🔥 The Reunion 🔥

An Exclusive Bonus Scene from Worth the Waitstaff

Declan’s POV • Set after the reconciliation at Rosie’s Bar

Thank You for Reading! 💕

You made it to the bonus content—which means you’ve experienced Elena and Declan’s journey from enemies to forever.

Thank you for giving their story a chance. This exclusive scene is our gift to dedicated readers like you.

⚠️ Warning: This scene is EXPLICIT and intended for readers 18+

The Reunion

DECLAN

The bedroom door barely closed before I had her against the wall.

Seven days. Seven days of torturing myself with memories of her—the taste of her mouth, the sound of my name on her lips, the way her whole body had trembled when she’d told me she loved me. Seven days of convincing myself I could survive without her, that the ache in my chest would eventually fade, that I’d made the right choice walking away.

I was a fucking idiot.

“Declan—” Elena gasped as my mouth found her throat, her fingers already working the buttons of my shirt. “The business plan—we should—”

“Later.” I nipped at the sensitive spot below her ear, the one that always made her gasp. “Much later.”

“But the projections—”

I silenced her with a kiss. Deep, thorough, leaving no room for spreadsheets or strategic planning or anything except this—her body pressed against mine, her hands in my hair, the desperate little sounds she made when I traced my tongue along the seam of her lips.

She’d come to San Francisco for me. In the rain. With a ruined speech and a business plan and nothing but hope.

I was going to spend the rest of the night showing her exactly how much that meant.

“You’re still wet,” I murmured against her mouth, my hands sliding beneath her soaked blouse. Her skin was cold from the rain, but she arched into my touch like I was setting her on fire. “We need to get you out of these clothes.”

“Very efficient thinking.” Her laugh turned into a moan as my thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts. “I approve of this optimization strategy.”

“Did you just turn getting naked into business jargon?”

“Old habits.” She yanked my shirt free of my jeans, her palms flattening against my stomach. “I’m trying to break them. Be patient with me.”

Patient.

I’d spent a week without her. A week of cold showers and colder whiskey and dreams that left me hard and aching. Patience wasn’t really on the menu.

But she’d asked. And I’d give her anything she asked for.

“Come here.” I pulled back just far enough to take her hand, leading her toward the small bathroom. “Let’s warm you up first.”

The shower at Rosie’s was nothing special—barely big enough for one person, let alone two. But I made it work, stripping us both down while the water heated, watching Elena’s eyes track the process with an intensity that made my blood run hot.

“You’re staring,” I said.

“I’m appreciating.” Her gaze dropped to where I was already hard for her, heavy and aching. “It’s been a long week.”

“The longest.” I stepped closer, backing her toward the shower. Steam was starting to fill the room, softening the edges of everything. “I thought about you constantly. Couldn’t stop. Even when I was angry—especially when I was angry—I was thinking about this.”

“This?”

I cupped her face in my hands, tilting it up so she had to meet my eyes. “Having you. Keeping you. Making you understand that you’re never walking away from me again.”

Her breath caught. “Declan…”

“I mean it.” I brushed my thumbs across her cheekbones. “No more noble sacrifices. No more protecting me from decisions I should be making with you. We’re partners now. In everything. Which means when something goes wrong, we face it together.” I leaned in, pressing my forehead to hers. “Say you understand.”

“I understand.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Together.”

“Good girl.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them—instinct, muscle memory, something I’d never said to anyone before her. But Elena’s reaction was immediate: a full-body shudder, her pupils blowing wide, her fingers tightening on my arms.

“Oh,” I murmured, storing that reaction away for later analysis. “You like that.”

“I—” She swallowed hard. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe.” I guided her into the shower, following close behind, letting the hot water sluice over both of us. “Definitely. You like being told when you’ve done well.” I pressed her against the tile wall, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding down the wet curve of her hip. “My little overachiever. Always so desperate for validation.”

“That’s not—” She gasped as my fingers found the heat between her thighs. “That’s not fair.”

“Who said anything about fair?” I stroked her slowly, feeling how wet she was—how ready, and not just from the shower. “I’m going to take my time tonight. I’m going to make you feel so good you forget every number you’ve ever calculated. And then—” I leaned in to bite gently at her earlobe “—I’m going to make you beg for more.”

“I don’t beg.”

“You will.” I slid one finger inside her, then two, curling them in a way that made her whole body jerk. “Trust me.”

She was so responsive—always had been, from that first desperate kiss in the wine cellar. Every touch registered on her face, in the flutter of her lashes and the part of her lips and the tiny sounds she couldn’t quite suppress. I’d learned to read her body the way I read a new spirit: methodically, thoroughly, paying attention to every reaction.

Right now, she was close. Already. Seven days of separation had wound her as tight as it had wound me.

“Not yet.” I withdrew my fingers, ignoring her sound of protest. “I told you—I’m taking my time.”

“Declan—”

“Patience.” I kissed her again, softer this time, feeling the desperation vibrating through her. “Let me take care of you.”

