Content note: This chapter contains explicit sexual content.

One thing was for sure: falling deeply in love with someone before sleeping with them resulted in the most meaningful, mind-blowing sex Killian Jones had had in his entire life.

He still couldn't believe his good fortune. Earlier this morning, he'd simply been hopeful that Swan would agree to talk things out with him. Not only had she done so, but she'd forgiven him and permitted him to make love to her. And now she was staring at him with a goofy, satisfied grin on her face, one he was sure mirrored his own. He was about to reach out and touch her—just to enjoy the exquisite feeling of her skin beneath his fingertips—when his phone, still in the living room, began to ring.

"Shit, I left my phone in the other room." He quickly scrambled out of bed and into the living room, glad for the blinds on the windows, and saw who was calling: Jefferson. "What do you want, mate?" He hadn't meant to sound impatient, but he didn't want to talk to anyone at the moment: he wanted to go make love to Swan again.

"Happy New Year," Jefferson said, clearly unperturbed by Killian's attitude. "How're you holding up?"

On second thought, he wondered as he saw the time, perhaps he and Swan might shower. He went to the linen closet and began rummaging for clean towels. "I just got in last night, so I'm quite jetlagged, as any reasonable person might expect, you bloody idiot."

"I just wanted to see how you were. Belle told us about your dad."

"I'd honestly rather not talk about it." He went back into the bedroom and handed Swan a towel, before gesturing at the bathroom door. She gave him a confused look.

"Well, what about your neighbor? Last we spoke, you said you were going to meet her after you came home."

It was true; he'd had the chance to speak to Jeff and Graham, not just Belle, when he was in London, but it had been more of a throwaway comment to his two male friends, and not really something he wanted to discuss at length. "That's quite honestly none of your business."

"Come on, Killian. I'm sort of responsible for all this anyway—I just want to know what happened."

The reminder that the dare that had nearly ended his relationship with Swan had been Jefferson's idea in the first place struck a nerve, and a wicked idea formed in his mind. "Oh, so you want to know what happened, mate? You want to know? She rejected me." He winked at Swan, who seemed to figure out what was going on. "And it's all your damn fault. She was so angry that you'd dared me."

"You told her that?"

"Of course I told her; I thought she'd find it funny. But it's still your fault, you wanker. So, thanks for calling to ask about something that I'd rather forget about."

"Killian, I'm—I mean, I'm sorry, I wish you hadn't told her. But I know you weren't happy about the dare in the first place—look, I promise, I'll never give you shit about your love life again."

"Daddy!" He heard Grace on the other line; clearly, she'd heard her father swear.

"Sorry, sweetie. But Killian, I really am sorry—"

"Sorry's not going to cut it, Jeff. You knew how I felt about her, and now it's ruined. Look, I desperately need a shower, so I'm going to go, but yeah, happy New Year to you, too." And he hung up.

He'd probably call him back tonight, after letting him stew a little.

"I take it that was your friend J? Or Jefferson, I guess?" Swan asked.

"Aye. He wanted to know if I'd finally unmasked myself."

"So you lied?" She didn't sound as amused as he'd hoped she'd be.

"I didn't really lie," he pointed out. "You did reject me. I just failed to mention that the rejection was temporary." He realized that this show of dishonesty, even if it was for a worthy cause, might concern her given last night's events. "Uh, it was temporary, right? Love, I swear, I don't make a habit of lying. I'm just trying to get back at him."

"You're a lawyer and you don't make a habit of lying?" But her tone was playful again.

"Oi, we're not all evil. I don't lie in my personal life." Time to change the subject. "Anyway, I really do desperately need a shower. You're more than welcome to join me." He walked over and opened the door to the bathroom.

"Ugh, you have an en suite bathroom?" she groaned. "We're never going to hang out at my place, are we?"

What did that have to do with anything? "Love, I'll hang out wherever you'd like to. Besides, it's not like it matters much. The commute between our places is quite short. Now, as I said, I'm going to be showering now. Would you care to join me? I don't mean to be rude, but you do look awfully dirty to me."

She practically jumped off the bed and was first into the shower. He stepped in after her, once he'd hung their towels up, and turned on the water. "My, you are dirty," he joked.

"Guess you'd better wash me."

"I'd be a damn fool to pass up such an opportunity." Before he could think of a good innuendo, her mouth was on his, and instinctively, he pushed her up against the tiled surround and pressed his body into hers. She gasped in surprise, as the tile hadn't warmed up yet. "Sorry, love."

