Page 12 of Make You Mine

My jaw drops. I clap a hand over my mouth as the laugh bursts out of me.

“Are you serious right now? That’s so embarrassing.

Oh my god. Cinthia and I had no idea you paid for all that.

I think we just assumed the bar was running some kind of special.

Or that we were the luckiest women in the world and they miraculously forgot to charge us. ”

He grins behind the rim of his glass. “You were a pricey gamble, I’ll tell you that much. All I could do was pray you gave me your real number.”

“Well… you were very cute,” I say, reaching for my wine again. “Sunburn and all.”

“So then? What was our first real date?”

I fold my arms on the edge of the table, lips curving with the memory. “Steakhouse. Brazilian. One of those places where you flip the little card to red when you’re full.”

He points a finger. “Fogo de Ch?o!”

“Yup! And you were a menace. I think you went through half the restaurant’s supply of meat that night.”

“I’m a big boy. What can I say?” He winks. “I can eat my weight in beef. Speaking of…”

The server arrives, placing the platter before us like a precious offering.

Each slice of Wagyu is cut so thin it’s almost translucent, the marbling delicate enough to shimmer beneath the ambient light.

A rectangular slab of black volcanic stone sits at the center of the table, steaming faintly, the heat rippling off its surface.

“Just a few seconds on each side,” the server says with a practiced smile. “No oil needed. Enjoy.”

Declan lifts the tongs and looks over at me. “Ladies first?”

I roll my eyes but lean in, taking a slice between the tips of the tongs and placing it on the stone. It hisses the moment it touches, curling slightly as the smoky, buttery scent blooms.

We fall into a rhythm—grill, dip, taste—between slow conversation and laughter. Every bite melts on the tongue; every memory we pull up from the past makes the wine taste better.

I swirl the wine in my glass, the burgundy catching the light. “Okay, wait. Do you remember the hotel in Barcelona? The year before we had Willow? The one with the clawfoot tub and the actual candle menu?”

Declan lets out a low groan, then chuckles. “Oh Christ, don’t remind me. You nearly drowned us both.”

I laugh into my glass. “That wasn’t my fault! You said bubbles were romantic.”

“Bubbles, yes. A full-on foam tsunami flooding the floor? Not exactly what I had in mind.”

“In my defense,” I say, jabbing my chopsticks in his direction, “the instructions were in Catalan and I thought two caps sounded... modest.”

“You dumped half the bloody bottle in.”

“You didn’t stop me!”

“I was too busy admiring your arse in that silk robe,” he says, completely unapologetic. “By the time I noticed, the tub looked like something out of a kids’ cartoon.”

I cover my face, laughing. “And then you slipped.”

Declan grins, tipping his glass toward me. “Flat on my back. Nearly cracked my skull on the tile while you sat there cackling.”

“I was concerned! ”

“You took a picture.”

I shrug. “It was funny! You looked like an insect lying on your back like that.”

He leans in slightly, voice low and teasing. “And you looked sexy soaking wet, laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. God, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“You would… all of it? Me and you?” I ask softly, resting my chin against my hand as I study him across the table.

Declan doesn’t even hesitate. “Every moment. Even the bubble flood. Even you laughing while I nearly cracked my skull.”

The corner of my mouth lifts, but the weight in my chest doesn’t ease up. I slice into the next piece of Wagyu, watching it sizzle on the stone before I speak again.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re not changing for the better,” I admit, thinking out loud. “We get so wrapped up in everything—your job, my deadlines, the kids, my health. Some days it feels like we’re just… coexisting.”

Declan’s brow knits, but he nods like he’s heard this echo in his own thoughts too. “Amerie… love, we’re always going to change. That’s life. That’s time. We’re not the same people we were when we met on that beach, but we weren’t meant to stay that way.”

I glance up as he speaks, my chest tightening.

“The point isn’t to stay the same. It’s to grow into new versions of ourselves that still choose each other, again and again.

Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

” He sets down his wine glass and leans toward me.

“I know I haven’t always been as present as I should be.

And I’m sorry for that. But I’m trying, Amerie.

I swear I’m trying. Everything I do… it’s for you and the kids.

To give you the kind of life I think you deserve. ”

My throat thickens. I reach for his hand, our fingers intertwining like it’s second nature. “I know. It’s just the stress getting to us. New country, new start. I’m still adjusting to everything here, and so is Willow. I think I forget sometimes that I’m allowed to be real and admit that.”

