Epilogue
DALLEN
One Year Later, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean
A permanent home after everything that happened in New York. Thankfully, my work allows me to work remotely for the moment, even though I do jet back and forth across the Atlantic when needed. This time away from the city is healing.
The hum of the engines is low and powerful, a steady reminder that we are suspended over an ocean, wrapped in steel and luxury and second chances.
The cream leather seats, polished walnut trim, and soft recessed lighting make it feel less like an aircraft and more like a private lounge drifting through the sky.
A far cry from the chaos we left behind in New York.
There are still nights when I wake and expect sirens, flashing lights, or the cold press of fear in my chest. Ireland gives me quiet. Gives me space to breathe without looking over my shoulder.
Ireland is healing.
Stephen too.
I see it in him—the way his shoulders no longer sit so rigid, the way his laughter comes easier now. But there are shadows in him that will never entirely disappear. I understand that. I carry my own.
I adore him.
Even if right at the moment he’s trying to convince me to join an absurd club I refuse to be part of. “No,” I say again.
He grins, that devilish, tempting smirk that I struggle to deny. I rarely do. I’m kind of addicted to the guy, and I love him. Still, with all his family around, I can’t possibly do what he wants.
The cabin stretches long and sleek behind us, divided into zones of plush seating and a dining area with crystal, neatly secured in cabinets. Billionaire indulgence. Every detail curated. Every surface gleaming. And yet all I can focus on is the heat in his eyes.
He leans forward, his biceps flexing and catching my eye.
I reach out and run my hand along one of the snake tattoos.
“You know you want to. I can almost smell your desire for me, Pumpkin.” His voice drops low, intimate, cutting through the jet's refined elegance like something deliciously inappropriate.
“Don’t lie to me and stop teasing.” I chuckle when he runs his hand along my thigh, tightening his hold and tickling me. “You’re not playing fair.”
“I never play fair.” He comes and sits beside me, and I watch as he looks behind our seats.
“No one is taking any notice of us. We could go to the bathroom at different times. It’ll be fine.
” His whispered words against my neck make me shiver, the soft, beckoning kiss afterward has me seriously considering doing what he wants.
A year ago, I wasn’t sure we’d even have this—this teasing normalcy, this reckless happiness. The thought of losing him back then still makes my stomach knot.
“I’ll die of embarrassment if any of them suspect. We only have a couple of hours before we land. I’m sure you can wait until then to get your rocks off.”
He shakes his head, serious all of a sudden. “No, I can’t. I’ll expire of need if I have to wait to have you. I want you, and here, feel this.” He clasps my hand and places it on his lap.
The boldness of him—so unapologetically devious—makes something fierce bloom in my chest. His cock presses into my palm, and as much as I shouldn’t, I clasp him, take the opportunity to tease him.
I’m getting wet just thinking about us in the bathroom, what we could get up to.
He’s so big and rigid. I can’t think straight, knowing how very clever he is with his appendage.
“I don’t feel anything,” I say, feigning ignorance.
He growls, the sound tipping the scales in his favor. I rarely deny him when he sounds so unhinged.
Before he says anything, he stands, raises one cocky brow, and then strides down the aisle toward the back of the plane. There is a bedroom back there, along with two bathrooms. Still, I can’t follow him. Everyone would suspect what we’re up to.
Like they haven’t done it...
The reflection doesn’t make me any braver.
Still, after a couple of minutes of debate, I unbuckle my belt and follow him.
I try not to make eye contact with anyone on the plane, and I almost make it before Lucien catches my attention.
My skin burns at his knowing grin, and I quicken my steps, wanting to be out of the main cabin before I die of shame.
Heat floods my face, but beneath the embarrassment is something else—defiance. After everything we survived, I refuse to live timidly.
He’s waiting for me, leaning against the bathroom door like he knows I’ll come. I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m allowing you to talk me into this.”
He reaches for me and picks me up. I gasp, wrap my legs about his waist, and thank the heavens I’ve worn a long, flowing skirt. He strides into the bathroom and slams the door with his foot. This bathroom isn’t like the ones on regular airliners. This one is opulent, large, and has a shower.