"It's okay," she said before tilting her head back so he could kiss along her neck. He did so eagerly, teeth grazing her delicate skin. He could taste the sweat from their earlier activities, and it was like an aphrodisiac; he wasn't quite entirely hard yet, not so soon after climaxing, but now he was at least well on his way to another erection. "So I don't know about you, but I really could use a shower for real," she added.

He tried not to feel too disappointed, given that they'd just had an immeasurably satisfying fuck. And while he had showered the evening before, lack of restful sleep and said intimate activities left him more than eager to wash up. "Very well," he said, making sure to sound agreeable.

He pointed out the various shower products he had and made a mental note to pick up some of her preferred brands in the near future. True, she might live just down the hall, but why not give her the option to shower at either location?

After they took turns shampooing and conditioning, Swan grabbed the body wash. They switched places so that she could soap up while he rinsed what was left of the conditioner out of his hair. But as he did so, eyes closed to prevent water from washing out his contacts, he felt her slick hands rub all over his chest.

He wiped the water off his face and opened his eyes to find her grinning at him; her hands were still pressed against him, covered in suds. "What are you doing?"

"Really?" she asked skeptically. "You don't want me to wash you?" She was grinning widely.

"You're quite insatiable."

"That's not a complaint, is it?" A flash of insecurity crossed her face.

"Oh, not at all," he replied roughly. "Though I hope you'll forgive me." He gestured towards his groin; his cock had softened since they'd ended their makeout session. "It might take me a little more time to rise to the occasion, so to speak. How did you put it? Nothing like an explosive orgasm to really take it out of you?"

She laughed, surprised and delighted. "You remember that I said that?"

"Of course." He reached up to run his fingers through her hair, an act made quite difficult thanks to the water in her heavy locks. "Now, perhaps, in the meantime, it would also be acceptable if I washed you? Or," he said, smirking, "do you need a little more recovery time as well?"

Within minutes, once he was rinsed clean of body wash, he ran his own soapy hands all along her gorgeous body. His fingers traced the path he'd made earlier that morning with his mouth, starting with her neck and shoulders, before gently circling her breasts and nipples, which struggled to harden, given the warm water. Regardless, his actions had the intended effect, and his cock grew hard as he took in the sight of her surrendering to the sensations. He'd never been with a woman who'd enjoyed having her breasts played with nearly this much, but he damn well was enjoying it.

By the time he'd made his way down to her stomach, she was trembling considerably with arousal. He tentatively slipped his fingers, once he'd rinsed them of soap, along her lips, and she gasped.

"No good?"

"No, I'm just still really sensitive," she explained. "You know, from two orgasms and what could appropriately be referred to as a pounding."

"Should I stop?" He was reluctant to leave her hot and bothered with no climax, but if it was painful or uncomfortable, he didn't wish to add to it.

"Maybe." But she sounded thoughtful. "Or, maybe you could touch my breasts some more?"

He was only happy to comply, though he was unsure that he could get her off in that fashion. Though she'd said it was something her body was capable of, he'd been embarrassed to admit he hadn't even known it was possible, and he had no idea how to make it happen for her.

But as he caressed her breasts again, deliberately being a little rough with her nipples (with permission), he saw her reach her own hand down between her legs. "I can be gentle enough," she explained between gasps of pleasure. "Though oh my god, do not stop doing that." Within moments, she was falling apart in his arms.

"Well, guess that woke you up," she said, referring to his erection pressing into her ass.

"Your climaxes are easily the most erotic events I've ever had the pleasure of observing," he explained.

She frowned. "Even if I knew how to have shower sex, I don't think I can handle another go around till later tonight."

He shook his head. "Love, you don't have to worry about that, so long as you don't mind me taking care of myself."

She pressed herself up against him; not all of the body wash had rinsed off her skin, and it transferred to him in the process. "As long as you don't mind a little assistance."

Naturally, he didn't, and with her lips on his neck and her hands cupping his balls, he came in record time.

They managed to finish showering not long after that, and soon, they were sitting on his couch, dressed again in their pajamas, with Swan's hair wrapped in a towel. He sheepishly collected her letters, which were still scattered about the coffee table.

"What do you do with yours?" she asked as he did so. She blushed as soon as she asked. "I mean, if you throw them away, that's okay."

