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“Please, I need.”
“What do you need, baby?” he asked, kissing my thigh, and keeping his fingers buried inside my pussy, but only moving slightly.
“I need you!” I told him, so frustrated I was almost crying now.
“Where? Here? Or here?”
“Dammit Bron, I need you to touch me, really touch me.”
“I am touching you,” he replied, maddening man that he was.
“Fuck me, Bron, I want you to fuck me. Please,” I begged, finally admitting what I wanted.
His face broke out into a grin unlike anything I had ever seen, silver eyes sparkling, he reached for a condom and had it onfaster than I could blink. I was trembling with need, spreading my thighs for him, I wanted him so badly.
“Before we do this, Nat, I need you to tell me one thing.”
“What?”
“Tell me you’ll be mine.”
“You already asked me to be yours this Christmas, I said yes, remember?” I asked, trying to wiggle down to tempt his dick inside me, but the bastard held me still.
“Not just this Christmas, Nat. I want a chance with you after we leave her. I wanna keep seeing you. Tell me you want that, too,” he said.
I could tell from his steady stare, this was not lip service. He meant it. Bron Beckett, billionaire mogul, wanted to see me after we left this place. See me as in like, date me.
Holy. Fuck.
“Well, Nat? What do you say?”
“Yes. Oh, yes,” I replied without hesitation, and fantastic man that he was, he pressed into me, inch by glorious inch, filling me better than any previous lover ever had.
Christmas Day, we spent mostly in bed, and despite my preference to brush before kissing, Bron kissed the hell out of me before bringing me to my first orgasm of the day. I’d never been a multiple O kind of girl, but I sure was now. I was uncertain of our future, but every time ugly doubts tried to wiggle their way into my head, Bron seemed to know. All he had to do was kiss me, and all was right again. Which was good, considering how crazy our lives were.
Unsurprisingly, the rest of the weekend went smoothly. We talked and kissed, and he cooked, and I read out loud to him from my newest WIP or work in progress, which was book lingo for whatever manuscript I was working on.
Bron was a terrific sounding board. Smart, witty, and clever. He was also a fan, which I was not going to lie, was kind of awesome for me.
When we drove back to the city, I discovered we lived only a few blocks from each other. Imagine that? We’d been walking past each other for years, apparently. I worried this attraction would fade. Was scared these intense feelings we had and the desire we shared to be with one another wouldn’t last. But I needn’t have bothered worrying.
If anything, we wanted each other more with every passing moment. My pulse raced whenever I was about to meet up with him, and we parted, well, I missed him. Truly, I did. Bron was the same.
He called me several times a day, unless he knew I was writing. On those days, he’d sleep over the night before and set up breakfast, lunch, and dinner for me. I found myself finishing early and texting him, so he could join me for whatever he had left.
We were old enough to know better, and still old enough to know what we wanted. What we wanted was each other. Which was why, fifty days later, on Valentine’s Day, when Bron got down on one knee and asked me to fly to Vegas to elope with him, I said yes.
Our friends called us crazy. My mother freaked out. But I didn’t care. I was marrying the man I was completely head over heels for, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. It didn’t matter how it started or that it was all too fast. It just mattered how we felt. And together, we felt better than when we were apart,
“I love you, Mrs. Beckett,” Bron said after the Elvis impersonator pronounced us married.
“I love you, too,” I replied, tossing my bouquet to our witness, a Marilyn Monroe look alike.
And we lived happily ever after…why the fuck wouldn’t we?
The end.
