Page 66 of Graveyard

I wake up the next morning with a plan. I text her to clear her evening, but I lie about the reason. She’s so deep into work mode, she won’t beg off for a romantic night. Instead, I tell her I have a patient I need to talk to her about and it’s urgent. She responds immediately that she’ll meet me at six.

I have the day off for once, so I go about setting my plan into motion. By six, my office is covered in roses and candles. A bottle of champagne waits in a bucket of ice. Maybe the champagne was premature. She could always say no. If she does, though, I’ll down the whole thing myself. I don’t think she’ll say no, though. We’ve been building toward this for an entire year. It’s time to make it official.

A tentative knock comes on my office door at 6:01, and I take a steadying breath.

“Come in,” I call to her.

She opens the door slowly. “Baby, why are you doing in the dark?” she asks before she steps fully inside. Once she does, she fully takes in the scene. “No, no, no,” she repeats, covering her mouth and crying. “No, Graveyard, I look horrible right now.” She covers her face. “I’m in desperate need of a manicure and a haircut. You can’t do this right now.”

I laugh and pull her into my arms, feeling her closed hands pressing into my collarbones. Her body shakes, and I know she’s crying.

“You couldn’t be more beautiful,” I whisper into her ear. “Fuck haircuts and manicures. You’re perfect.”

She pulls back and looks me in the eyes. Her face is wet with her tears.

“Why are you crying?” I ask her suspiciously. “Did you think something big and important was about to happen?” I tease. “I just thought it was time to redecorate my office.”

“Shut up,” she says, hitting my chest.

I hold her hand against me. Then I loosen my grip, dropping to my knee and pulling her hand down to me. With my free hand, I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring I bought months ago.

“Meredith De La Croix,” I say, feeling the emotion gathering in my eyes. “Will you please do me the honor of being my wife?”

She simply nods as I slip the sparkling ring onto her finger. She cries again, pressing her body against mine.

“You’re such an asshole,” she complains. “Such a sweet, thoughtful, perfect asshole.”

She reaches up to kiss me, and I lean down to meet her. I want to pop the champagne, call our friends, and ask who won the bet, but I need to attend to more important matters right now.

I smoothly move the bucket of champagne to the floor and turn us around so her back is against the desk. I didn’t exactly plan for this, but I cleared my desk earlier, just on the off-chance we could end up in this position.

I kiss her hard, guiding her body down on the desk. When I slip my fingers underneath her skirt, nothing stops me. This fucking woman. My fucking fiancée. She’ll be the death of me.

“Did you come here for a booty call?” I tease.

“You’re damn right, I did,” she groans against my mouth as my fingers explore inside of her. “I haven’t seen you in days. I didn’t think for one second you had a case to go over.”

“What if I did?” I tease her further, curling my finger in the place that makes her go weak.

“Then I would have looked over it very, very carefully,” she purrs, her back arching off the desk. “I would have been thorough and professional and made sure to cover every. Single. Inch.”

Damn, she knows how to get me hard. I’m bursting out of my pants, trying desperately to undo them with my free hand. I can’t stop touching her for a second. It’s a clumsy struggle, but I manage, pulling her to the edge of the desk and replacing my fingers with my cock.

She moans in pleasure, her entire body quaking from my touch. It’s been way too long since we connected like this. Not with the sex, but with all the emotion and love behind it. Her hand is pressed against her mouth to cover her screams of pleasure. I’m panting hard as I thrust inside her.

Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me in deep and not letting me out too far. I’m not sure she knows she’s doing it. She grips me so tightly, her legs shake from the ecstasy. She’s close, brought to the edge by my fingers. I stop moving for the briefest second so I can pull her up.

I lean down and kiss her passionately as I continue moving inside her. She moans into my mouth, her cries mixing with mine. We’re climbing up together, faster and faster until we both reach that pinnacle. She gets there first, but she brings me there quickly. She moans into my mouth, panting against me. She doesn’t untangle her legs from my waist when I finish. She doesn’t let me go.

She kisses me back with a force I’ve never experienced from her. She is bursting with joy and pleasure, and she wants to share the experience with me. She wants me to feel how she feels. She must know that I already do. That I’ve been hers from the moment her blue eyes met mine.

“Who do you think won the bet?” she asks suddenly, pulling away from me a fraction.

I laugh, the sound radiating through my chest. We are the perfect match.

“Definitely Tory,” I guess. “I think Knix bet that we wouldn’t get engaged for five years.”

“It worked for him, I guess.” She laughs. “I couldn’t have waited that long, baby,” she whispers. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What can be better than this?” I ask, resting my forehead against hers.

“I’m taking a vacation,” she says softly against my lips. “Two whole weeks.”

“And where exactly were you thinking of going?” I tease her.

“I’m definitely not leaving my bed.” She kisses me hard. “And neither are you. I’ve already put in your request. Abby helped me forge your signature.”

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