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Because I don’t have one. The overwhelming intensity of how I feel around Dylan, the weird idea that without him, I’m only part of myself continues and still frightens me. I have no doubt about Dylan’s feelings, no worry he’ll return to his rock star ways and grow bored of me. We fought hard enough to be where we are now—for each other, for a new life.
I spent five years with somebody else who never asked me to marry him. At the time, marriage was all I wanted, and nowadays I know why. I was insecure, doubted the strength of my relationship with Grant, and saw getting married as a way to hang onto him. As we drifted apart, I would use talk of weddings to pull Grant back. My ideas around marriage confused insecurity with love.
I stroke Dylan’s face with the back of my hand, his scruff scraping at my soft skin. He catches my fingers and kisses them. “I will marry you, Dylan. When the time is right.”
“Tomorrow?” he says with a small smile.
“It’s always tomorrow with you, isn’t it?” I whisper and place my lips on his. He hesitates and this hurts, as if he’s pushing me away because I won’t do what he wants. I pull back, searching his eyes. “Why do we always have this conversation? Can’t you just be happy to live in the moment we’re in?”
“I want the whole world to know we’re forever,” he says, repeating words I hear weekly. “I want to wake up with Sky Morgan and know she’ll always be there,” he whispers.
His sincere words tug at my heart, and at my resolve. Why am I denying us both our final happily ever after?
Because I’m scared there won’t be one; that as soon as we reach the peak, things will start falling downhill.
Climbing onto Dylan’s lap, I wind my arms around his neck and rest on his heating skin. My head fits into the perfect spot beneath his chin, and he closes his arms around my waist, a tickling touch as his fingers delve to the waistband of my blue bikini. As ever, my arousal is instant, the ache for his touch grows as my body reminds me of the amazing things this man can do to me without trying.
“I remember the day you told me you didn’t own a bikini,” he murmurs, lips travelling across my skin, and he lightly nips the edge of my collarbone.
“I never did before,” I say, wriggling against the fingers now stroking the outside of my bikini briefs.
“No idea why because you look fucking gorgeous in one.” Dylan shifts and pulls my legs around so I’m straddling him. “Although you look better out of one.”
I catch the hand that’s found its way between the briefs and my ass.
“Dylan, not here.”
“Nobody’s around.” He shifts to tug on the spaghetti strap tied around my back.
“We can’t be sure,” I say and catch his arm.
He winds his fingers into my hair too, hands becoming more insistent, and harsher against my skin. “Here.”
“No!”
“Wrong answer.” He grabs my hips and tips me over onto the lounger. “Keep your hat on and nobody will recognise you.”
I giggle at him and trail my fingers along the abs I was admiring minutes ago. “I don’t think that’ll work.”
Dylan’s lips curl into his familiar grin. “Hmm. Well, I got you covered.”
“I hope so.” I move my hand to the edge of his shorts, and run light fingers across his hardening cock.
Dylan groans and grips my thigh, then pulls my head to his. We kiss deeply, the need and frustration pouring from him. In the silence surrounding, I lose myself in Dylan, my soul mate, my missing part, my everything. There’s no room for anybody or anything but us anymore.
Four months of bliss with Dylan. Why would I want to leave this behind? We could live away from the ugly and stay in our bubble of happiness.
We have everything we both wanted a year ago—each other. I need to let go of my unfounded fears and marry Dylan.