"Of course not!" he said quickly. He felt his own face grow a little hot. "Er, I … I have a binder."

She chuckled. "A binder?"

"A man has to keep his home organized." But it was still a tad embarrassing.

"Can I see?"

He nodded automatically, though privately he wished she hadn't asked. He pulled the large binder from the bookshelf where he kept it, and, still slightly mortified, showed her how he'd put each letter into a sheet protector. "I didn't want to three hole punch them," he explained, pointing at one of the letters as he did so. She always wrote from one end of the page to the other; had he made holes in the letters, he would have had to cut off some of the words. And that was unacceptable as far as he was concerned.

"May I?" He handed her the binder, and she gently took the letters from where he'd set them back down on the table, in a messy stack. He watched in silence as she carefully put each letter into a protector; she did so with a small smile on her face, but the smile was neither judgmental nor condescending.

Once she finished, she flipped back to the very first letter, and laid her hand atop it for a moment before shutting the binder. "The top drawer of my dresser barely closes because of all the letters. I saved everything. Down to the envelopes."

He moved so quickly that he wasn't even aware that he'd taken her in his arms until he'd done so. "My darling, I am glad to hear that my letters mean as much to you as yours do to me."

"They always have," she replied softly, her voice muffled by his shirt and her towel. "Even at the beginning, when I was still with Walsh, I was intrigued. It didn't occur to me to stop writing to you, or to get rid of any of the letters."

"That's right," he remembered. "I stole you from your boyfriend."

"You did not!" she protested, shifting in his arms so she could give him a hard, indignant glare.

"But didn't I have a hand in it?"

She rolled her eyes. "I can't really be any clearer that the relationship was pretty much over, Killian."

"Tell me he at least fought for you." It wasn't as though the man deserved to be with Swan if he treated her the way he did, and made her so unhappy, but Killian was still offended at the very notion that someone might not know what they'd lost if Swan rejected them.

"Would it be considered 'fighting for me' to spend three hours on the phone lecturing me about why I couldn't break up with him, leaving me voicemails constantly after I told him not to contact me, and then sending me a Christmas gift almost two months later?"

"No." He shook his head. "That's just bloody annoying."

She laughed, but her expression became serious. "No, fighting for me—for us—is what you did," she said. "He wanted me to agree to be unhappy. You wanted to fix what had broken."

"I know what I did hurt you," he said, a hardness in his throat.

"Mistakes are okay," she reminded him. "I'm going to make them, too—I mean, I really already did, when I didn't finish your letter last night. But at the end of the day, this is what I want. You didn't give up, and you didn't let me give up."

"I love you," he reminded her.

He saw her swallow, and her eyes grew a little shiny. "I know," she said gently. "And you know how much I care about you."

Her reply was a little disappointing, though not entirely unexpected; she'd already had more than one chance to reciprocate, and she clearly wasn't ready. Besides, he wasn't reminding her of his own feelings just to obligate her to do the same—he wanted to ensure she knew how loved she was, and how precious she was to him. But he did privately acknowledge that he was hoping she would say it back.

But he did believe her—that she cared about him very much—and the depth of her feelings was something he could feel. He would give her time; he resolved to remove as much pressure as he could, and wait until she was comfortable voicing her own love before he would repeat the words. After all, she'd been patient with him, waiting to meet in the first place; he would be patient in return.

The rest of the long weekend passed in a pleasurable blur. They spent their time relaxing and discussing everything under the sun, including some of the more serious topics they'd shared with each other during their separation. They enjoyed each others bodies several more times, to the point where he had to change his sheets far earlier than he'd ever had to before; to his surprise, she insisted on helping him do laundry, on the grounds that the dirty sheets were her fault. And of course, Sunday morning, he took her to Stephanie's for brunch; the food had never tasted better than it did in her company.

As they made their way back to the complex after their meal, Swan's phone rang. "Hello?" She winced. "Sorry, I totally forgot. It's a long story, okay?" She paused, listening to whoever was on the other end. "I know you were worried—I really did forget. I don't want to talk about it over the phone, okay?" She threw him an anxious look. "Can you wait a sec? I think I'm getting another call." She covered the microphone with her palm, as tightly as possible. "Do you want to meet my friends tonight?" She was whispering so quietly that he could barely hear her over the sound of traffic on Comm Ave.

