Last night had been tragic. After being a nutcase all day long, I’d thought there was no way things could get worse after the botched proposal. Boy, had I underestimated my stupidity.

Number one: Putting the ring under her cup and proposing in a café filled with strangers. Si romantique.

I’d chicken-shitted myself into thinking five minutes of planning would be enough. As long as she got a great ring and I got a “Yes,” nothing else mattered. But according to Hillary’s numerous accounts of how thoughtful and romantic Eric had been when he’d asked, how she couldn’t wait to tell everyone she knew, and everyone she didn’t—including her future grandkids—evidently a proper proposal had to be over-the-top romantic and involve at least three candles and two kinds of flowers.

Number two: Watching Lane get so excited about Hillary and Eric’s engagement had made it abundantly clear she wanted that. That was good, right? I mean, an hour before, I’d been ready to pop the question. Well, ready wasn’t what I’d been, but I’d been about to do it anyway.

But as the night drew on and the Champagne bottles emptied, I felt Lane distance herself from me. And then, when Hillary made a joke about what was taking us so long to get hitched, Lane’s light-speed response felt like a stab to my gut.

“Oh, pleeeeaaase. You’re talking about Carson Bennett, Hillary.”

What the fuck did that mean? Hadn’t I brought Lane into my life, my mind, my fucking heart enough to prove myself? Told her without words that this was serious shit and that I was all-in and determined to make it last? What the fuck else could I do to prove it to her?

And to think, when she’d said that, I’d actually had her fucking ring in my pocket.

That’s when it hit me—Eric and Hillary had their whole lives planned out. So did Hayden and Andi. They all knew what their futures looked like. They saw them, believed in them, fucking talked about them.

There I was, ready to steal some candles, get down on one knee, and beg her to make it official, when I realized we had never once spoken about what happened next. We’d never daydreamed or over-examined or gotten completely delusional about all the shit couples did. China patterns and kid names and whose family we’d drag ourselves to for holidays.

And shit, that was another thing. My family was one big ball of fuck up. If I could, I would’ve pretended I was an orphan. I guess I’d still claim I had a brother, but Lane had spent time with my mother and my wicked stepsister. She had broken bread with them, knew all their hang-ups, their vices, their evil, evil ways. I’d always figured I was lucky not to have to go to San Diego and spend time with Lane’s parents, small talking while keeping my hands and thoughts to myself. Now that good fortune seemed like a red flag. She hasn’t introduced you to her parents because she’s still not sure you’ll be around long enough to bother, idiot.

Everything twisted up in my head. All her attempts to save me from the whole meeting-the-parents torture had been a big fucking sign. The kind of sign you passed five times a day and never noticed until you accidentally tripped over it and were forced to look at it more closely. I was finally compelled to pick it up, dust it off, and read it. Realize it had been there the whole fucking time.

I should’ve stopped and read it sooner. But no, I’d been skipping along like a happy idiot, wrapped up in warm and cozy feelings without realizing Lane and I were stuck. So stuck there was a good chance we’d never make it any farther than we already were.

---

When I woke up, Lane was sitting next to me, her legs tucked under her, naked and staring at me as if she’d been doing it a while. Her hair was messy, probably from tossing and turning and worrying all night. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, wondering who would make the first move.

Women were better at talking, so I waited for her to start. Then I waited a little longer. And a little longer. Seemed like forever but was probably only about a minute or so.

Fuck this. I didn’t want to feel disconnected from her for another second.

I pulled her down to me, wrapped my arms around her and held on tightly, feeling the warmth of her breath on my chest. I didn’t feel her tears drip onto me, but I knew they were there—her breath sped up and her body jerked with each one. So I held on tighter.

“I’m not going to let either of us ruin this,” I said firmly. “I’m not. Understand?”

Her nose poked me as she nodded. There was a possibility I was smothering her, but I couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not until I knew she understood.

“I don’t care if you have doubts or are looking for a way out. I don’t care. Well, obviously I care, but I’m not going to let it matter. I’m going to fix this.” As soon as I figured out what it was.

I let her up for air because the whole till-death-do-us-part bit wasn’t going to happen until we were old, wrinkly, and I couldn’t get it up without a little blue pill.

As if she’d read my mind—or my body—she threw her leg over me and slid down until my cock—which wouldn’t need a blue pill anytime soon—prodded her core.

Both of us groaned at the same time, for the same reason, and it wasn’t a good one. But we survived.

After an impressively quick reach-and-grab from the nightstand drawer, Lane tore the condom wrapper in half, tossed it over her shoulder, and rolled that rubber bastard right down my cock in record time.

Then she guided my morning wood inside her and pressed down on me, both of us sighing long and low. I would never get tired of feeling her wrapped around me. I swear, if we wouldn’t get arrested for it, I’d wear her around all day, every day, constantly rocking her up and down my cock. Never coming, never stopping, just enjoying the sweetness of our connection.

She lifted up just a tiny, torturous bit and then slid back down, grinding her hips against mine. No idea how she managed it, but somehow she found the focus to speak. Unfortunately, that meant I somehow had to find the focus to listen.

“I want a small wedding. Nothing fancy—just our friends, your family and mine. I want my dad to walk me down the aisle.”

“Yeah,” I groaned. I really didn’t want to think about her father while my cock was inside her, but I let her keep talking. I needed to hear this.

“We’re going to need a big house.” Her breath caught. “With a big shop so I can work from home…” She closed her eyes as if she wanted every cell in her body to focus only on where our skin touched.

“What else?”

“I want a…a…” Her fingernails dug into my chest each time I pushed my hips up and pulled hers down.

“What else?” I repeated.

“A pool. So we can go skinny-dipping.” She rocked her hips faster, more intensely, her forehead tightening as she worked toward her end.

“And a big fence so the neighbors can’t watch us fuck in the water.”

“Yes!” she said, maybe about the fence, maybe about the way I slid my hand between us to make sure she would come before I did.

“What else do you want, Lane?” I sat up. It meant I couldn’t be as deep as I wanted to be, but I needed more of our skin to touch. She threw her arms around my shoulders, her breasts pressed to my chest, her uneven breaths hot against my neck.

“Just you. Forever. Nothing else matters.”

I spun both of us over so she was under me, so I could be in control. Speed, depth, angle.

I was a smart enough man to have paid close attention to exactly what my woman needed when she was this close. And I was a skilled enough man to give it to her. My only job was to get her over the line before her pleasure plateaued, she got frustrated with her own body, and gave up on it. No greater orgasm killer than frustration. For her, at least. I could’ve come even if a mountain fell on us.

But…oh shit! Her muscles clenched around my cock like a vise.

“Not fair,” I growled. “You can’t…do that.”

“I can do whatever…ah…I want…to you.” She knew how close I was to losing it. And, damn her, she used my weakness against me.

“Seriously, Lane. Stop, or I’m gonna…ahhh…”

Luckily I knew all her signs too—the long, shaky inhalation, the raised eyebrows, the eyes that begged me to finish her off. And then a moment of absolute silence before…

Oh, here she comes.

Just in time too. When we kissed, it felt true, real, perfect. We lost it together—my orgasm hitting seconds after hers started.

I let go inside her, my fingers digging into the mattress as I arched my back, and added a loud, “Fuuuuuck.”

I struggled not to fall asleep right on top of her and forced myself to keep rocking into her until her final moan had ended.

I lived for that final moan. The one that lasted for a minute, maybe even a minute and a half. Or maybe it was fifteen seconds but just felt like more. Because right after, Lane always went limp and collapsed wherever she was. Always. No matter what position we were in.

I doubt she even knew she did it. All I knew was she needed me to catch her.