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"He’s gonna be paying doggy child support for the rest of his life," Declan manages between gasps.

"Good," I mutter darkly. "He should’ve wrapped it."

Declan barks out a laugh, warm and wild and perfect, as I grin down at him.

"Do we get to keep one?" he asks, hope flickering behind that wicked smirk.

I blink. "A puppy?"

He nods, stretching beneath me like a satisfied beast. "I think Dexter earned visitation rights at least. And maybe a cigar.”

I laugh, low and warm, but before I can tease him back, his expression shifts—just slightly.

Declan shifts beside me, brushing a thumb across my bruised lip like he’s trying to soothe the place he marked.

“Oh,” he says casually, like it’s a grocery list item. “Your houseguest woke up. Just before I left.”

I raise my eyebrows in excitement. “The new restraints you made for me are like a dream.”

He stands, towering over me like sin in human form, tucking himself back into his jeans with a grunt. A smile of mischief tugging the corners of his mouth.

“Just wait till you see the new pink chrome tools I got for you.”

He helps me stand and pulls my favorite chapstick from his pants pocket.

How did a girl get so lucky?

He pulls a black duffle tucked between the crates and gets me fresh leggings and an oversized pink top.

He leans in and kisses my shoulder—warm, reverent, filthy in all the best ways.

“I’ll make dinner,” he murmurs against my skin. “While you do your thing.”

I turn to him fully, brows raised. “What’s on the menu?”

“Meatloaf sound good?”

“Meatloaf is perfect.” I kiss the tip of his nose and bend down to put on my pink tennies.

He grabs my wrist, halting me.

His eyes roam me all over again—wild, reverent, hungry.

“And when you’re all done downstairs,” he murmurs, voice gone dark and low.

“Sweet Lollipop–You’re dessert.”