Page 74 of Red Flags Only

“Nope,” she replies. “You’ll have to tell me again tomorrow. Probably the next day too.” She smiles. “Andthe next. I’m very forgetful.”

I puff a laugh and dig my hand into her hair, lifting her head to face me.

Her eyes are open, happy and mischievous. “I guess you won’t remember this either then, huh?” I ask.

Confusion sparks in her irises, and I strike.

My lips hit hers gently – cautiously – then harder as she responds, moaning a vicious approval. Her hands slide up my chest to my neck, dipping into my hair before they caress my shoulders. They continue their journey, restless as our mouths meet again and again, each kiss better than the last.

“I love you,” I pant against her lips when we part for air. “I’m in love with you.”

She presses into me, forgoing air for pleasure until we can no longer.

“I love you, too,” she gasps. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Tears nip at my eyes, so I nip at her lip. “Helplessly?” I ask.

“Helplessly,” she confirms, trailing her kisses to my jaw.

I throw my head back and groan.

“Powerlessly?” she asks, tongue torturing me more than her outfit ever could.

“Powerlessly,” I agree, breathless. “Come here.”

She does, my Lyra, so perfect. So sweet.

Our mouths fit together as if they were never meant to be apart, and when we do finally tear away, the separation feels foreign and wrong.

“Marry me?” I puff. “Tomorrow?”

She shakes her head, and I growl.

“Yes,” I tell her. “Tomorrow.”

“Flag Day,” she counteroffers, breathy. “Romantic.”

Well. I can’t argue with that.

My lungs half-recovered, I decide that’s good enough and bring her mouth back down to mine.

The next time we resurface, I wonder aloud, “Do you think this will help my writing?”

She laughs, rubbing her nose against mine. “Oh, yes,” she answers. “Without a doubt.”

This time she kisses me, tongue against tongue and hands roving, putting all thought of work miles from my mind.

The sun comes up before we’re satisfied, so we kiss through that, too, whispering love letters and promises to each other in the moments where our lungs protest.

It’s a perfect night. A perfect morning.

A perfect woman.

A perfect love.

Epilogue

Oooo, wow, an epilogue!

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