Gunnar A Motorcycle Club Romance - Nina Levine Page 0,102
slides closer to me and takes hold of my hand. “I like it when you give me your favourites.”
“I’ll be fucking honest, and it’s not just because I’m a horny fucking bastard, but one of my favourite favourites is you sitting in my lap. Doesn’t matter if I’m fucking you or not, I fucking like you there and I wish you were there right fucking now.”
She moves before I’ve even finished talking, giving me what I want. As her hand slips around my neck, she says, “Do you want to know one of my favourites?”
“I wanna know all your favourites, baby.”
She bites her lip as she gives me one of those sexy smiles of hers I love. “Coming home to you every night. Cooking dinner with you every night. Laughing with you every night. Sleeping in your arms every night.” She presses her lips to mine and kisses me. It’s slow and it’s filled with promises I’m yet to know. But I know for damn sure that Chelsea will make good on all those promises during our lifetime. When she drags her lips from mine, she says, “I want 27000 more nights with you. And I want my most favourite favourite to be the fact you are my husband.” She pauses. “Will you marry me, Mason Blaise?”
Fuck. Me.
I fucking love this woman.
Tightening my hold on her, I say, “I would marry you right fucking now if I could, because my favourite favourite will be growing old with you. I don’t know how the fuck you figure the 27000 nights, but I fucking need every one of them with you.”
Her lips are back on mine and with the way she kisses me, I should be given a fucking medal for not tearing her fucking dress off and slamming my dick inside her right fucking now.
It turns out, though, that my bride-to-be is as horny as her future husband, and before I know what the fuck’s happening, she’s got my jeans undone and my dick in her hand while trying to wiggle her dress up.
“Maybe next fucking time you decide you wanna propose to me in the back of a limo, you could plan ahead and wear a dress that’s not so fucking tight,” I say as I yank it up.
“You are so fucking grumbly sometimes,” she says, dragging my mouth back to hers.
I take hold of her ass as she sits on my dick.
“Oh God,” she says, letting my lips go again. “Fuck, you feel so good.” Her fingers dig into my biceps as she starts fucking me.
“You’re telling me I get to fuck you at least 27000 more times?”
“Well, that depends on whether you can still get it up at one hundred, because that math roughly figures us living until then.”
I grin. “Give me some fucking credit, Mayfair. I’ll still be getting it up then.”
“Maybe we should get extra in while you’re younger, just to be sure.”
I thrust harder into her. “Maybe you should have some fucking faith in your husband.”
“Oh, fuck,” she moans as I take control of this fuck. “You’re not my husband yet.”
“I don’t give a fuck if it’s not official. Calling myself that is my new fucking favourite.”
She wraps her arms around me and squeezes her cunt around my dick as she says, “I fucking love to hear your favourites, but not while you’re fucking me. Can you finish the damn job and then tell me all your fucking favourites?”
“Fuck your mouth is filthy these days,” I mutter before getting the damn job done.
After we come, she kisses me slowly. Lazily. So damn sexily. Threading her fingers through my hair, exactly how I fucking love it, she says, “I wasn’t going to propose until after dinner.”
I wrap my arms around her. “What happened?”
She smiles. “You happened. You always happen. I lose my mind when I’m with you. In all the best ways.”
“Can I ask now where you’re taking me for dinner?”
She continues with her fingers in my hair. “I booked the room in the hotel where this all started.”
“The room we got trapped in?”
“Yes. I hired a caterer to make your favourite food and I rented a hotel room for the night.”
“You fucking love me.”
She kisses me again before saying, “Yeah, baby, I fucking do.” She pauses. “Tell me.”
I bring my lips to hers and show her what she wants to hear.
I show her the love I feel so fucking deeply I might drown in it one day.