Chapter 13 #2
His gaze drops, clocking the nerves I’m trying to hide.
I see the silent question pulling taut between his brows.
Before he can ask if I’m second guessing this, I lift his shirt and he helps me pull it off.
Lit only by the ambient glow of the string lights, all his shadows and hard edges are sharpened, looking even more tempting than usual.
And he’s all mine. I can’t figure out how I swindled my way into this life.
His chin dips as he watches me run my hands along his abs, tracing behind the elastic band of his underwear under his jeans.
He unzips my dress and I slip out of the straps, letting it fall to my feet. I’m wearing nothing underneath.
We’ve been in various states of undress around each other before, yet doing this now feels different. And it’s not about the sex, but the magic word that prompted it. He loves me. I love him. I have never felt so safe.
“You’re sure?” He presses this question just beneath my ear, then kisses down to my collar bone, hands pressing to the small of my back.
“Absolutely positive,” I gasp as his teeth graze my throat.
He walks me back until I hit the edge of the mattress and I fall back against it, the sweet smell of roses wafting around me, and at first it feels like any other night together.
But this time, we drop our love confessions like bread crumbs so we can always find our way back to them.
Whispered to my heart rate thumping between my breasts, panted in his ear as his hand slips between my thighs and teases me slowly, punctuated with a row of kisses down my stomach, desperately moaned as he makes me come with his mouth between my legs, and echoed between us as he looks down at me, arms braced beside my head, before he presses inside me.
I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you.
I suck in a sharp breath, nails digging into his shoulders as I adjust to the sting of the unfamiliar pressure.
“You okay?” he asks, stilling. “Does it hurt?”
“A little,” I say on an exhale.
“You’re tense.”
“Just nerves,” I admit. I’ve never done this before. What if I do something wrong?
So much affection draws up the corner of his mouth, I feel the warmth down to my toes. “You have no reason to be nervous. I’ve got you, okay?”
The way he says it, the way he’s looking so deeply into my eyes, makes me believe it to be undeniably true. I nod.
He strokes his thumb across my cheek. “Now try and relax for me, sweetheart. It’ll feel better if you do.”
I consciously loosen all my rigid muscles, taking a steadying breath.
He’s got me. When I exhale, he moves again—deeper, which I didn’t realize was possible—and my body arches up to meet him as I moan.
Oh. Much better. He must feel it too, see it written on my face, because he doesn’t ask how I’m feeling before he thrusts into me again, and a sound, almost like a whimper, breaks off in his throat.
He keeps his cadence slow and controlled—the focused pinch of his brows says this restraint is all for me—and I do my best to match each measured movement.
“You feel so—” He pants, eyes fluttering shut as he swallows. He drops his mouth, presses his next words to my throat. “So incredible.”
“I’m doing okay?” I manage to ask breathlessly, hands tangling in his hair, holding him as tight to me as I possibly can.
His damp lip snags on my skin as he says, “You’re doing so fucking good, Winnie.” I feel his smile, the way his cheek lifts against my neck, and it tops up the thrill I’m already drunk off of.
My ankles lock behind his back, urging him in closer as my hips roll up to meet his, and he moans. It sparks desire low in my belly; I’m desperate to make him do it again. I want to drive him wild.
My teeth catch the first inch of skin I can reach, and I tug on his earlobe, then kiss down his jaw.
His lips finds mine, greedy and determined as his tongue slips against mine, and our bodies crash together harder, faster, more frenzied.
I draw my nails down his back, etching my pleasure along his spine, and he moans into my open mouth.
I drink up every last vibration as our teeth knock together.
It’s sweaty and wet and uncontrolled and intense in such a beautiful way, I can’t even tell that we’re two separate people anymore. He is me and I am him and all we are is this want, this need, pulsing between us.
He pants that he’s about to come and I nod, unable to speak from the overwhelm of it all.
Pulling me tight, he drops his head, nose pushing up against my jaw as his body stutters, muscles going rigid, then relaxing all at once.
His weight collapses on me, breathing still ragged as I stroke his hair.
I’m already addicted to holding him while he falls apart.
He finally moves, kissing my collar bone. “I love you, Winnie,” he rasps, and I melt all over again, the happiest tears I’ve ever known beading along my lashes.
“I love you too, Flower Boy.”
