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“W-hat?” I breathe.
“Marry me, Charlotte.” He smiles.
“You tied my engagement ring to your dick and asked me to marry you with your dick in my mouth? Spencer Jones!”
“It was either tied to that or to your butt plug.” He shrugs casually. “And I wanted a story to tell our grandkids.”
I laugh out loud as he pulls me to my feet. “You are the craziest man I know.”
Our lips meet in a kiss. “Marry me, angel.”
Our foreheads touch. “That depends…”
“On what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I stroke his dick and widen my eyes. “Things.”
His eyes dance with delight, and he grabs me r
oughly and slides the ring onto my finger. “I’m asking one more time before I fuck you unconscious. Will you marry me, Charlotte Prescott?”
I kiss his lips with a huge smile. “I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now answer the damn question.”
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” I grin.
We smile broadly at each other; this proposal is just so Spencer.
“Good. Now get on your knees and finish what you started.”
Five years later
It’s 11:00 p.m. and I’m watching my beautiful man walking around the living room with our daughter in his arms as he tries to console her. Amelia is eighteen months old, teething, and in a world of pain.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, daddy’s here.”
If you thought Spencer Jones was swoony before, you should see him with a daughter. He worships the ground she walks upon.
I’m heavily pregnant with our second child, sprawled on the sofa, defeated by exhaustion. It’s been a long week.
This teething thing is tough. We’ve had no more than three hours sleep on any given night… and it’s about to get tougher.
“Babe,” I whisper.
“Yeah, angel.” He sits down on the couch at my feet. “Look how tired mummy is,” he says to Amelia as he rubs my feet.
“I’m having contractions.”
His face falls. “What?”
I nod.
“Now?”
“Uh-huh.”
He looks at me, deadpan, and he rushes to sit on the floor beside me, watching me for a moment.
