Nipping at my neck, she murmured, “Can’t wait that long.”
“Jesus.” My eyes flashed to the door as she stripped her shirt and her bra over her head in one swift movement.
“I love you,” she breathed, finding my cock and dragging it through her folds before aligning us.
“Does this mean you’ll marry me?” I asked, leaning forward to suck her peaked nipple into my mouth. Then I raked my teeth over the sensitive flesh before releasing it.
Slowly sinking down onto my cock, she stared deep into my eyes and hissed, “Yessss.”
Close enough.
IT WAS RAINING. Isn’t that the way all great love stories start? And also usually end? The cool breeze whipped through my curls as I stared off the side of that bridge.
Sam’s hand folded over mine, taking the umbrella from my grasp. “How you feeling?” he asked, brushing his hand against my swollen, but still hidden, stomach before gripping my hip.
“Like shit,” I answered through a smile as dozens of cameras flashed around us.
“I would like to use this moment to once again remind you that it wasn’t a blow job that got you in this situation. Swallowing is, and always will be, safe.”
I exaggerated a laugh for the crowd then wrapped him in a tight hug, sneaking a hand between us to secretly pinch his nipple. “I’m not sucking your dick. I almost puked just brushing my teeth this morning,” I whispered into his ear.
He leaned away and lovingly held my gaze. “That explains your breath. You want some gum?” He winked, and a genuine laugh bubbled from my throat as he pulled a pack of mango-flavored gum from his pocket.
One year after Sam had proposed, we said, “I do,” in front of three hundred guests in an over-the-top ceremony in San Francisco. News helicopters flew overhead making it virtually impossible to hear a single word Sam said, but I couldn’t have cared less. I knew those vows by heart—it was, after all, the second time I’d heard them.
The truth was Sam and I had been secretly married on our bridge not even five hours after I’d said yes. We were both in jeans, and our ceremony was officiated by an ordained minister Henry had once slept with, but all we cared about were the promises we were making each other, even if they were sealed with plain, silver bands we’d picked up at a department store ten minutes before they’d closed.
An expensive, world-renowned photographer made us an extravagant wedding album after our public ceremony, but I didn’t cherish it nearly as much as I did the one Sam had surprised me with on our real one-month anniversary. It consisted of a few selfies we’d taken to show off our new rings on the top of the bridge and funny composite images Sam had made, complete with beer and chickens strewn across the bar floor of our hillbilly wedding. Sam claimed that he wasn’t good at romance, but as I sobbed while flipping each page of that album, I begged to differ.
He was good at everything.
And, together, we were unstoppable.
The Fall Up was released the month after our lavish wedding. The project had gotten away from me more than once, and it wasn’t nearly as low stress as I’d hoped. But, each and every time I hit a snag, Sam bluntly became my voice of reason. Especially when my record label attempted to pick off a few of the tracks on the album. But, with my husband at my side and my head and heart finally aligned, I stood my ground. I threatened to hold the album and leave when my contract expired only a few months later. They were none too happy about the stand I was taking against them, but we both knew they needed me more than I needed them.
They backed down.
I held the album anyway.
Then I left them.
Then Henry and I started a record label of our own.
Then Sam’s head exploded when I told him that I’d taken on a new project.