Chapter 47 #2
Her pussy spasms when I say her full name. I knew she was full of shit when she constantly corrected me.
I sink in slowly, letting her adjust to the deeper angle. She strains and pulls to get free of my grip on her wrists, but she never asks me to let go. She has to let go, to trust me enough to get her there while she has limited autonomy. In this position, all she can do is take.
I keep the pace steady, filling her with even, slow shoves.
And suddenly, it’s not enough. I’m literally inside of her, and it’s not enough contact.
I let go of her wrists and hike her left leg up on the bed, adjusting us until she’s on the mattress entirely instead of only partway.
I lie down on top of her, draping her with my body, ensuring she can feel my weight but holding some with my arms so I’m not crushing her.
Our bodies are lined up perfectly, my mouth right next to her ear.
“You good, baby?”
“So good,” she moans, reaching up and grabbing a pillow. “I’m—you feel so fucking good.”
I run my hand along her arm until I find hers, gripping it instead of her wrist as my hips continue to roll in steady motions. My other hand slides under us and between Rory’s thighs, circling her clit. She stiffens, then grinds against my fingers, seeking more.
I can tell she’s about to come, so I pinch the nub of nerves, letting go when her inner muscles clench around my cock. I can’t stop the rush of cum. My dick jerks, and my balls tingle, that addictive high hitting.
And for the first time, I’m not relieved my sperm are shooting blanks. I’m thinking, What if I can’t have kids? What if I never get to see Rory pregnant? What if I never get to meet a little person who has her hair and eyes and intellect and my propensity to make jokes?
I just told Rory I’d give her anything she wanted. And what if I … can’t? Not because I don’t want to, but because I physically can’t. All because of stupid shit I did in the past and an impulsive decision back when purposefully trying to get a girl pregnant sounded like a ludicrous concept.
Rory is relaxed and pliant under me, a sated smile on her face as she lies on the comforter.
I pull out, grabbing a tissue off the bedside table to wipe the white liquid dribbling from her pussy, then head into the bathroom. Toss the crumpled tissue in the trash and clutch the counter surrounding the sink.
“Flynn?”
I glance up in the mirror, watching Rory appear in the doorway. She’s put a T-shirt on—my Knicks one—and she hasn’t had time to go into my room, so she must have stolen it out of the laundry. If I wasn’t currently spiraling, I’d tease her about it.
I manage a smile. “I’m fine. You wore me out.”
She crosses her arms, resting her head and shoulder against the doorframe. “No, I didn’t.”
I swallow and turn, forcing myself to hold eye contact. “I, uh, I got a vasectomy.”
Twin lines appear between her blue eyes. “I know. You told me.”
“When I made that decision, it didn’t occur to me, one day, that choice might affect someone else. Might affect you.”
Understanding washes over her face. “Flynn …”
“It should be reversible. I should be able to have kids. But I might … not, and if that is important to you, it’s something to … consider.”
She straightens, crossing the tiled floor.
“I’ve spent the past nineteen years in school to become an attorney.
I won’t know if I’m a licensed lawyer until the bar results release next month.
I’ve barely started my career. There’s so much I want to do …
and maybe, one day, having kids will be a part of that plan.
But I—I don’t have a plan right now. There’s nothing that has to happen, nothing that I’m trying to accomplish as efficiently as possible.
I thought I’d hate that uncertainty, that lack of goal, but I don’t.
I’ll figure it out. I’ve always figured it out.
If you want to reverse the procedure, if you want to talk about kids one day, that’s a conversation we can have.
If you don’t, that’s a different conversation. Not a deal-breaker.”
I exhale. “I’m scared of letting you down. Of not being enough.”
“You’re—”
“Let me finish, Rory. I want to live together. I want to make dinner every night and talk about our cases and eat the lumpy oatmeal you cook on my way to work.”
She grimaces. “I follow the recipe exactly—”
“Rory.”
She mimes zipping her lips shut. “Sorry.”
