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This man doesn’t half-ass anything, does he? I show up out of the blue and drop the Adam bomb on him. What does he do? He accepts the knowledge with far more grace than anyone else would. Then he spends days not only in my presence but wanting to get to know me. If that wasn’t already enough, he wanted to visit our son in jail. No hesitation. That’s all before the kidnapping. He got me a dog. Brought our son into his own personal office to work alongside him. Now… marriage.
I guess I should have expected this would happen… huh?
Gunz’s choices are cut and dry. There is no sway. No indecision. He knows what he wants and who he is.
“Erik,” I begin, so we can have an open discussion about his proposition.
Once again, the stubborn man cuts me off at the pass. “Do you wanna be my wife?” His steel gaze is one of determination. Intention finite—yes or no.
“I… I can’t believe you’re asking me this…” Today of all days.
Gunz lifts my hand from his chest and kisses each of my fingertips one by one as he speaks. “Why? I love you. I ain’t never loved anyone before. I get I fucked up, but I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ it up to you. Takin’ care of you and our son, and our smooshed-face dog.”
There go those weird butterflies again, beating up my insides.
He loves me. He loves our son. Our dog. His actions have shown as much.
“I… I… I…” Unable to form words, I clear my throat to bide me some time, to focus less on the wild emotions going batshit crazy in my head, and more on the logistics.
“When?” I ask, just to see where he’s at.
“In twenty-three days.”
“What?!” I half-scream, hating the shrill, nervous tone. Mortified by my outburst, I turn my head away, but keep touching him, because I can’t stop. It’s been weeks since we’ve been this close. This engaged. I missed him so damn much.
“Love.” Gunz jostles my arm, encouraging me to look at him. I do. Chewing on my bottom lip, tapping my foot on the floor anxiously. Satisfied with my attention, he continues, “We spent twenty-three hours together the first night we met. If you say yes, we’ll get married twenty-three days from today. That’s enough time for you and the sisters to plan a little somethin’.” There he goes, offering more direct decisiveness, I wish I possessed even a quarter of.
“You’re serious?” I double-check… because… internal freakout. Who gets married in twenty-three days who isn’t part of a reality TV show? Well, I guess some people who elope do. Huh?
Warm, smirking lips kiss the tips of my fingers a second time. “As a heart attack.” He winks, far too charming for me not to half-swoon. He’s pulling out all the stops today.
This damn man. I don’t know what to do with him.
“You don’t think this is… quick?”
A simple shake of the head. “Nope.”
“You want to marry me?” Yep, I’m checking a whopping third time to give the man an out.
Enjoying this far too much, Gunz’s entire body vibrates in barely concealed laughter. “Yeah, love. I wanna marry you.”
“But we haven’t even had sex yet… ya know… again.” What if I’m bad at it? What if he doesn’t like my… ya know… parts? I’m not as youthful down there as I once was. You and I both know sex is part of any healthy relationship. These boobs reside in Sagville. My vagina isn’t visited by the moist fairy as often as it was way back when. She sometimes takes a little extra help in that department. Then again, this is Gunz. She likes him. She likes him a lot.
“So?” He shrugs, not at all reading between the lines.
“What if I’m…” Lousy at it? Cry? Fail to meet his expectations after years of kinky fuckery?
The man rolls his eyes. “I know what you’re gonna say. That’s not fuckin’ possible. To prove it to ya, why don’t you climb on up here.” Using my own fingers, he taps them to his mouth, then uses my pointer to caress his bottom lip before drawing his tongue across the pad. My stomach shudders, and my breath falters from the simple touch.
I swallow hard. “I’m not… we’re not…”
“Love, might not be able to fuck you right now, but my tongue works just fine.” To prove a point, the devil draws the tip of my same digit into his mouth and sucks.
Holy hell.
“Erik,” I croak, knowing darn well my cheeks are flaming hot, that I’m… bothered.
“Take off your pants,” he states around my fingertip.
