being cheated out of planning both of her sons’ weddings, so we agreed to let her throw us a party, and that seemed to be enough for her.
Now, three years after that night, my wife is about to give birth to our first child. A girl. One that is as stubborn as her mother because she’s way past her due date. Well, not anymore, it seems.
Arianna is rushed to the delivery room, and for the next several hours, I watch my wife use nearly every method to try to get our stubborn girl out.
She begs and pleads with the girl to come out, groaning in pain the entire time.
I let her squeeze my hand until it’s numb and let her curse out as much as she wants.
Five hours later, she delivers our little girl.
A screaming little bundle of joy with a healthy set of lungs and a tuft of red hair that marks her as an O’Shea.
I fall in love with the temperamental little bundle the second I lay eyes on her. Face squished as she cries her little lungs out before quieting down when I hold her. “She’s beautiful,” I whisper, emotions clogging my throat and tears burning at the back of my eyes.
Moira Carina O’Shea.
A perfect name for our perfect little girl.
We decided long ago that our girl would take the first names of both our mothers, to celebrate the women who raised us.
For my wife, it’s a chance to honor the mother she lost years ago.
And if we have another girl, she’ll take both of our sisters’ first names.
I turn to my wife with a smile, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Thank you, baby,” I choke out, feeling myself fall deeper in love with Arianna. "I love you, a rún.”
My wife smiles tiredly at me, but I read the love in her eyes.
When we found out that Arianna was pregnant, a part of me—the part that understood Arianna’s fears of being tied to one place—was terrified she would grow to resent me.
Being her husband and traveling together had worked for us, and now, here was something that would ground us to a place for longer than a year.
Hell, her social media channel had grown astronomically, and she was finally living her dream. How could I ask her to stop?
So, to show my commitment to keeping the promise I made three years ago—one that involved staying by her side forever, no matter where in the world we are—I surprised her by upgrading our van into an RV, one with enough room for us and the baby.
A perfect compromise was reached. We would stay home until our little girl was a year old and my wife was ready for the road, then we’d resume the longer trips.
Just the three of us.
And my work? That travels with me, too. I still run investigations for the firm—Fiona and I have our own little remote operation going, tracking threats and digging up intel from wherever we happen to be.
Some weeks I’m analyzing security footage from a café in Portugal; other weeks, I’m running background checks from an RV park in Montana.
Roarke jokes that I’m the firm’s “nomadic division,” but the truth is, I’ve never been more effective.
Distance gives you perspective, and having something to protect gives you focus.
Experiencing life with Arianna has made me the happiest man in the world. By her side, is where I was always meant to be. With my heart. My secret. My everything.
A rún, mo chroí.
~The End
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