“You know me. You know all the shit with my dad and what happened to Penn and how I got my concussions. And it’s your decision if—”
“I overlook your flaws?”
“I’m being serious.”
“I know.” She loops her arms over my shoulders.
“And I’m realizing that, somehow, I did way too good of a job of convincing you that I don’t think you’re the sexiest, smartest guy I’ve ever met.
Every time you walk into a room or I hear your voice, I get these crazy flutters in my chest. I’m not sure why you fell in love with me, but I’m never going to try to talk you out of it.
And the only way you’ll talk me out of it is if you convince me you didn’t mean everything you said earlier about loving me and wanting me and all this being real. ”
“I meant it.” My voice comes out hoarse.
“Then kiss me and carry me back to bed.”
I kiss her, then ask, “Now you want to be carried? What happened to put me down?”
She shrugs a shoulder. More blonde hair spills across my blue shirt. “Turns out, I like you taking care of me. Because I’m not scared you’ll let me down. Ever.”
I scoop her up and walk out of the bathroom. “This is good practice anyway.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “For what?”
“Isn’t this the big wedding-night move?”
“I guess, but we’re not actually engaged.”
“Says who?”
“Uh, you?”
I set her down on the mattress, taking a seat on the edge beside her. “I didn’t say that.”
“It was strongly implied by your reaction on Sunday.”
“Well, you sort of commandeered the moment. I hadn’t had a chance to fly you to Paris and kneel on a bed of peanut shells, then toast to our future with pickle juice.”
She snorts. “Sounds romantic.”
“I know you, Florence. I know you would hate every second of a showy proposal, then go into anaphylactic shock. Which is why I was planning to give you the ring I bought here, in our home, with Finch as the only witness, then celebrate at dinner with your family.”
“You bought a ring?” she whispers.
I nod. “Yesterday. I’d been putting it off before, and I figured out—well, Perry helped me figure out—why.”
“Perry? Your cousin? You talked to him?”
“Yeah. I talked to him. And it wasn’t incredibly awkward, so that was a nice change. I needed advice, and Kit … well, Kit wasn’t an option.”
“Is everything okay between you two?” Rory asks quietly.
“Yeah. We just—he was confused why I didn’t tell you about the foundation.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the foundation?”
I exhale. “I didn’t want you to agree to pretend for some noble, charitable purpose. I wanted you to agree to it for … me.”
Rory sits up, resting her chin on my shoulder. “I did since my dad was the one who told me about the noble, charitable purpose.”
I smile. “I know. I must be awfully charming.”
“And modest.”
“I want to help with the foundation.”
“I’d love that,” I say.
We smile at each other.
“Can I see the ring?”
“There’s no statute of limitations on it or anything. We can wait—”
Rory shoves my shoulder, then lies back down. “Go get it, Flynn.”
I stand. “So fucking bossy.”
“You like it,” she calls after me.
“So do you, Florence.” I pause in the doorway, turning to study her sprawled on the mattress, smiling. “Meet me in the living room.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I thought we were already engaged?”
“As lovely as you made my fake proposal last weekend sound, we’re doing things for real now. So you can tell—”
“I’m not telling anyone anything.” Rory slides off the mattress, adjusting my shirt around her thighs. “It’s none of their business. But if you insist on being romantic, I’m not going to argue.”
“That’s a first,” I tease as she passes me.
Rory walks backward for a few steps to ensure I see her eye roll. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“I am,” I agree emphatically.
The exasperation in her expression fades as she continues down the hallway. “Hurry up, Flynn.”
“You sure you don’t need more time to think about your answer?” I say it lightly, but I’m truly asking.
I’m ready for this step. I bought a ring because I wanted to, not because Rory announced we were engaged.
I never asked her how she wanted me to propose because it felt like too sacred a moment.
Because I wanted to ask her to marry me like this, in our home, just the two of us. It couldn’t be farther from an act.
“I’ve never been so sure about anything.”
We share another smile before Rory disappears into the living room.
I head into my (former) bedroom to grab her engagement ring out of the table Byron gave me.