He nodded in lieu of a spoken reply, since she clearly didn't want the other person to know he was there. She nodded back and brought the phone back up. "Sorry, it was just a text from Mom." He couldn't resist smirking; for all that she'd judged him for lying to Jefferson on New Year's Day, she clearly had no compunctions about lying to her own sister (he assumed, based on the lie). "I'm not in the mood to round everyone up, so can you do it? Tavern on the Square, five o'clock? Okay, see you guys then."

"Keeping secrets?" he asked once she'd hung up.

She smiled at him. "I've got a plan."

That evening, he waited nervously outside the bar; he'd promised to give Swan a few minutes to mislead her friends before they revealed the true end result. He hadn't planned to wait as long as he had, but Will had shown up unexpectedly, and on his own way into the bar had asked Killian about "that bloody gorgeous lady you were with in the elevator—come on, Jones, don't make me beg for her number."

But his entrance had still been perfectly timed, and he'd very much enjoyed the looks of shock on her friends' faces as they realized they'd been had. The rest of the evening had gone quite well, and to his surprise, he found himself in such an engaging conversation with Swan's brother-in-law that the two sisters had great difficulty convincing either of them that the night was over, and it was time to leave.

He thought, as he and Swan made their way back to the complex, that he would have to arrange for her to meet his friends soon. He'd already called them to let them know what had happened (specifically, that he and Swan had reunited, in person; Belle's gentle admonishment had led him to call Jefferson and admit the truth), and they'd all expressed interest in finally meeting the woman who'd won his heart. But he felt as though they'd had enough to deal with for the weekend; he would ask her later in the week.

"I'm not ready for this to be over," she said as they got off the elevator on their floor.

"What makes you think this is over?" What an odd thing for her to think!

"I meant the weekend." Ah. "I'm going to have to go to bed, and then wake up and go to work."

"Well, it's not that late," he pointed out as they arrived at her door. "If you'd like, I can keep you company until we ought to call it an evening."

"True." She pushed open her door and he followed her inside. He'd never been inside her flat before; she'd stopped by to change a few times over the weekend, but otherwise they'd stayed at his place.

It was small, given that it was a studio, but it felt quite homey. She had just the right amount of furniture to keep the space from feeling too crowded or too empty, and he particularly liked the mismatched bar stools.

"Sorry, I know it's nothing like your place," she said quickly as she noticed him looking around.

Why was she apologizing? "You mean it has character."

"That's one way to compliment someone for having mismatched furniture."

"I'm serious, darling. Nothing I own has a story behind it. Nothing really has any meaning to me. That apartment is just a place to live. It's not a home, love."

"And this is?" Was she really so insecure? Perhaps they should have spent more time here over the weekend, if his flat was making her feel so terribly inadequate.

He pointed to her dresser; it was obviously solid wood and well-crafted, and also very clearly well-loved. "Tell me about this dresser," he said. "Where is it from?"

"I don't know. My parents bought it for me."

"Recently?"

"No, almost fifteen years ago, when they first adopted me."

"Fifteen years later, you still have this dresser," he said emphatically. "This dresser which has some scratches on it, and several stains. Is it because you can't afford a new one?"

"No," she replied, a little irritated. "It's because that's the first piece of furniture I ever owned—something that was actually mine and not a hand-me-down or something I had to share with anyone—and I'm going to own it till the day I die."

"Exactly. That's exactly what I'm talking about. This isn't just a piece of furniture. It's a memory. It's part of your history." He gently laid his hand on the surface of the wood; it felt comforting, as though charmed. "I don't have that sort of history."

"What about the Jolly?" she asked. She pulled off her shoes before stepping over to him, caressing his arm. "I mean, if someone came to you tomorrow and offered to buy you a brand new boat to replace her, would you take it?"

"No." His stomach tightened unhappily at the thought. "I'm not sure I can keep the Jolly forever, but I would never consider replacing her if I didn't have to."

"See?" she said. "You do have something. And besides, I do like your apartment. Everything matches."

"If you like everything to match, but you're keeping this dresser forever, does that mean you'll never be satisfied?" he asked, grinning.

"Well, in thirty years, if I'm ever done paying off my student loan debt—you know, assuming I'm that lucky—I'll either hunt down a bedroom set that matches, or I'll just have to bite the bullet and have something custom made."

"I find that to be a very sensible plan."

"Well, my furniture-shop-owning ex-boyfriend didn't think so," she said unhappily.

