Eleanor was perfect.
She lay in her crib, tiny chest rising and falling with the peaceful rhythm of a baby who had no idea her future had just been secured through corporate blackmail and family warfare.
Her little fist curled near her face, and those impossibly small fingers twitched in whatever dream babies had. Probably something about milk. Or being held. Or world domination—she was an Ashford, after all.
"She's so peaceful," I whispered, afraid to break the spell. "Hard to believe she was in a hospital two days ago."
"She's resilient." Damon stood beside me, his hand warm on the small of my back. "Like her mother."
I leaned into him, letting myself have this moment. This quiet, perfect moment where everything felt possible. Where the contracts were void and the threats were neutralized and we were just... parents.
Standing over our daughter's crib. Being a family.
"Come on." Damon's lips brushed my ear. "Let her sleep. We should probably do the same."
But when we reached our bedroom, our bedroom, not the separate rooms I'd convinced myself were inevitable, neither of us moved toward the bed with sleeping in mind.
The door clicked shut behind us, and suddenly the air felt different. Charged. Heavy with everything we hadn't said, everything we'd almost lost, everything we were only now allowing ourselves to want.
"Kitty." Damon's voice was rough, uncertain in a way I'd never heard from him. "I need you to know something."
"What?"
"These past months—when I was distant, when I couldn't tell you what I was doing…"
He paused, struggling with words that didn't come naturally to him.
"I never stopped wanting you. Not for a second. Every time I walked away, every time I took those calls, I was thinking about you. About keeping you safe. About earning the right to stand beside you."
My heart cracked open, guilt and love and desperate wanting all flooding through at once.
"You don't have to earn anything," I whispered. "You're my husband."
"I want to be more than that."
He stepped closer, cupping my face in his hands. "I want to be the man you deserve. The one who shows up. The one who fights for you, not just in boardrooms but here. Every day. In all the ways that matter."
"Damon…"
"Let me prove it." His thumbs traced my cheekbones, touch reverent. "Tonight. Let me show you what you mean to me."
I answered by rising on my toes and pressing my mouth to his.
The kiss started tender—a question rather than a demand. His lips moved against mine softly, carefully, like I was something precious he was afraid to break.
But when I opened for him, when my tongue slid against his and my fingers curled into his shirt, the tenderness ignited into something hungrier.
"I've missed you," he breathed against my mouth. "God, I've missed you so much."
"I'm right here."
"I know." His hands slid down my back, pulling me flush against him. "And I'm never letting you go."
He walked me backward until my knees hit the bed, then lowered me onto the mattress with a gentleness that made my chest ache. His body covered mine, warm and solid, and I arched into him instinctively.
"Tell me what you want." His lips traced down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. "Anything. Everything. It's yours."
"You." I pulled at his shirt, desperate to feel skin. "I just want you."
He helped me undress him—buttons and fabric and the soft sounds of clothing hitting the floor.
When he was bare above me, I let myself look. Really look. The planes of his chest, the definition of his abs, the way his muscles shifted as he reached for the hem of my dress.
"You're staring," he said, a hint of his usual smirk returning.
"You're worth staring at."
"Flattery will get you everywhere." He pulled my dress over my head, then paused, drinking me in with eyes gone dark. "Christ, Kitty. You're beautiful."
"You're biased."
"I'm observant." He unclasped my bra, mouth following his hands as they traced down my body. "And thorough."
His lips closed around my nipple, and I gasped, fingers threading through his hair. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, tongue swirling and teeth grazing until I was writhing beneath him.
"Damon, please…"
"Please what?" He kissed down my stomach, fingers hooking into my underwear. "Tell me."
"Touch me."
He pulled my underwear down slowly, deliberately, pressing kisses to each inch of skin he exposed. By the time he settled between my thighs, I was trembling.
"So precious," he murmured, and then his mouth was on me.
I cried out, hips bucking against his face as his tongue found my clit. He licked and sucked with devastating precision, one hand pressing my hip to the mattress while the other slid up my thigh.
When two fingers pushed inside me, curling to hit that perfect spot, I nearly shattered.
"Not yet." He pulled back just as I reached the edge, and I whimpered at the loss. "I want to be inside you when you come."
"Then get inside me."
He crawled up my body, positioning himself at my entrance. Our eyes met, and something passed between us—understanding, forgiveness, a promise for the future.
"I love you," he said quietly. "I should have told you sooner. Should have told you every day."
"Tell me now."
"I love you." He pushed inside me slowly, inch by devastating inch. "I love you." Deeper. "I love you."
When he was fully seated, we both stilled. The feeling of him inside me, the stretch, the fullness, the intimacy of being connected so completely, stole my breath.
"I love you too," I whispered, and something in his expression broke open.
He started to move. Long, slow strokes that built the pleasure gradually, deliberately. His forehead pressed against mine, breath mingling, eyes locked.
This wasn't the desperate collision of our wedding night or the frustrated passion in his study. This was something else entirely.
This was making love.
"You feel incredible," he groaned, hips rolling against mine. "Perfect. Like you were made for me."
"Harder." I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Please, Damon."
He obeyed, pace increasing, each thrust hitting spots that made me see stars. His hand slid between us, thumb finding my clit, and the dual sensation pushed me toward an edge I couldn't resist.
"Come for me," he breathed against my lips. "I've got you."
I shattered around him, pleasure crashing through me in waves that seemed endless. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a groan that vibrated through my entire body.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, sweat-slicked and satisfied. His hand traced lazy patterns on my hip, and I pressed my face into his chest, breathing him in.
"So," he said eventually, voice rough. "Does this mean you're keeping me?"
I laughed—genuine, unexpected, healing something I hadn't known was broken.
"I suppose you've earned a probationary extension."
"I'll take it." He kissed my hair. "I'll take anything you're willing to give."
I held him tighter, letting myself believe in this. In us. In the future we were building together.
The guilt still lurked beneath the surface—it probably always would. But maybe that was my penance. Maybe carrying that secret was the price I paid for this second chance.
And looking at Damon, feeling his heart beat against my cheek, watching our daughter sleep down the hall—I knew it was a price worth paying.