the time. I figured she’d let me know if and when she’s ready. If she’s never ready, I’d come to terms with it eventually. A punishment for not making her mine forever when we were eighteen. You won’t see me taking a mile when given an inch…quite the opposite.
“Are you worried about what the good people of Virginia Beach will think?” I ask, starting to pull at the white wife-beater that’s tucked in my pants.
Morg holds out a hand to stop me. “Keep your clothes on for a little longer. I won’t be able to get this out otherwise.” Her tone is brisk.
I let the shirt go and leave my arms hanging by my sides, grinning so wide it hurts. “The floor is yours,” I reply.
“God forgive me,” she whispers to the ceiling before pulling her dress over her head. My confusion morphs into lust when I see her standing before me in a matching bra and panty set. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her naked due to our schedules and her father’s visit. My dick is celebrating, tenting my pants immediately.
I make a move to approach, but she shakes her head to thwart me.
“Don’t pull this shit right now, Morg.” The dominant act hasn’t been in our bedroom unless I’ve asked for it. Right now, I want nothing to do with it. I want to make love to her while watching her perky tits bounce my S around. Yes, that’s what I want.
“Do you remember when you told me that you were worried that I would never fully be yours?”
I nod, eyes narrowed. I keep my gaze trained on her face, but my stomach is roiling with unease. “I remember,” I admit. It was a hard conversation—one I had to open up and expose my soul for. I’ll never forget it.
“I don’t want you to feel that way. Never for a second should you feel that I’m not yours. You’re mine, always, right?” Her voice quavers and I have the compelling need to comfort her. To take her in my arms and never let her go.
“Morg. You’re mine. All. Mine. Forever.”
She takes one hesitant step toward me. Then another. My heart rate increases. When she stops about two feet away from me, she tucks two thumbs into her panties and slides them down her legs. Unsure if I have touching privileges yet, I continue gazing into her endless, gray eyes.
“This is the strongest promise I could think of,” she rasps. I let my gaze flick down. Her S tattoo is gone. Well, it’s not gone, it’s still there, except now it says my name, Steven. I hit my knees in front of her to look at it more closely—to make sure it doesn’t wipe off. From this distance, I smell her. I want her. She’s mine. My name is on her body as proof.
I feel her hands on the top of my head. “Happy Birthday?”
I kiss the red skin around the tattoo. It’s not huge or ostentatious, but the meaning behind it is so large that it could swallow the Earth whole. Splaying my hands on her firm, bare ass I pull her closer to me and I kiss her wet pussy. She responds by moving her legs further apart. A breathy moan escapes her lips. “Wait, Steven. Wait,” she gasps.
I look up, but keep my mouth glued right where I want it, tongue lashing her clit. Her scent makes my head spin. Like when I’m working it’s a one-stop shop for a one-track mind.
Resting her hands on both sides of my head, her gaze locks on mine. I remove my lips from her and give her my full attention. “Marry me, Steven Warner. Will you marry me?”
I pray that shock doesn’t cross my face. I’ve been trained to control my features in hostile situations. I know how to give nothing away. Torture me to an inch of my bloody death and I’ll remain emotionless to the naked eye. Right now, though, with every emotion burning my heart like a match, I know she sees it all. She sees how much I love her. How much I need her. She sees my answer written all over my face.
Her full lips pull into a beatific smile. “That’s a yes?” she asks, kneeling down to meet me at eye level. I keep my hands on her, clasping my arms around her soft back. Her hair sweeps across the backs of my hands.
She kisses me softly once. It gives me