Epilogue Elena #2
The whiskey burns going down, smooth and smoky, and I feel the warmth of it spread through my chest. Declan watches me with amusement as I set my glass down, and I roll my eyes at him. "What?"
"Nothing," he says, but he's still grinning. "You just look good here. I wasn't sure you would."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because this isn't your world," he says simply. "But you fit anyway."
I look around the bar, taking in the mismatched stools, the neon beer signs on the walls, the pool table in the back where a group of men is playing. He's right, this isn't the world I grew up in. But it's his world, and that makes it mine too. "I fit because I'm with you," I tell him.
His expression softens, and he leans in to kiss me. It's brief but warm, his lips tasting of whiskey. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with affection. "Dance with me," he says.
"Here?"
"Why not?"
There's no real dance floor, just a small cleared space near the jukebox where a few couples are swaying to the music.
Declan takes my hand and leads me there, pulling me close once we're in the middle of the space.
His arms come around me, holding me against him.
I rest my head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek, and let myself relax into him completely.
The song is slower now, and we sway together, moving in time with the music. I close my eyes and just feel the way his hand splays across my lower back, anchoring me to him. The way his breath stirs my hair. This moment, right here, feels perfect.
"I'm glad we came here," I murmur against his chest.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." I tilt my head back to look up at him. "I like seeing you like this. Relaxed. Happy."
"I'm always happy when I'm with you.” The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tighten.
We stay on the makeshift dance floor for two more songs, and then Declan buys us another round of whiskey.
We drink and talk and laugh, and at some point, a man at the bar recognizes Declan and comes over to shake his hand.
They talk for a few minutes about business, and I watch the way Declan handles the conversation with ease and authority.
This is his world, and he commands it effortlessly.
When the man leaves, Declan turns back to me with a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that."
"Don't apologize," I say. "I like watching you work."
"Work?" He raises an eyebrow. "That wasn't work. That was just talking."
"Everything is work when you're in our position," I point out. "But you make it look easy."
"So do you," he says. The pride in his voice makes me feel warm all over.
We stay at the bar for another hour, drinking and talking and soaking in the atmosphere. By the time we leave, I'm pleasantly buzzed, my cheeks flushed from the whiskey and the warmth of the crowded space. Declan hails another cab, and this time he gives the driver the address of our hotel.
The ride back is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
Declan's hand rests on my thigh, his thumb tracing idle patterns through the fabric of my dress, and I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder.
The city passes by outside the window in a blur of lights and movement, and I feel a sense of peace settle over me that's become familiar over the past six months.
This is what happiness feels like, I realize.
Not the absence of problems or challenges, but the presence of someone who makes everything feel manageable.
Someone who stands beside you no matter what.
Our suite is on the twentieth floor, and when we step inside, I'm struck again by the luxury of it.
Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a view of the city skyline, the lights twinkling like stars against the dark sky.
The furniture is sleek and modern, and the bed is enormous, piled high with pillows and covered in crisp white linens.
There's a sitting area with a plush sofa and armchairs, and a bar cart stocked with top-shelf liquor.
Declan closes the door behind us and locks it. We're alone now, just the two of us in this beautiful space, with the whole night ahead of us.
I slip off my heels and walk to the windows, looking out at the city below.
Behind me, I hear Declan moving around, the rustle of fabric as he takes off his jacket, the clink of glass as he pours himself a drink.
Then his footsteps approach, and he comes to stand beside me, handing me a glass of whiskey.
"To a perfect night," he says, raising his glass.
I smile and clink my glass against his. "To a perfect night."
We drink, and then we stand there in silence for a moment, just looking out at the view.
My heart is beating faster now, anticipation building in my chest. There's something I need to tell him.
I've been waiting for the right moment, and now, after a night that felt like a celebration of everything we've built together, feels right.
"Declan," I say quietly.
"Yeah?" He turns to look at me, his expression relaxed.
I set my glass down on the windowsill and turn to face him. "There's something I need to tell you."
His brow furrows slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. "What is it? Is something wrong?"
"No." I reach up and cup his face in my hands, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my palms. "Nothing's wrong. I just... I've been thinking about something. About us. About our future."
"Okay," he says slowly, his hands coming to rest on my hips. "I'm listening."
I take a breath, steadying myself. "I went off my birth control."
For a moment, he just stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then understanding dawns in his eyes, and they widen slightly. "You... what?"
"I stopped taking it. Before our trip. I've been thinking about it for a while, and I... I'm ready, Declan. I'm ready to try for a baby."
He's silent for a long moment, his gaze searching mine. Then he says, carefully, "Are you sure? Elena, I don't want you to feel pressured. I meant what I said—we don't have to do this until you're ready. If you're not—"
"I am ready," I interrupt gently. "I've been ready for a while. I just needed to be sure. And I am. I'm sure."
"But your mother—" he starts. I can hear the concern in his voice.
"I know. And I'm still scared, Declan. I probably always will be, at least a little.
But I've been talking to doctors, and I've been doing research, and I know that what happened to her is rare. It almost certainly won’t happen to me.
And more than that... I trust you. I trust us. I want to build a family with you."
His hands tighten on my hips, and I see emotion flicker across his face—surprise and then joy. "You're serious," he says, his voice rough.
"I'm serious." I lean in and kiss him softly. "I love you. I want this. I want us to have a baby."
He kisses me back, hard and deep, his arms coming around me and pulling me flush against him. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are bright, and there's a smile on his face that makes my heart soar. "I love you," he says fiercely. "God, Elena, I love you so much."
His mouth finds mine again, and this time the kiss is hungry and demanding.
His hands slide up my back, finding the zipper of my dress and pulling it down slowly.
The fabric loosens and slips from my shoulders, pooling at my feet, and I step out of it, standing before him in nothing but my bra and panties.
Declan's gaze rakes over me, dark and heated, and I feel my skin flush under his scrutiny. "You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "Every time I look at you, I can't believe you're mine."
"I am yours," I tell him, reaching for his tie and loosening it. "Just like you're mine."
I work the buttons of his shirt open, my fingers moving quickly, and he shrugs out of it, letting it fall to the floor.
His chest is broad and muscled, covered in the tattoos I've come to know so well, and I run my hands over his skin, feeling the warmth of him.
He groans softly at my touch, his hands coming up to cup my breasts through the lace of my bra.
"Bed," he says, his voice strained. "Now."
I let him guide me backward toward the bed, and when the backs of my knees hit the mattress, I sit down, looking up at him.
He stands over me for a moment, his gaze intense, and then he kneels in front of me, his hands sliding up my thighs.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties and pulls them down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I want to taste you," he says, his voice rough with desire. "I want to make you come on my tongue before I fuck you."
Heat floods through me at his words, and I nod, unable to form a coherent response. He pushes my thighs apart gently, and then his mouth is on me, hot and wet. I gasp, my hands flying to his hair, and he groans against me, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure through my body.
He takes his time, licking and sucking and teasing until I'm trembling, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
His tongue circles my clit, and I cry out, my hips lifting off the bed.
He holds me down with one hand on my stomach, his other hand sliding up to tease my entrance, and when he pushes two fingers inside me, I nearly come apart.
"Declan," I gasp, my voice breaking. "Please—"
"Not yet," he murmurs against me. "I want to feel you fall apart first."
He crooks his fingers inside me, finding that spot that makes me see stars, and his tongue works my clit relentlessly.
The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter in my belly, until I can't hold back anymore.
I come with a cry, my body arching off the bed, and he works me through it, his mouth and fingers drawing out every last wave of pleasure until I'm boneless and gasping.