The space between us reduces to practically nothing, and he seizes the opportunity to go on. “If you want me to be jealous, you’re going to have to try harder because if I have this.” He pauses, pointing to my chest, just above my heart. “Then I have nothing to be jealous of. But something tells me you didn’t come here to tell me you’ll be dancing again.”
“No, I came here because you didn’t give me a choice,” I remind him.
His grin widens just as his hand skims my chin, pulling it forward so our lips brush against each other’s. “You, mi amor, always have a choice. You are not only beautiful, but you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. Not to mention fiercely stubborn, if you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be. The question is, doyouwantme?”
My pulse begins to ricochet through my body. The air becomes trapped in my lungs, unable to speak.
Tears begin to gather in my eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
I don’t know how to respond because I don’t know what’s wrong…with me.
I’m not used to feeling like this.
I know what I want to say. What I have to tell him so he knows he’s not just putting himself out on a limb for nothing, but for some reason it’s not coming out. I’ve spent so many years having to second-guess myself. Of having to edit myself, my wants, my desires, all of it, before so much as a single syllable left my mouth, that it has me feeling stuck. Usually this is where a sarcastic jab or something will come out of my mouth to deflect and avoid the feelings I’m experiencing. But I don’t want to do that. Not with him.
“Cariño?” He strokes my chin, trying to snap me from my daze, but if anything, I become more trapped in my head. “Talk to me. If you don’t want me then tell me, it’s okay.”
Finally, I snap to with a bit more humor than the situation warrants, but I can only be who I am. “Do you realize how sexy you are? I’d be a fool not to want a piece of all you have to offer.”
My words fall to the wayside, not giving me the reaction from him I was hoping for.
“I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about if you want me beyond how many times I can get you to moan my name. If that’s what you want, I can be that for you. But if you want –or need– more, tell me.”
He’s no longer towering over me like he usually does.
Everything is happening so fast, yet it feels like it’s playing out in slow motion.
I peer down and see the hem of his gray shorts are nearing the ground as he’s descending to his knees.
“What are you doing?” I barely get the words out of my mouth.
He latches onto my thighs, kneading them in his grip with a tenderness that I was not expecting. It’s not possessive but it’s also not giving any indication that he wants to let me go.
“Looking like the biggest idiot on the planet, but I don’t care.”
Why am I making this so damn difficult when he’s literally on his knees for me?
“You’re not an idiot, I am,” I breathe out.
“Hush now,” he whispers, peering up at me. “Don’t talk about my wife that way.”
“Am I?”
He nods his head enthusiastically and for some reason his level of enthusiasm feels like an aphrodisiac. I don’t know what years of being with assholes has done to alter my brain, but here I am, having this perfect —inside and out— man, on his knees for me, and I’m questioning if I deserve to feel the way he’s making me feel.
“Your last name is already mine. Just tell me you want to keep it that way. You don’t have to say anything else if it makes you uncomfortable. But please, I’m dying over here. I just need to know that I’m not crazy and that you feel the same way about me that I feel for you.”
I fall to my knees, meeting him eye to eye. “Oh, trust me, you’re as crazy as it gets, wanting to be my husband.”
“I’d be crazynotto want to be your husband.”
“Eh, the jury is out on the that one.”
He silences my opportunity to say anything else with a kiss. A kiss that speaks every serious notion that I can’t seem to get out on my own.
I feel so moved. I don’t know what to say.
