“I could go naked? We do have the entire beach to ourselves, so technically clothing could be optional.”Although it would make it hard to hide the engagement ring I have in my pocket.
“Don’t worry. I fully plan on getting you naked on that beach.” Kylie rakes her nails over my pecs before cranking open the double white doors of our suite, showcasing the beautiful beach that's solely ours, while also blasting our room with stuffy, humid air. “But you’ll be on the bottom.”
I chuckle while shadowing her outside.
* * *
By the time we head back to our private bungalow, I’m thoroughly satisfied and exhausted. Kylie’s sexual appetite has always been impressive, but now that she’s pregnant, she’s even more demanding—and I fucking love it.
“I thought you said you weren’t going swimming?” Kylie questions as we walk hand in hand into the blissful comfort of our air-conditioned bungalow.
I had no intentions of swimming, but have you ever been to Fiji? It’s fuckin’ hot. I’ve been guzzling down water all day just to stay hydrated. I swear someone inserted a leaking tap into my armpit—that’s how much I’m sweating.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath when it dawns on me I went swimming with Kylie’s engagement ring in my pocket.
When my hands dart into the pockets of my board shorts, I groan loudly. My pockets are empty.
“You okay?” Kylie questions, concerned.
No.I swallow a brick in my throat before jerking up my chin. “Yep!”
Her ring cost me a fucking fortune. The jeweler said you're supposed to spend ten percent of your yearly salary. I don’t know if he was full of shit or not, but forever wanting to be better than anyone else, I jacked it up to twenty percent. Between you and me, that’s a fuck ton of money.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kylie bridges the gap between us. “Because you don’t look very well.”
I’m not surprised. I feel sick. How could I have been so stupid to go swimming with her ring in my shorts? You’d think I’d feel a diamond of that size falling out of my pocket.
Kylie places her hand on my cheek, checking if I have a fever. I don’t have a fever. I’m just fuming at my own stupidity. When she flips her hand over, coolness encroaches my cheeks.Maybe I do have a fever?
After pulling her hand away, Kylie makes a face. “Maybe you’re not sick; perhaps you’re scared?”
My eyes roll. I’m not scared of anything except spiders. Those hairy-legged bastards are gross. And I’m petrified of losing Kylie. I couldn’t live without her. People think I’m overreacting, but they don’t know the hell I went through that week waiting for Kylie’s results. I couldn’t eat or sleep because I was so worried I was about to lose her.
To lessen my panic, I now make Kylie have monthly blood tests. That way, if her blood count rises by even the slightest increment, additional tests can be ordered. Kylie thinks I’m a worrywart, but she complies with my demands just to give me peace of mind.
When my eyes turn to Kylie’s, I sigh loudly. The ring I’m panicked about is sitting exactly where it belongs—on her ring finger that she’s wiggling in front of my face. My wild heart rate decelerates just from seeing the ring that cost me more than my entire loft. Thank fuck she found it.
“It fell out of your pocket before we went to the beach.”
When she giggles, I glare at her. I’m glad she can see the humor in the situation. I can’t. I’m on the verge of a fucking heart attack.
Hold on just one dang minute. Since she’s already wearing my ring, do I still need to propose?
Kylie must be able to read my thoughts. “Get on your knees, Slater.”
I drop to the ground and crawl toward her, like a slave begging his master for forgiveness. I’ve been practicing the perfect grovel the past few months, just in case I need it during our marriage. I’m far from perfect, but Kylie assures me she loves me for me, so I’ll continue being who I am. That means the occasional bout of groveling will be required at some stage in the future.
Once I reach her feet, I peer up at her, leaning sideways so I can see her face past her seven-month-pregnant belly. I raise myself onto my knees and end up face-to-face with her well-rounded tummy. I love her belly—seriously I do—but just like Charlie, the baby and I have an agreement. It’s not to move at any stage during sexual activities. If he or she complies with my request, I supply it with an unlimited amount of glazed jam donuts, which Kylie assures me the baby loves. Thankfully, our agreement is working well for both parties at this stage.
I place a quick peck on Kylie’s belly before raising my eyes. Here it is, right here and right now, four words I assumed would never seep from my lips. “Will you—”
“Yes!” she squeals before I even get the whole question out.
And everyone says I’m the impatient one.
Epilogue
Slater
