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“He kind of deserves it,” Charlotte said.
“Tell me what he did, and I’ll rip his fucking head off.”
“Not now. I want now to be beautiful,” Charlotte whispered, staring up at him. “I only want us to exist.”
“Then let us run drunkenly through the night, together,” Quentin said, rushing her toward a side bar, with exposed brick walls and a tattooed bartender who didn’t bother them except to grunt at them, asking what they wanted. They cozied up in the corner, against the wall, whispering secrets into one another’s ears and imagining the future they would build together.
“I want you to go on tour with me next year,” Quentin told her, his eyes flashing.
“What about Morgan?” Charlotte asked.
“She can be around for bits of it, especially in the late spring and early summer,” Quentin said. “The tour will begin in March and go until around July. We’ll go all around the world. Belgium. France. Germany.”
“Morgan would absolutely adore London,” Charlotte whispered. “All the music we could see—“
“She would die for it,” Quentin agreed. “When I went on tour before, as a younger man, all I wanted to do was hop from place to place, see the women, do their drugs. But this time—it would be different. We’d have each other. And maybe we could even get married in Paris.”
“The most romantic place in the world,” Charlotte murmured, her eyes flashing.
“And I only want you and Morgan to be there with me,” Quentin affirmed.
After several more drinks, the couple grew drunk, but still simmering with anticipation for the coming years of their life. They hailed a taxi on the way back, leaping into the sticky seats and bringing their lips together, kissing as the taxi whisked them through the swirling lights of the city. Charlotte tasted the tang of alcohol on his tongue; she reveled in the strength of his hands as they gripped her, holding her tight.
Back at the penthouse, Quentin thrust Charlotte on top of their bed, watching her breasts as she bounced. She giggled, her eyes linking with his. But Quentin wasn’t messing around. He reached forward, slicing her dress down the center to reveal her naked body beneath—she hadn’t bothered to wear underwear to the bar. Using his tongue, he slid a line from her naval all the way up to her neck. His tongue sent shivers down her spine, making her nipples rock-hard.
With a rapid motion, Charlotte reached forward, unbuckling his belt and whipping out the width of him, which was red, pulsing, veiny to the touch. She slid the skin upward, before leaning down and wrapping her mouth around his cock. She slipped her tongue around the edge of it, closing her eyes with the pleasure of holding the incredible width and length of it in her mouth. Deep throating it, she felt Quentin’s moan grumble throughout his entire body.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispered. “This is exactly what I want. For the rest of my life.”
They spent the rest of the night fucking, with Quentin whipping her around, choosing dominance and then choosing gentleness, causing her to cry out with multiple orgasms. In the light of the morning, they collapsed in one another’s arms, with Charlotte’s ring still sparkling on her hand.
Charlotte, Quentin, and Morgan celebrated the engagement a few days later, in their natural environment: their home, with hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill. As she grilled, Charlotte remembered that Morgan had been a vegetarian just the year before. Morgan was changing constantly, rotating her personality, becoming who she was meant to be. And Charlotte would have a hand in helping her do that, from now on. It chilled her.
Quentin spread a bit of ketchup across the hot dog, sliding it toward his daughter. He crossed his hands over his lap, then uncrossed them, looking vaguely nervous. “Morgan,” he said. “Charlotte and I have something we want to say to you.”
“You’re pregnant,” Morgan said, taking a large bite of her hot dog. “I knew it.”
“Ha. Not so,” Charlotte said, laughing. She wasn’t sure whether to take this as a put-down. Was she developing a beer gut from these club nights? She couldn’t care less. She was too happy.
“We’re getting married,” Quentin said. “And we’re going on tour together, starting in March. We want you to be there for as much of it as you can.”
Morgan leaped up, jumping into Charlotte’s arms. “Are you flipping serious!” she cried. “This is amazing news. Amazing! Do you think I could be your bridesmaid?”
