Husband for Hire - Part 5: The Real Proposal

What started as a fake relationship was never supposed to turn into anything more. But Delaney can’t stop thinking about the man who kissed her like it meant something. The man who made her believe in forever—even if neither of them said it out loud. In this emotional final part, she’s done waiting. Done wondering. It’s time to find out if what they had was real—and if it still can be.

Husband for Hire - Part 5: The Real Proposal

She went looking for closure. What she found was forever.

Delany

I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at my phone.

Long enough that the screen keeps dimming, going black, then flashing awake again with nothing new. No messages. No calls. Just his name still sitting in my recent texts like it’s waiting for me to do something.

The apartment is too quiet. Too clean. I unpacked as soon as I got home, like staying busy might keep me from thinking. Tossed my clothes in the hamper. Wiped down the counters. Lit a candle. Something citrusy. Clean. Sharp. The kind of scent that makes you feel like you’ve got your shit together.

I don’t feel like I’ve got my shit together.

What I feel is…haunted. By the sound of his laugh when he made me smile without trying. By the heat in his voice when he whispered forever like it could actually mean something. By the weight of his body against mine, and how I didn’t want him to leave, but still let him walk out the door.

Because this was never supposed to be real.

That was the rule, wasn’t it?

But everything about him felt real. The quiet way he watched me when I wasn’t looking. The way his hand lingered at the small of my back even after the cameras were gone. The way he kissed me like he meant it. Like I mattered.

And maybe that’s the part that hurts the most.

Because what if I did?

What if all this time I’ve been protecting myself from the kind of pain that only comes from falling for something that was never mine to keep, but he didn’t see it that way?

What if I let him believe I didn’t care?

I sit back on the couch, phone still in my hand. My finger hovers over his contact, the tiny gray bubble waiting for a message that might never come.

I could reach out.

I could text him something simple. Ask if he made it home. Ask if he’s okay. Open the door to a conversation we both keep pretending we don’t want.

But I don’t.

I don’t delete his number either.

Instead, I set the phone on the coffee table, lean back, and close my eyes.

What if I didn’t let it end here? 

I grab my keys and head out the door. I don’t give myself time to think.

I just drive.

Faster than I probably should.

His address is still in my phone. I don’t remember saving it, but there it is, burned into my contacts like a dare. My hands are sweating on the wheel, heart in my throat as I pull into the narrow driveway of a building that looks far too normal for someone who felt like a fever dream.

My reflection catches in the rearview mirror, eyes wide, lips bare, a hint of red still staining my cheeks from the cold and the panic. I should’ve put on lipstick. I should’ve thought this through. I should’ve done a dozen things differently.

But I’m here now.

And if I turn around, I’ll never come back.

I force myself to get out, legs shaky as I climb the steps to his door. Three knocks. Light. Then louder. Then I’m standing there like an idiot, wondering if he’ll even answer, wondering if he’s home, wondering what the hell I’m doing.

The door opens mid-thought.

He’s in jeans and a henley, barefoot, hair a little tousled like he’s been running his hands through it.

“Delaney?”

His voice is soft and curious.  But not surprised. 

“I—uh—hi.” I wave. God, I actually wave. “Hi.”

He blinks once. “Hey.”

There’s a beat of silence between us. Not tense. Not hostile. Just… open. Waiting. Like he’s giving me room to fill it.

“I didn’t plan this,” I say quickly. “Well. That’s a lie. I did. I planned it the whole drive here, and now all the words I practiced sound like garbage, so I’m gonna start over.”

His mouth tips up at the corner. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to do this halfway,” I blurt. “I thought I did. I thought keeping it pretend meant it couldn’t hurt, but then it did hurt, and that didn’t make sense because fake things aren’t supposed to leave bruises, and—” I groan and press a hand to my forehead. “See? Garbage.”

“Not garbage,” he says. “Just… messy.”

“Yeah, well, I’m kind of a mess right now.”

He leans against the frame, eyes scanning mine. “Why are you here, Laney?”

My stomach flips at the nickname. “Because I don’t want this to be over.”

A pause. His breath catches, but just slightly.

“I kept telling myself it wasn’t real,” I continue. “That you were just playing a part. That I was just playing along. That what happened between us didn’t mean anything. But it did, Beau. It meant something to me.”

He opens the door wider, stepping back. “Come in.”

I hesitate. Just long enough to look up at him and see it. The softness in his eyes. The tension in his jaw. The hope he’s trying to hide.

I step over the threshold.

The door clicks softly shut behind me.

Inside, the apartment is clean, warm. Minimalist furniture, muted tones, and a faint scent of cedar and aftershave. It’s him. Just like I remembered from the hotel. Just like I tried not to remember at all.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me,” he says quietly.

“I’m not expecting anything. I’m… asking.”

His brows lift, cautious. “Asking for what?”

“For a chance.” My voice wobbles. “I don’t want a husband for hire. I want you.”

Silence stretches.

Then his jaw ticks, and he steps closer, slow, deliberate, like he’s making sure I won’t spook.

“Say it again.”

My breath catches.

“I want you.”

His eyes close like it hurts. Like it heals. Maybe both.

“Shit,” he mutters, and when he looks at me again, something’s broken open behind his gaze. “You don’t get to say that unless you mean it, Delaney. Because if you do… I’m yours.”