Marble countertops gleam beneath soft lighting. A full mirror spans one wall. There’s enough space to move without bumping elbows—luxury designed for indulgence, not necessity. Even the air smells faintly of expensive cologne and leather.
“I can,” he says, sitting me on the countertop. “You’re a naughty girl.”
The way he looks at me—like I’m his salvation and ruin all at once—makes my throat tighten.
I never thought I’d find a love that feels this consuming and safe at the same time.
I chuckle and devour the sight of him. His eyes darken with determination, and I reach for his t-shirt, ripping it from his body. I want to see him. All of him.
“Impatient.” He kisses my nose, his fingers sliding my skirt out of the way before reaching for my panties.
He slips them off and steps between my legs, his jeans coarse against my sensitive flesh.
The contrast of rough denim and the cold mirror at my back makes every nerve ending spark. I get even wetter.
“Now that you’ve started this game, yes, I suppose I am,” I say.
He licks his lips and then dips his head between my legs. With one long glide of his tongue, he licks me long and good. I buck against him, clasp his hair, and hold him where I ache most.
“Oh yes, Stephen.” I bite my lip. “Just there. Right there.” He works my clit with his tongue, slow, circular movements that send coils of desire to thrum through me. I want him so much. I’m so wet and needy that I undulate against his face with little inhibition.
The engine’s vibration beneath us blends with the pulse between my thighs, and for a dizzy moment I feel suspended in more ways than one—between sky and sea, between need and ecstasy.
“You are so fucking sweet.” He suckles my clit hard. “I love licking your sweet pussy.”
I moan. I can feel my orgasm building fast. “Stephen, fuck me. Please. I want you to fuck me until I come.”
He stands and rips his jeans open. I gasp as he thrusts hard and good.
So damn good. I wrap my legs about his waist, pull him down for a kiss as he gives me what I want.
Always satisfying me in all ways. “You feel so good.” He fills me, and the intimacy—this claiming, this closeness—undoes me more than the pleasure alone ever could.
“So do you, baby.”
I hold on to him, his large, rigid cock pressing all the right buttons as he thrusts into me. I call his name, oblivious of where we are or who we’re with. I no longer care. I want him to fuck me until we both come. Lose ourselves in each other. “Fuck me. Hard.”
He clasps my ass and pulls me close, the action making him deeper.
I can’t stop the tremors that steal my breath, my wits.
He kisses me, his tongue tangling with mine, our mouths fused as my orgasm rips through me.
It crashes with a force that feels emotional—release not just of pleasure but of strength, hard truths, the quiet rebuilding of a life we almost lost.
“Stephen,” I gasp against his lips.
He swallows my cries with another kiss, and I moan as he fucks me, joining me in my release.
“God, I love you.” His words are sweet, even when we’re locked together as we now are, 30,000 feet in the air and having just fucked each other’s brains out.
There is a rawness in his voice that steals my breath more than the orgasm does.
As if loving me is both his greatest strength and his deepest vulnerability.
“I love you too.”
He meets my eyes, still inside me, refusing to let me go. “Marry me, Dallen. I love you so much, I don’t ever want to lose you. Marry me, be my wife, my partner, the mother of our children. Be mine forever.”
For a heartbeat, the world narrows to just us. My chest aches with the enormity of what he’s asking—not because I doubt him, but because I know exactly what it means to choose him.
I clasp his jaw and meet his eyes. His solemn, vulnerable gaze. “What?” Possibly not the best answer, but this can’t be real. This has to be a dream. A wonderful, beautiful dream.
He grins. “Marry me,” he repeats.
I stare, unable to form words for a moment, but it is only for a figment of time.
I’m not stupid. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.
” The word feels like stepping into sunlight after a year in the dark.
Like choosing hope over fear. Like choosing him—every flawed, fierce, beautiful part of him—for the rest of my life.
He kisses me again, and just like that, I want him. He pulls back, smiling. “We should tell the others. Celebrate immediately.”
And for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t terrify me. It thrills me.
“Lead the way…” Fiancé…