"Better" was an understatement. It was a lifeline.

The moment he pushed inside her, the jagged, aching emptiness that had made her whine vanished, replaced by a feeling of total, glorious fullness. Hattie let out a long, ragged sound—half-sob, half-moan—as her body stretched to accommodate him, welcoming him home with a desperate clench of her internal muscles.

She didn't just feel him physically; she felt him ground her. The room stopped spinning. The air came back into her lungs.

"Yes," she gasped, her legs instantly locking around his waist, her ankles crossing to trap him there. She dug her fingers into the bare skin of his back, feeling the flex and shift of heavy muscle as he began to move. "God, Declan... yes."

She wanted to lose herself in it. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and drift away on the rolling tide of sensation, letting the friction of his hips against hers be the only reality. It was too much—too good, too heavy, too intimate—and her instinct was to hide in the dark.
But he wouldn't let her.

When his hand snapped onto her jaw, forcing her head back, her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She tried to flutter her lashes down, to retreat, but his command was absolute. Look at me.

She forced her eyes to stay open, locking onto his. The intensity of his gaze burned hotter than the friction below. He was staring right through her, stripping away the Admin, the brat, the girlfriend, until there was just Hattie—naked, needy, and completely his.

"I see you," she whispered, the words trembling out between shallow, broken pants. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes—not from sadness, but from the sheer, crushing weight of being loved this fiercely.

She reached up, her hand trembling as she cupped the back of his neck, her thumb stroking the damp hair there. She needed him to know. She needed him to know that there were no barriers left, no rules, no reservations.

"Declan," she breathed, her voice cracking with the force of her emotion. She pulled him down just an inch, her eyes searching his, pleading and promising all at once. "Stay with me. Don't you dare leave. I want you to finish inside me."

She arched her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, offering him everything she had.

"I want all of you," she vowed, a single tear finally escaping to track down her temple. "Fill me up. Make me yours. Please."

The raw honesty in her voice, the tear tracking down her temple, the way she begged him to stay—it broke something in him. It shattered the last of his restraint, the last of his need to be in charge, to pace this, to control the outcome.

Her words wrapped around his heart and squeezed. Make me yours.

"Always," he choked out, the word torn from his throat. "You’re already mine, Hattie. Every part of you."

He couldn't hold back anymore. Her plea was the tipping point. The look in her eyes—so open, so trusting, so completely surrendered to him—stripped him bare. He didn't just want her body; he wanted this. He wanted the way she looked at him as if he hung the stars. He wanted to be the only thing anchoring her to the earth.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat and perfume, his arms tightening around her like iron bands. He gave her everything. He let go of the rigid control he’d been maintaining, matching her desperation, his movements becoming less calculated and more driven by pure, unadulterated need.

He felt the tension coil tight in his own body, a rapidly ascending peak that he had no interest in stopping. He heard her breath hitch, felt her hands gripping him as if she were drowning, and he held on tighter.

"I’m with you," he swore against her skin, his voice rough with the force of it. "I’m not leaving. I’ve got you."

When the release finally claimed them, it wasn't just physical. It was a collapse. He shuddered, a groan ripping from his chest as he poured every ounce of his adoration, his obsession, and his love into the moment. He held her through the aftershocks, his heavy body pressing her into the mattress, refusing to let even an inch of space come between them.

He stayed there long after the room had gone quiet, his breathing harsh and loud in her ear, his heart hammering against her ribs. He didn't pull away. He didn't roll over. He just held her, his face buried in her hair, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, grounded by the absolute certainty that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

He kissed the damp skin of her shoulder, a soft, lingering touch that was a stark contrast to the storm from moments before.

"I've got you," he whispered again, the promise heavy and permanent in the silence. "I'm never letting you go."

He didn't move away. Not yet. The weight of him remained settled over her, a heavy, grounding blanket that shielded her from everything else. His breathing was still ragged, hot gusts of air against the sensitive skin of her neck, slowing incrementally as his heart rate tried to match the thudding rhythm of hers.

He shifted just enough to take the brunt of his weight onto his forearms, the muscles there trembling slightly with the aftershocks of exertion, creating a small pocket of space just so he could look at her.

One hand detached from the mattress to cup the back of her head, his fingers threading through her tangled hair, massaging the scalp with slow, rhythmic pressure. He pressed his lips to her temple—not a kiss, really, just a seal. A lingering pressure.

He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, wiping away the wetness of the tear she’d shed, smearing the salt against her flushed skin with a tenderness that contradicted the violence of the last hour.

With a reluctant exhale, he finally rolled to his side, but the separation lasted less than a heartbeat. His arm hooked instantly around her waist, dragging her flush against his chest, tangling their legs together so completely it was impossible to tell where he ended and she began.

He reached down to pull the duvet up over her shoulder, tucking it under her chin, cocooning her. His hand settled flat on the small of her back, his palm burning hot, holding her there against him as if gravity alone wasn't enough.

The weight of him was the best blanket she had ever known.

For a long time, Hattie didn't move. She didn't want to. She lay pinned beneath him, her body feeling wonderfully heavy and boneless, humming with the kind of deep, bone-marrow satisfaction that silenced every single spinning thought in her head. The world outside this bed—the station, the budget, the emails—didn't exist. There was only the steady thud of Declan's heart against her ribs and the heat of his skin seeping into hers.

When he finally shifted, taking his weight onto his forearms to look at her, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as he wiped the tear from her cheek. It was such a tender gesture, so at odds with the way he had just unraveled her, and it made her chest ache with a fresh wave of love.

As he rolled to his side, she let out a small, protesting whimper at the loss of his heat, but he silenced it instantly by dragging her against him.

She went willingly, melting into his chest, her leg hooking over his hip to tangle with his. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in—sweat, soap, and that unique, earthy scent that was just Declan.

When he pulled the duvet up, tucking it securely under her chin like she was something precious that needed protecting, she smiled against his skin. He never stopped being the caretaker. Even wrecked and exhausted, his first instinct was to make sure she was warm.
She splayed her hand flat over his heart, feeling the rhythm slowly returning to normal beneath her palm.

"You're stuck with me now, Caldwell," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and contentment. She pressed a soft, lazy kiss to the pulse point on his neck. "No return policy on this kind of obsession."

She snuggled closer, if that was even possible, closing her eyes and letting the darkness of the room wrap around them.

"Thank you," she whispered, the words barely audible, meant only for him. "For catching me."