"Which furniture shop is this?" he asked. "I'd prefer not to ever step foot in there; it would be bad form to help bolster the sales of the man who treated you so poorly."

"Wizard of Oak. It's up near Beacon Hill, near the Common." Oh, bloody hell. "What? Is it the cheesy name? It is, isn't it? I told him he should change the name."

"No, it's that I did go there," he said. "I just bought my dining table a few months ago, and that was one of the places I browsed while shopping."

"And?"

"Well, not only was none of the furniture to my taste, but the man I spoke with was quite infuriating. He kept insisting that mid-century modern was perfect for me, and that it would be a shame for me to waste my money on something as generic as Pottery Barn. And when I joked that I actually liked the style of some IKEA furniture, he just looked at me as though I were completely mad. And he even suggested anyone who was foolish enough to waste their money on something from IKEA—"

"—deserved the dirty looks they'd get from guests," she finished for him. "Yeah, you talked to my ex-boyfriend, Walsh."

"Quite a gentleman," he replied sarcastically. "You'll be pleased to hear that I told him that I didn't appreciate his rudeness and that I would be spending my money elsewhere. And I'm pleased to hear that I stole his girlfriend."

"Once again, you did not steal me," she said, lightly whacking him on the shoulder. "That relationship was pretty much over when you left the first letter."

He simply grinned and led her over to her bed; did she really think he was ever going to stop teasing her about this? "Well, sometimes it makes me feel quite grand to believe otherwise."

She stretched and sat down. "So, what do you want to do?" He raised an eyebrow and she blushed. "Besides that. To be honest, I don't think I could take another round. I could barely walk to the bar and back tonight."

"Shall we see what's on television?" he asked, laying down and patting the spot beside him; she lay down beside him. "Perhaps I should get one for my bedroom. It's nice watching in bed." She smiled as though he'd said something particularly wonderful, but didn't bother to explain. Instead, she grabbed the remote and began channel surfing.

He was awakened about an hour later by Swan asking if he wanted to go to bed.

"I suppose we have to go to bed sometime," he said sadly. He supposed he wasn't ready for the weekend to end either.

"I don't want you to go."

"And I don't want to go."

"Maybe … maybe you could stay the night." She sounded worried as she made the suggestion. Why?

"I'd love to stay the night, darling," he murmured. "I'll be back in a moment; I need to take out my lenses." He rose and fished his keys out of his pocket as he walked to the door. "Mind if I prop the door while I'm gone?"

"Nope." He quickly made his way back to his flat and got ready for bed as quickly as possible. It was a little strange to finish his nighttime routine and then lock his apartment door behind him. But he didn't want to spend a single night in separate beds, not when he knew just how wonderful it was to fall asleep with Swan beside him.

They undressed for bed; they'd grown accustomed to sleeping almost naked beside each other, and although he doubted they'd have time for a morning go-around, it would still be lovely to feel her skin against his as he fell asleep and woke up. But she seemed incredibly preoccupied as she slid into bed with him.

"All right, love?" he asked as she curled up against him. "I can practically hear you thinking."

"Why did you come back?" she asked. "I mean, to my place. You had to go home to get ready for bed. So why come back, if you had to go home anyway?"

"It's not really home," he corrected her. "It's just my apartment. You're not there right now—you're here. So why wouldn't I want to be here?"

She looked confused and then stunned, as though he'd said something that had bothered her, and she'd only just realized why. "What?" he asked. "Have I upset you? Do you want me to go back to my place?"

"I love you," she said. His heart began to pound erratically, and the warmth in his chest spread to every inch of his body. "I don't know how it happened, but I love you."

His arms wrapped around her. "And I love you." He kissed the side of her head, grateful to hear the words from her, and to be able to say them again himself. "I'm relieved to hear you say it. I hadn't wanted you to feel pressured." She loved him. She loved him.

"I loved you before I met you," she said. "Same as you. I just needed to meet you to realize it."

"More than understandable, love." He pulled back so he could smile at her. "Do you see me complaining?"

"No." She slowly returned his grin.

"Shall we sleep?"

"Yeah." She leaned in for a quick goodnight kiss, but the kisses slowly became passionate. She sighed. "We really should sleep."

"Mmm." They really should. And they eventually did.

This almost wraps things up! All that's left is the epilogue (to be posted Monday). Please let me know what you think!