Page 94 of The Proposal
“Renn!” I yell, the one-syllable name extended to three. “Stop! I can’t take it.Fuck!”
He releases his grip and slides out from under me. I sag against the headboard, struggling to catch my breath.
His arm wraps around my front. He moves me around, laying me against the pillows. I’m a lump. Boneless.
“You seemed to like that,” he says, smirking. He wipes my juices off his face with the back of his hand. “Am I wrong?”
“Ha.” I start to move but wince. “You know I liked it, asshole.”
He puts a hand on either side of me and lowers himself until he’s hovering over me.
“I want you to remember that when you’re considering letting some other man touch you,” he says, staring me in the eyes. “There is nothing they can do that I can’t do better. Nothing they’re willing to do that I can’t outperform. They can’t make you come as hard or as often as I will. Don’t forget it.”
I don’t know if this is jealousy or a warning. Is it a playful flex at how good he gets me off? Or is it a thinly veiled attempt at staking his claim … to me?
Whatever it is, it’s hot as hell.
I grab his shoulders and lower his face to mine.
“I might forget,” I whisper against his lips. “You better show me again.”
He slides his tongue and his cock into me, making sure his point is made.
CHAPTER20
Blakely
Traffic is light. Renn seems to interpret this as a green light for action because he races through the streets of Nashville like it's his personal racetrack.
“My mom used to have this saying that went something like, ‘Better to get there late than get to your grave early.’ And that was when we had somewhere to be. The last I knew, we didn’t have anywhere to be today,” I say.
“I’m anxious.”
He zooms by an SUV, crosses two lanes, and takes an exit.
“Well, so am I now,” I say, yawning. “Do you always drive like this?”
“Only when I’m anxious.”
I wedge my elbow against the glass and prop my head on my hand.
As much as I’d love for him to slow down, I can’t deny that watching him drive is a major turn-on. It’s the command. The confidence. The way his jaw flexes and his hand grips the steering wheel. It’s subtly reminiscent of how he moves in the bedroom … and the kitchen, outdoor shower area, patio, dining area, bathroom, foyer, and on the plane coming home.
And his backward hat doesn’t hurt, either.
“Are you going to tell me what sparked this anxiety you speak of?” I ask. “Because you didn’t seem nervous until now.”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’m taking you home. That’s a lot of pressure.”
I balk.
“It is.” He turns his attention back to the road.Thankfully. “What if you don’t like it?”
I giggle. “I’m sure I’ll like it.”
“I just want you to be comfortable there. And it’s not like I had a lot of time to prepare for this since you whisked me off and married me in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, right.Sure.”
