Page 59 of Declan

He perks up at my words, then nods. “Laundry cart. Always the laundry cart.”

“Great,” I reply easily, happy to have a plan that won’t end up with images of my obvious deflowering plastered all over the internet.

He grabs his phone off the arm of the sofa, sending a quick message, and within minutes, there’s a knock at the door. Declan walks over and opens it, wheeling a large laundry cart in and opening the end of it, motioning for me to climb inside as he says, “Your chariot awaits, my darlin’.”

I eye the cart suspiciously for a brief moment, then look back up at his face, that’s glowing with satisfaction, so I shrug and climb inside. I’m momentarily startled as he shoves in beside me, and the large cart becomes much smaller.

I open my mouth to object, to insist we perhaps take separate laundry carts out of the facility, but he’s still looking at me with that same expression, and I immediately soften, leaning into the arm he wrapped around me.

He pulls me into his side, squeezing me reassuringly as he says, “I got you, doll face. I got you.”

21

A Little More Aftercare

Declan

Wemanagetosneakout of the arena and drive back to my estate without incident.

She attempted to maintain a sliver of personal space in the back of the limo, but I nixed that thought process quickly, yanking her against me and keeping her there for the duration of the drive. She didn’t argue or try to move away, and her seeking hands touching me constantly kept the warmth burning in my chest.

When we enter my home she kisses me, muttering about needing a minute of privacy. I smile as I watch her walk up the stairs toward the master suite, knowing exactly what she was so slyly referring to without her explaining.

The mess I made of her pussy.

Yes, I’m smug. And even more obsessed. And outright chuffed at how well this night has gone.

I haven’t seen any of the media chatter about the encore production, but I’ve had so many messages from my manager and Jessica that I know it’s making a huge racket across all platforms. I was a bit worried my VIP fans would put up a fuss about me missing their post-show meet and greet, but they happily took their IOU for my next local show and a bunch of merch and went about their nights.

I’m headed toward the kitchen when Issa comes rushing down the stairs and I raise my brows at her as she jumps in front of me, blocking my path to the fridge. She points behind me and says, “Go upstairs and wait for me.”

I blink down at her, surprised by her bossy tone, but then she quirks a brow in challenge, so I do as I’m told and head upstairs to the master bedroom. Water is running in the ensuite bathroom and upon further inspection, I find the tub almost full, lit candles placed all over the room.

I’m still standing in the middle of the room when she returns, and I watch her bustling around, placing a tray on the bathroom counter and then checking the tub and adding a few more candles.

She gives the room a nod, then walks over to me, stopping in front of me and immediately grabbing the bottom of my sweatshirt and pulling upward on it, as if she’s trying to remove it. I grab her wrists, still fisted in my sweatshirt, stopping her attempt to disrobe me, and her gaze jumps to mine questioningly, so I say, “You’re stealing my job, doll face.”

Her brow furrows and she cocks her head at me as she replies, “Your job?”

“Yes,” I say softly, my hands sliding from her wrists to her hands, and I lift them to my mouth as I add, “It’s my job to take care of you.”

She snorts, yanking her hands away and grabbing my sweatshirt again as she says, “Goes both ways, baby. You can’t be solely responsible for the care in our relationship. Either it’s a sliding scale or it’s destined to fail.”

She yanks the bottom of my sweatshirt up, and this time, I help her, raising my arms and bending at the waist so she can pull it over my head. She tosses it to the side, then goes to the waistband of my sweatpants, untying them and pushing the fabric down my hips without hesitation. She pushes them down my thighs, kneels at my feet, and pulls them until I’m stepping out of them with her assistance.

I watch her silently as she rises, picking up both articles of clothing and depositing them in the hamper by the door. She walks back to me, giving me a little push toward the tub as she mutters, “Into the tub, Declan. Off you go.”

I’m frozen for a few moments as she stares up at me, waiting for me to do as instructed, and I find I’m incapable of speech through the lump in my throat. The inhalation I take through my nose is a bit shuddering, and I blink through the odd burning behind my eyes as I walk to the tub, and she’s right there beside me, testing the water temperature, and giving me a nod once she’s satisfied it’s good.

I climb into the tub, settling back and resting my head on the fancy tub pillow that’s never been used before, then I watch her fluttering around the room. First, she brings over the tray, which I find holds drinks and snacks. She places it on the counter behind the tub then disappears again, soon reappearing with an armful of towels which she places on the heated towel rack within reach of the tub.

She moves to walk away again, and I manage to snag her hand, stopping her. She looks down at me, and I ask, “Aren’t you coming in?”

She smiles and nods as she replies, “Yes, just need to grab one more thing.”

I release her, watching her until she walks out of my line of sight, but soon, she’s back, this time carrying two robes which she hangs on the hooks beside the towel rack.

She pulls my sweatshirt over her head then bends over and shoves the pants down, kicking out of them as I ask, “Have you done this before?”

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