He nods, his thumb brushing the side of my hand. “I didn’t think enough about what the move would mean for you two. Leaving behind everything familiar, your support system... I should’ve prepared us better.”

“You were trying to keep us all afloat,” I murmur. “I see that.”

“But I’ll do what I can to be more present, alright, love? You have my word.”

We lean across the table for a kiss that’s tender and leisurely. The kind of kiss that solidifies every word we’ve spoken at the table tonight.

When we pull back, our fingers are still locked together. I take another bite of steak, making Declan chuckle and shake his head as he reaches for his glass of wine instead.

The candle flickers between us, and for the rest of our night out, we savor every moment like it’s our last.

“Oh my god…” I pant over and over again.

Declan’s tongue is between my thighs. He’s lapping at my clit, drawing patterns in flicking motions. Each lash of his tongue sends another tremor of pleasure tingling through me. I curl my arm over my head and claw at the headboard.

We came home no more than half an hour ago to find Chelsea asleep on the sofa. Willow and Emmett were both tucked into bed for the night.

Tipsy and horny from our date night, Declan grabbed my hand and led me back to our room. We barely remembered to close the door before we were attacking each other, ripping our clothes off.

It only took minutes before I wound up like this, lying against the pillows as Declan helps himself to some dessert and dines on my pussy.

My hips naturally grind back against him. The motion creates a sharp friction, the coarse hairs on his beard scratching the insides of my thighs. The prickly sensation contrasts the warm, wet feel of his tongue and the thickness of his fingers as he slides two of them inside me.

He works my pussy like it’s a musical instrument he’s mastered. His tongue flicks away at my clit and sends shockwaves of pleasure pulsing through my body. His thick fingers curl inside me, massaging my g-spot as his intense emerald gaze pins mine and I find I can’t look away.

I’m trapped by his gaze as he drives me to the brink of my orgasm.

My mouth falls open and another moan slips out of me.

I’m practically begging for more. Keening and whining for him to make me come.

Declan answers my pleas with a throaty growl of his own. It sounds like a crack of thunder as he grabs me by the ankles and drags me toward him.

Though it’s dark in our bedroom, I can still make out the lines of definition on his muscular frame. I can tell how each muscle flexes and tightens as he moves his body.

It’s a delicious and arousing sight I’ll never grow tired of.

My legs are thrown over his shoulders. He climbs on top of me, his cock thick and throbbing, dripping beads of precum. He slides straight into me in a single smooth stroke, setting off an explosion of tingles in my pussy.

I arch against him as I grip his firm forearms for leverage. As if I’m about to suddenly fall off the bed.

His big dick slamming into me is that upending. It’s that earth shattering.

My eyes squeeze shut as I take him whole and spend a couple seconds processing how good he feels. It’s something I’ll never get over. How perfectly we fit together, how the head of his dick feels rubbing against the back of my pussy.

Declan brings me back to him with a kiss. He cups my chin and captures my lips. He pushes his tongue into my mouth, kissing me so thoroughly and passionately that I’m reeling all over again.

I card my fingers through his auburn hair and kiss him back, flicking my tongue against his.

“Focus on me,” he says, his voice rough as gravel. “That’s it, love—look at me while I ruin you.”

He braces himself on either side of my head and looks me directly in the eye as he starts fucking me. I look up at him, once again finding it impossible to break our eye contact.

I’m locked in a trance, pleasure throbbing through me like a heartbeat. My pussy is so wet, I’m gushing, right on the edge of already coming.

Declan’s strokes feel so damn good all I can do is moan as he moves his hips and thrusts into me. My hands wander from his hair to the sides of his face, caressing his beard and then his shoulders and chest.

But never breaking our eye contact. There’s an intensity I find in the dark emerald shards of Declan’s gaze that does something to me. That reminds me of how this man is not only my husband and the father of our children, but he’s the feral Irish beast that would do anything for us.

And there’s nothing in the world that’s sexier than that.

My climax finally reaches its peak, a current of hot pleasure rocketing through my body. I go stiff and release a whimpering cry.

“Come for me, love. Come on my cock,” Declan grunts, his thrusts turning rougher. His hand clamps around my jaw when I try to turn my head to the side. “But don’t make me say it again. Eyes on me. I’m not through with you yet… not by a fucking mile.”