It’s everything I never imagined for myself. It’s so perfect, guilt gnaws in my stomach. Who am I to deserve something so good?
I am bliss incarnate as Charlie drags his fingers up and down my side, cradling me against his chest.
“What if we do it?” he murmurs, sounding distant, like he’s accidentally said a thought out loud.
A ridiculous little giggle slips out. “I was hoping we could get more than one in tonight.”
“No, I meant—” A breath lofts in his chest, his volume dropping as he says, “Get married.”
My eyes flare, my heart skipping a beat. I shoot up on my elbow and look at him. “What?”
His grin is soft and loopy. “You think that’s insane, don’t you?”
“I—I . . .” My gut pings with something I don’t expect at all: I don’t think that’s insane.
His hand slips around the back of my neck, looking me deep in my eyes as he says, “I love you. I can’t imagine living without you.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.
You’re sharp and witty and you have this softness beneath it all that I think, honest to god, I’m addicted to.
This, what we have, is what I’ve been looking for. ”
I’d never even considered looking for something like this before—it never felt like it was in the cards for someone like me. I was fortunate it barged right into my dressing room instead.
But maybe this is my chance to rewrite everything.
To spend forever with someone I couldn’t have even imagined, had I tried.
A man who loves me. A man who’s my best friend.
A man I see a different sort of future with than the place I came from.
To erase the last name that cuts like a scar and replace it with something sparkling.
A marriage that’s more than just obligation and security.
I rake my gaze over the sight of our tangled bodies, then pin it back to his face. This is exactly how I want my forever to look.
I sink my teeth into the bottom curve of my grin. He expects me to say no, to tell him he’s being ridiculous, lost in the post-sex glow. But I love throwing him curve balls.
I love how effortlessly he catches them even more.
I splay my hand across his chest, anchoring against his heart rate. “Marry me, Charlie. And yes, I am so incredibly serious when I say that.”
He gapes at me, his brain buffering to process what I said.
Tightening his grip around my wrists, he flips us so he’s hovering over me.
“Oh no you don’t. I’m not letting you get away with this again.
” His face searches mine for any last doubts.
“Jesus,” he hisses. “I didn’t think you’d . . . Hold on.”
He rolls off me, and rustles the plastic wrapped around the singular untouched bouquet on his dresser.
I push up on my elbows as he turns, holding the delicate pink ribbon that was tied around the stems in his hand.
I sit up, both of us laughing like we can’t believe this is real.
He drops to one knee to the side of the bed, still tying the ribbon in a knot, still swallowing his nervous laughter.
“Marry me, Winnie.”
I cup the side of his cheek. “You think this is all some kind of big joke?”
He bites down on the bottom of his grin and shakes his head. “This is possibly the most serious I’ve ever been about anything in my whole life.” Throat rolling, an intensity settles in his eyes and sobers his tone. “Winona Jean Halbach, will you marry me?”
I’m no longer tethered by gravity. I could listen to that on perpetual loop. My fingers push into his hair. “This is stupid.”
“Completely idiotic.”
I scrunch my nose. “I think I just want to be friends.”
He huffs an exasperated laugh. “And I really desperately want to marry you, woman.”
“All right.” I glance at his ribbon ring. “Let’s do it.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
I snort. “As if I didn’t ask you first.”
“No way in hell am I letting you claim this one.” His hands shake the slightest bit as he slides the ribbon on my ring finger. Damn near a perfect fit. When it’s seated in place, the tails of the ribbon flowing over the back of my palm, he looks up at me and our eyes meet.
“I love you,” I murmur, before leaning in for a kiss.
“I’m really looking forward to hearing that for the rest of forever.”
His parents aren’t as sold on our engagement as we are.
Katherine and George Rosenhoth are traditionalists in that they don’t think their son should be marrying a girl he’s known for nine months, without even a real diamond to show for it, before he’s even graduated college and started a career.
Not to mention the fact he didn’t even ask my father for my hand.
As I stab the prongs of my fork into a green bean at their dining table, I hold my tongue and keep from slipping the truth: if Charlie did ask my dad for permission to marry me, my dad would probably laugh in his face and say, You can have her, and hey, you want to take her mom too, while you’re at it?
“It’s rather quick,” Katherine says, her smile a well-worn mask.