Page 90 of A Very Happy Easter

“I can pull out, but that isn’t one hundred percent safe.”

“I don’t care.”

“You could end up pregnant.”

Our gazes locked.

“Good.”

“Ah, fuck.” Heath held his cock, angling it for me to take. “Edie, you’d better be really damn sure about this.”

“I am. I’m greedy, and I’m selfish, and I want it all. You, a baby, us, forever.”

“Then take it.”

So I did, every last inch, and then I shifted my hips to get used to his size. The apprehension was gone, and I felt the ravenous hunger for this man that followed. We moved in sync, my hips grinding against his as we kissed and cursed and did whatever we needed to find the pleasure we sought.

“This is going to be messy,” I whispered.

“So fucking messy, in all the best ways. I love you, Edie Renner.”

“I love you too.”

My walls clenched as the fireworks hit, and I cried out as Heath gritted his teeth.

“Last chance, Edie. I’m going to come.”

I stayed exactly where I was, gripping his shoulders as his cock jerked inside me. Maybe it would take a while to get pregnant, but I’d sure as hell have fun trying. Thirteen years, and all was finally right with the world.

I leaned my forehead against his. “Wow, that was… I don’t even know where to start. I mean, what happens now? We just carry on with the once-a-month thing? Or will we see each other more often? What do we tell people? I’ll carry on paying your rent, of course, but?—”

“For fuck’s sake, get your lawyer to draw up the mother of all prenups and marry me.”

I froze. Did Heath just…?

“You want…you want my lawyer to marry you?”

“Yeah, he looks hot in a suit.”

“Bad luck. I’m eighty percent sure he’s married already.”

“Edie…”

“Give me a minute. I’m processing. Okay… What?”

“Edith Kennedy-Renner-Carlisle has a nice ring to it. Something I always wondered—at what point do posh people stop double-barrelling surnames? Theoretically, it could go on forever.”

“I went to school with a Sarah-Louise Smyth-Klein-Williams-Bennett.”

“That sounds like a law firm.”

“Funnily enough, she did go on to become a barrister.”

“I bet the court reporter loves her. Hate to change the subject here, but I did just—in a very roundabout and inappropriate way—ask you to be my wife.”

“Yes, and believe me, I’m freaking out internally.”

“Being Mrs. Whatever would be that bad?”

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