Page 88 of Vows in Sin
“I know what you want, baby doll. And I’m going to give it to you.” He grips my hips, warm and punishing, fingers locked into my hipbones. I grip the table, moaning deep as he kisses a line along the belt strike.
His tongue soothes where he marked me, then drifts lower. I quake. Mouth gapes. Head throws back, eyes closing. I inhale a gasping breath as his mouth covers me.
Hot. Wet. Demanding surrender.
I cry out, loud as unrestrained, his tongue teases and devours. I grip the table for dear life, sobbing his name as I come again. He doesn’t stop until my knees can’t hold me.
Then he lifts me, cradling me in his arms, carrying me to the pile of clean blankets we keep for nights like this. He lays me down gently, stripping me slowly like I’m made of silk and glass.
I help him with his shirt—his arm never quite healed right—and then watch as he undresses completely.
“My man,” I whisper, full of awe.
He groans like those words destroy him. Then he’s inside me, rocking into me, holding me like the world might break apart if we’re not touching.
I needed this. But looking into his eyes, I realize he did too.
After, he pulls me into his chest, and I curl into him, soft and warm and full of aftershocks.
“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair.
“Love you too,” I whisper, smiling against his chest.
We lie like that—two criminals in the dark, hearts racing, hands tangled, wrapped in a safety the world can’t touch.
“What had you so wound up tonight?” he asks, dragging a finger over my breast, teasing my nipple until I shudder. “Was it all that wedding talk?”
I shake my head. “No. I was just nervous. But I’m not anymore. Thanks to you.”
He pulls back slightly. “Nervous? About what?”
I hesitate, reaching under a corner of the blankets and finding that tiny cold object that means so much to me. To us. My fingers shake as I draw it out from its hiding place.
“Hold out your hand?” I ask, a quake in my voice.
He gives me a look, but he does, with a strong hand reaching out toward me, trusting me. I slide a silver band onto his ring finger, settling it just below the second B in Tabby’s name.
He stares down at the ring, unaware. “What’s this all about?”
“A proposal,” I will myself to say. “Renan Bachman, will you marry me?”
His eyes go wide.
“I even asked Tabitha’s permission last week,” I tell him. “That’s why I was so tense at the table. I was worried she’d slip.”
He stares at the ring. Then at me.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“100%.”
“Then hell yes.”
He pulls me into him, tight. His heart pounds so loudly that I can feel it echoing through my chest. He growls, taking me in his arms, and ravishing me all over again. He kisses every inch of my face, warm lips against my skin. Whispers how much he loves me. How much he wants me to be his wife. When he comes, he holds me tight, wrapping himself all around me, heat muscle, power, protection.
“We’re getting married,” he moans, holding me as the last of him twitches inside me.
“We’re getting married,” I whisper. “Which means a wedding. Eloise will be thrilled.”
