And I want her with me all the time. It’s fucking consuming. But she’s my favorite human in the world. After a certain amount of time together, other people usually get on my nerves.
But not Summer. She’s my person. And I’m hers. Two halves of the same whole.
“Tell me. Tell me how much you love me.” Her lips tip up and her eyes dance.
“Woman, I’m wiping you with a hot washcloth after sex. That’s how much I love you.”
“Tell me more.”
I crouch down beside her and get to wiping, mind racing as I do, dick filling again being this close to her pussy.
I feel her eyes on me. She’s waiting for me to say more.
I slide her lacy thong back up her legs, because she looks fucking fantastic in expensive lingerie. “Turn over. I’ll show you.”
Her lips twist, questions dancing in her eyes, but she relents with a sigh, showing me her beautiful round ass.
I can’t help but pop a nice loud smack on it before walking back across the room to chuck the cloth in the hamper, pull on a pair of sweats, and reach for the bag I dropped in the bedroom before losing all my clothes with her. Swiping a pen, I walk back over to her, catching the curious glance she gives me over her shoulder.
“Okay. Pay very close attention, Princess.”
She giggles and nods her head. “Okay.”
I straddle her, and it’s a terrible idea, because all I can think about is sliding my dick between her legs. But I focus, uncapping the pen.
And then I start writing. Connecting the dots on her back the way I often do with the pad of my finger when we lay together. Her back is like the night sky, full of constellations. She and I really are binary stars, stuck in each other’s orbit, drawn together by forces we can’t see or understand—but that we can feel.
What I’m writing today is four words. And I swear I can almost hear her thinking, her body just a little bit tense, her head canted as she tries to decipher it.
“There,” I say, right as I finish.
“Rhett?” She turns to glance over her shoulder now, but her eyes are less playful this time. More watery. “Did you just write what I think you did?”
I shrug and grin at her. “Guess you’ll have to go look.”
She shoots off the bed, and I watch her take quick steps across what is basically a construction zone, toward the bathroom. The creases under her ass, the lace framing it, and the words Will you marry me? written on her back.
It’s so fucking satisfying.
I dart to my bag and grab the velvet box I hid. I go fast, not wanting to miss the expression on her face when she sees it.
My eyes trace her as she turns her back to the small temporary mirror in the ensuite bathroom. She casts a glance over her shoulder and then . . .
She smiles that little smirk that used to piss me off and now drives me wild. She doesn’t even turn my way. She just stands there, staring at her reflection, smiling.
I drop to one knee and hold up the ring in my hand—a canary solitaire with smaller diamond points to make it look like a star—and I might as well be holding up my heart.
Because this girl owns every bit of me. And she has from the first day she smirked at me.
When Summer turns back to me, her smile grows larger. She doesn’t even glance at the ring, she just stands there staring at me, her irises dancing with mine and speaking a language only the two of us know.
“Yes.” She nods, tears springing up now.
“Princess, please don’t cry.” She pads closer to me, wrapping her arms around me and pressing my head to her chest. Her heart beats are loud, strong and steady, and so fucking sure. Just like I am of this—of her.
“They’re happy tears.”
I reach up, swiping a stray tear from her cheek. “I still hate them. But I’m glad you’re happy. If these were your last moments, would you go happy?”
Taking her hand in mine, I slide the ring onto her finger, loving how perfectly it suits her.
We both spend a few seconds staring at it. Admiring it—but maybe more admiring what it means.
She grips my head, rubbing her thumbs across my beard. “Yeah, but this won’t be my last moment. I’ve got too many things I want to do with you first.”
A huge grin bursts across my face and I surge up, scooping her into my arms. I carry her back toward the mattress.
“Me too, Princess. Like take you to the main house and introduce the future Mrs. Eaton. Maybe make out with you at The Spur tonight so that everyone talks about it. But first,” I toss her down onto the bed, thriving on the watery giggle that escapes her. “First, I’m going to spend the afternoon listening to you scream my name.”