“I do mean it.”

Another beat. Another step.

Then his voice drops, low and raw. “No pretending?”

“No more pretending.”

He exhales hard.

And then he’s kissing me like he’s been waiting his whole life for me to show up at his door.

He doesn’t let go right away.

Just holds me there in his arms, like he’s grounding himself. Like maybe he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

His hand is still at my waist. His lips brush my forehead once, soft and slow. “You sure?”

I nod before I can talk myself out of it. “I’m sure I’m not sure about anything except this. I don’t know what it looks like. I just know it’s you.”

A quiet exhale leaves him, like something heavy just loosened in his chest.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says, voice rough. “Not once.”

A flicker of emotion crosses his face. Like hope. Like disbelief. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. I never thought you’d come here.”

“I almost didn’t.” My voice cracks. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you either. About how it felt when you touched me like I meant something to you. When you said it wasn’t pretend.”

He exhales, almost like it hurts. “It wasn’t. Not once.”

I nod, throat too tight to speak, heart pounding like it’s trying to climb its way out of my chest. “I don’t want a fake husband, Beau.”

His brow lifts.

“I want you,” I whisper, still caught in between his arms.

His jaw flexes. He leans in, forehead resting against mine, voice low and rough.

“Say it again.”

My breath shudders out. “I want you.”

He groans, deep and quiet, like the words cracked something open.  His fingers twitch against my waist. For a second, he looks away, jaw tight like he’s fighting some invisible battle. Like he’s weighing everything he’s not sure he deserves.

Then his eyes find mine again, and I see it—the decision. The surrender.“You have me.”

His kiss is slow. Deep. Meant to be remembered.

Not like the others, not like heat overtaking thought, or lust driving motion. This one is quiet and anchoring, like he’s reminding me who I am. Who I get to be. His lips move against mine like he’s learning me all over again. Tasting the truth in every breath.

When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathless.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, his forehead resting on mine.

“You.” My hands slip beneath the edge of his T-shirt. “I want you to show me it was never fake.”

He lifts his shirt in one smooth motion, tossing it aside without breaking eye contact.

Then he reaches for me, slow, deliberate, and slips his hand into mine.

“Come here.”

He leads me down the quiet hallway, into the soft hush of the bedroom, where the air feels heavier somehow. More loaded.

And when we stop at the edge of the bed, he turns, gaze sweeping over me like he’s committing this moment to memory.

“Still sure?”

My answer is a whisper. “Yes.”

He closes the space between us, and this time, we don’t stop.

“Slow this time,” he says, dragging his knuckles up my thighs. “No hotel room. No deadlines. Just you and me.”

I nod, already unraveling.

The air in the bedroom feels charged, like the room itself is holding its breath. He watches me step out of my jeans, eyes tracking every movement with aching reverence. His throat bobs as I slide my top over my head.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, and the awe in his voice sends heat rolling across my skin.

He peels away my clothes with deliberate care, kissing each newly bared inch of skin like a promise. My breath hitches as he mouths over my ribs, down the dip of my stomach, his stubble scraping softly, his hands never leaving me. Every move is reverent, almost unbearably tender. Like he’s making up for every moment we lost.

He doesn’t rush.

He maps me.

Worships me.

When his mouth descends between my thighs, my hips jerk violently, a helpless gasp tearing from my throat as his tongue flicks over my clit, slow at first, then deliberate, like he already knows exactly how to ruin me.

“Beau—”

“Let me,” he murmurs, settling deeper. “I want to taste what’s mine.”

His tongue moves with devastating skill, slow circles that build and break me. My hands tangle in his hair, my moans spilling too easily. He pins my hips with one arm, holding me down, drawing every last tremor from my body until I’m boneless and trembling and begging.

“Come here,” I whisper, breathless. “Now.”

He rises over me, shedding the rest of his clothes, eyes locked on mine. “This doesn’t end in the morning.”

“I know.”

He lines up, the tip of his cock brushing where I’m soaked and ready. “If I sink into you, Delaney…” His voice breaks. “You’re mine forever.”

“I already am.”

When he pushes in, it’s slow and deep. Like he’s claiming me cell by cell.

The moan that leaves him is primal. “You feel like home.”

My hands grip his back, nails digging in as he starts to move, long, steady strokes that have me gasping. His name leaves my lips like a prayer, and when I whisper, “Forever,” he groans, his pace stuttering.

His forehead drops to mine. “Say that again.”

“Forever. Yours.”

His mouth crushes mine, hips snapping harder now, his control fraying as we fall apart together, this time not with desperation, but with certainty.

When I come, it’s with his name on my tongue and the word real echoing through me like a drumbeat.

He follows with a growl, burying himself deep, shaking as he releases everything he’s been holding back.

My breath comes in shudders, my skin flushed and damp, muscles still twitching beneath his weight. His hand slides up, warm and broad, spreading over my stomach like he’s anchoring me in place. I reach for him, fingertips brushing his jaw, and he turns into the touch like he needs it, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

“Still with me?” he murmurs.

I nod, too spent to speak, but the look in his eyes says everything. He sees me. All of me. And he’s not going anywhere.

We stay like that for a while. Wrapped in the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

Eventually, he pulls back just enough to look at me.

“So what now?”

I smile, tracing his jaw. “Now we start for real.”

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: September 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix