Chapter 11 Bree
Bree
Ladybug’s soft snores drift from her crate in the corner, the puppy finally resting after the chaos at the vet. The adrenaline that carried us through the emergency has drained away, leaving us standing in Declan’s living room, the silence thick between us.
It doesn’t matter that Lacey Valentine has a history with Declan. Their connection made her move quickly, professionally, taking care of our fur baby.
After we knew Ladybug was out of the woods, Lacey even hugged me, letting me know how glad she was that Ladybug was okay.
Now, Declan runs a hand through his dark hair, his ocean-blue eyes finding mine. “I need a shower. Want to join me?”
My pulse kicks up. “Yes.”
He takes my hand, leading me down the hallway to his bedroom. The space is quintessentially Declan with exposed beams overhead, a massive bed with a simple gray comforter, work boots kicked off by the dresser. Everything smells like him, cedarwood and clean cotton.
The bathroom is all dark tile and brushed nickel. He turns on the shower, steam beginning to curl into the air as he faces me. His calloused fingers find the hem of my shirt, his touch reverent as he lifts it over my head.
“You were so calm today,” he murmurs, his thumbs tracing my collarbone. “The way you held Ladybug while I drove. The way you talked to her.”
“I was terrified.” My voice comes out breathless as he unhooks my bra, letting it fall.
“I know.” His eyes sweep over me, dark with want. “But you didn’t let her see it. You’re incredible, Bree.”
He strips off his own shirt, revealing the broad chest and muscled shoulders that have starred in my fantasies since that night at the club. His jeans follow, and then we’re both naked, steam swirling around us.
Under the hot spray, he pulls me against him, his hands spanning my waist as water sluices over our bodies. “I’ve wanted this,” he says against my temple. “Wanted you like this. In my home. In my shower. In my life.”
I tilt my face up to his, water droplets clinging to his dark lashes, his massive 6’3” frame towering over me. “I’m here.”
“Are you?” His thumb traces my jaw. “Because I need you to be all in, beautiful. I need to know this isn’t just a fling for you.”
My heart clenches. This man. This strong, capable man who builds things with his bare hands and rescues puppies and looks at me like I’m something precious. He needs to know I’m staying.
“I’m all in.” I press my palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath my fingers. “I’m falling for you, Declan.”
His kiss is answer enough… deep and consuming, his tongue sliding against mine as his hands map every curve of my body. He breaks away only to trail his lips down my neck, his beard scraping deliciously against my sensitized skin.
“Say it again,” he growls against my collarbone as his cock pushing against my belly, long and thick.
“I’m falling for you.”
“I’m falling for you back, Austin.”
His head dips, his mouth finding my breast, his tongue circling my nipple as his hand grips my hip, possessive and sure. Heat coils low in my center, insistent and demanding. My fingers dig into his shoulders, his muscles flexing beneath my touch.
He lathers some soap, rubbing his large hands all over my body. He steps behind me, hands cupping and circling my breasts as he slowly moves his hips against mine.
“Declan, please.”
We rinse, and he turns off the water, grabbing a towel and roughly drying us both before lifting me into his arms like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to his bed, hands on my rear, laying me down on the soft comforter.
The way he looks at me—like I’m art, like I’m his everything—makes my breath catch.
“You’re so damn beautiful.” His voice is rough as he settles between my thighs, his weight pressing me into the mattress. “Every curve, every inch of you.”
His fingers traced my inner thigh, making me gasp as he whispers, “I want to taste your pussy until you can’t remember your own name.”
“Omigawd, Declan. I need you to do exactly that.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” His fingers find me, slick and ready, and he groans against my neck. “So perfect for me.”
His mouth finds my center, licking and claiming my moist heat. “Please,” I beg, my voice breaking as his thumb circles my clit. “I need your cock inside me now.”
I stroke his hard length, feeling it pulse and harden beneath my trembling fingers. It throbs against my palm as I stroke his silken skin slowly, watching his eyes darken with each deliberate movement of my hand.
Finally, he positions himself, his eyes locked on mine as he pushes inside me, slow and deliberate. The stretch is exquisite, overwhelming. My nails rake down his back as he fills me completely.
“Bree.” My name is a prayer on his lips as he starts to move, each thrust deep and purposeful. “My Bree.”
Yours, I want to say, but the words dissolve into a moan as he angles his hips, hitting something devastating inside me. The calloused pad of his thumb finds my sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with just the right pressure.
“That’s it, beautiful. Let go for me.”
The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter until I shatter, pleasure crashing through me in waves. He follows moments later, my name torn from his throat as he buries himself deep, his body shuddering against mine.
We collapse together, hearts racing, limbs tangled. His hand cups my face, thumb stroking my cheekbone with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
“I love you too,” he whispers. “Maybe since that night at the club. Since you walked away without giving me your number. Since the moment I found you again and realized I’d been looking for you without even knowing it.”
I kiss him softly, tasting forever on his lips. “Take me to bed properly.”
He grins, that devastating smile that first caught my attention. “We’re already in bed, socialite.”
“You know what I mean, lumberjack.”
He shifts us under the covers, pulling me against his chest. Through the doorway, Ladybug’s snores continue their rhythmic soundtrack. Safe. Home. Ours.
“Stay,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Always,” I promise, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
This is where I belong. Not in some predetermined social circle, not in the life my father planned. Here, in Declan’s arms, in this house that smells like sawdust and coffee, in this small Texas town where no one cares about which fork I use.
Here, with him, I’m finally home.