I washed her hair with the cheap shampoo Rosie kept stocked, working my fingers against her scalp until she was practically purring. I soaped every inch of her body, lingering on the places that made her squirm—the sensitive curve of her waist, the backs of her knees, the spot on her inner thigh that made her hips roll forward involuntarily.

By the time I turned off the water, she was trembling.

“Please.” The word came out broken. “Declan, please—”

“There it is.” I wrapped her in the worn towel, rubbing warmth into her skin. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” I scooped her up, carrying her to the bed in the next room. “You love me. You said so yourself.”

I laid her out on the sheets—my sheets, the ones that had smelled empty and wrong for a week—and took a moment just to look at her. Hair spread across the pillow. Skin flushed from the heat. Eyes dark with want and something deeper, something that made my chest ache.

“You’re beautiful,” I said.

“You already told me that.”

“I’m going to tell you again.” I crawled over her, settling between her thighs. “Every day. Until you believe it.”

“I believe it when you’re looking at me like that.” Her hands came up to frame my face. “Like I’m something precious.”

“You are.” I turned my head to press a kiss to her palm. “The most precious thing I’ve ever found.”

And then I stopped talking. Stopped thinking. Let my body do what it had been aching to do since the moment she’d walked through Rosie’s door.

I kissed my way down her body—throat, collarbone, the swell of her breasts. Took one nipple into my mouth and rolled my tongue around it until she was arching off the mattress, her fingers fisting in my hair. Switched to the other side, giving it the same thorough attention, while my hand slid between her thighs to keep her hovering on the edge.

“Declan—” My name had become a plea. “I need—”

“I know what you need.” I kissed lower—ribs, stomach, the sharp jut of her hipbone. “I’m going to give it to you.”

When my mouth finally found her center, she cried out loud enough that Rosie probably heard upstairs. I didn’t care. I was too lost in the taste of her, the feel of her thighs trembling on either side of my head, the desperate roll of her hips as she chased her release.

I brought her to the edge three times before I finally let her fall—reading her body, easing off whenever she got too close, building the pressure until she was sobbing my name.

“Please, please, please—Declan, I can’t—I need—”

“You can.” I sealed my mouth over her clit and sucked, two fingers curling inside her at exactly the right angle. “Come for me, Elena. Now.”

She shattered.

The orgasm ripped through her like a wave—no, like a storm, her whole body shaking with the force of it. I worked her through every aftershock, gentling my touch as she came down, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs while she caught her breath.

“Oh my God.” Her voice was wrecked. “That was—”

“We’re not done.” I crawled back up her body, settling my hips between her thighs. She was so wet I could feel it against my cock, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to drive inside her immediately. “Not even close.”

Her eyes widened. “I don’t think I can—”

“You can.” I reached for the condom I’d grabbed from the bathroom, rolling it on with hands that weren’t quite steady. “You will. I’ve got a week of wanting to make up for.”

I positioned myself at her entrance, watching her face as I pushed inside—slowly, giving her time to adjust, even though every cell in my body was screaming for more. She felt like heaven. Like home. Like everything I’d been missing without knowing it.

“Look at me.” I waited until her eyes focused on mine. “I love you. I know I said it already, but I need you to hear it again. I love you, Elena. All of you. The spreadsheets and the control issues and the way you argue about ice cube size. I love every infuriating, brilliant, impossible thing about you.”

Tears were sliding down her temples, disappearing into her hair. “I love you too.”

“I know.” I started to move. “Now let me show you how much.”

I made love to her slowly at first—long, deep strokes that made us both gasp. But the week of separation had built too much pressure, and before long we were moving together urgently, desperately, the headboard hitting the wall in a rhythm Rosie was definitely going to give me shit about later.

I felt Elena tightening around me—building toward another peak—and I shifted my angle, grinding against her clit with every thrust.

“Come with me.” I was close, so close, barely holding on. “Elena—”

She broke apart, and I followed her into oblivion.

Later—much later—we lay tangled together in the narrow bed, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing idle patterns on her bare back.

“The business plan really is good,” she murmured sleepily. “The projections show profitability within eighteen months.”

I laughed. “You’re thinking about projections right now?”

“I’m always thinking about projections.” She pressed a kiss to my chest. “It’s how my brain works. You know that.”

“I do.” I tightened my arm around her. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“Even when I’m insufferable?”

“Especially then.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Partners, remember? In everything.”

She hummed contentedly, snuggling closer. “Partners.”

I lay awake long after she fell asleep, listening to her breathe, feeling her heart beat against my ribs. Tomorrow we’d have to figure out the practicalities—the new office, the gala, the business they were going to build together. There would be challenges and setbacks and probably a hundred more arguments about efficiency metrics.

I couldn’t wait.

Because for the first time in years, I wasn’t running from anything. I was running toward something. Toward her. Toward us. Toward a future I couldn’t fully predict but couldn’t wait to discover.

Some things couldn’t be measured.

That didn’t mean they weren’t worth everything.

THE END

📚 Want More?

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