I cuddle into Chandler, his warm skin pressing against me. I hold up my left hand, staring at my engagement ring in wonder. I feel him chuckle, kissing the top of my head. "Like it?"

"You're joking, right? It's gorgeous, but it's really too much." It really is breathtaking with its glittering diamond and ornate carvings on the band, but I can't even begin to fathom how much money he spent on this. "I don't need a ring, you know. I would marry you no matter what."

He leans down, kissing me gently. "I have a confession."

"You robbed a jewelry store?" I ask teasingly.

"Ah, you found me out. I'm a jewel thief." I giggle a little, settling my head into the crook of his arm. "No, that ring was my grandmother's."

My mouth goes completely dry. "It was your grandmother's?" I whisper.

"Mmmhmm," he answers, running his fingers up and down my arm. "My mother brought it out to me."

I prop myself up on my elbow, staring at him. "Your mother? Why do I feel like I'm missing a part of the story?"

He reaches up to me, gently stroking my face, and I feel my heart start to quicken. The way he looks at me…

"I guess it was almost a week after Christmas. She actually came into the city to visit me. I was a little surprised because she's not much for the city and avoids it when she can, but nevertheless. I would have told you about it, but that's when she brought the ring. She didn't mention anything about our night together—I'm sure she was able to figure it out, though—but she told me she assumed I'd be asking you to marry me at some point, and she wanted me to be prepared."

I feel a tiny twinge of disappointment tug at my heart. "So you asked me to marry you because your mother—"

He laughs, not letting me finish that thought. "Don't even think that. I was going to propose to you no matter what—you know that. Having the ring just made me want to make it special, and the roof was the best thing I could come up with. Instead, you got me down on one knee in front of the Moonlight Lounge." He sighs, shaking his head. "God, I'm such a cad."

I lean down and kiss him. "No, you're not," I assure him.

"Look; my mother is really good at reading people. It's a talent she has. She can usually tell within a few moments exactly how they feel about each other, and she told me she knew the first time she saw us together that I was in love with you."

"But we weren't even together then."

He shakes his head at me, smiling. "Doesn't matter. She knew, and I guess the couple of times I talked to her after that just sealed the deal. I don't think she would have left us alone on Christmas if she didn't think something special was happening between us." He carefully takes hold of my arm, pulling me to him, my body draping over his a little. "She knew you were my forever," he whispers, and my breath catches in my throat. "How much I love you was already obvious to the world; it just took us a little while to catch up."

"So, your mother met me once and—"

"She knew that I was in love with you. She even questioned me about it a little that day, but…she knew. She knew you were in love with me, too."

I can't help buy roll my eyes a little. "Well, that's not surprising, given how I was mooning over you at that point."

He gives me a funny look. "I don't think you were mooning over me."

"Well, you're probably the only one. From the moment I first saw you, I knew I felt something unlike anything else."

"Yeah, hate. You really disliked me then, Mon."

"I didn't dislike you; I was disappointed with you."

"Ugh. Somehow, that's worse."

"I wanted you to be this perfect, wonderful guy and you were, well…"

He cringes, looking ashamed. "I know."

I slide my hand across his cheek, hopefully reassuringly. "No, honey, I was wrong. You are perfect and wonderful. I just needed to give you a chance."

He shakes his head, looking away from me. "I'm not perfect."

I duck my head to meet his eyes. "You are to me."

He swallows heavily and I slide my body on top of his, kissing him gently. His arms wrap around my back, his fingers tracing up my spine to tangle in my hair. For as hot and heavy as we were outside the Lounge a little while ago, nothing has actually happened since we got to the apartment I now share with Phoebe. We got to my bed and undressed each other, but then we spent some time just holding one another. I'm finding that feel of his body pressed against mine, skin on skin, can be comforting.

It took a little bit of time for me to completely relax with Chandler; as good as that first night felt, things have gotten so much better since then. Getting used to the idea of being completely naked, of him seeing me naked, was probably the hardest, but when the man you love looks at you with nothing but desire in those moments, it gets easier. He lets me take the lead, he guides me when I need it, and he just loves me. Phoebe was right when she told me sex is fun, but it's more than that. I don't have the words for it, but it's…a connection I have with Chandler, something that shakes me right down to the core. When I'm in his arms, I know that nothing else matters.

He moans a little and I feel him stirring beneath me, making me breath a little heavier. I do that to him. I excite him and fill him with desire. It's the most amazing feeling.

I shift my hips against him, reveling in the noises that he makes. His fingers tighten in my hair, keeping our lips together, kissing me harder and I dig my nails into his shoulders.

"Monica," he says softly, his hips thrusting up against mine just a little. I reach up and grab his hands, bringing them to the mattress and sit up. I feel the blanket pool around my hips and he groans softly, staring at me. I smile down at him, running my fingers softly over his stomach before scooting back to his thighs.

Tentatively, I reach out for him, taking his warm flesh in my hands. His eyes roll back and he grabs my knees, his fingers flexing as I slowly drag a finger up him.

This is something I haven't done much of, mostly because it makes me a little nervous. I don't want to hurt him by accident, and it's a little daunting. He makes me so curious, though, his reaction to every little touch almost exaggerated. But this part, getting him ready for the act, is utterly fascinating. Feeling him change and grow beneath my fingers, his blood pulsating, his soft, warm skin…I love it. I'm learning that I love to do this to him.

I look down at my hands, watching him, enthralled; I can hear him breathing heavily.

He's so beautiful it makes me ache.

I grasp him a little more firmly and he moans, his hips coming off the bed a little. I gasp a little in response, sliding closer to him.

"Look at me," he whispers, and I shyly lift my eyes to his. He's staring at me so intently I think my soul actually shivers. His mouth drops open as he breathes a little harder, and I move my hands faster in response, eager for more of him, for more of his response to my touch.

His fingers tighten on the backs of my knees and he pulls me closer and I moan as I come into contact with him. His hands slide up to my hips, gripping me hard, hissing when I pull him against me.

"Oh, my God," I say softly at the contact, and I suddenly like I'm right back to where I was before he proposed—so desperate for him, I think I could combust. I rock against him, pushing myself on him, amazed that the sensation is this incredible. I finally take my hands off him and lean back, bracing myself on his thighs. He pulls me against him faster and I push down, both of us groaning at the increased contact. My insides quiver and I pull myself up his hips carefully until I'm resting on his stomach. I lean over the edge of the bed and dig through the little crate I use as a nightstand, the prophylactics hidden in there somewhere—it's hard to remember when my mind is this hazy.

Then his fingers glide against me softly; I drop my head to his shoulder as I moan in his ear. He chuckles a little and I push against his hand, my entire body jumping a little at the increased contact.

He lifts my hips gently with his free hand, sliding his fingers into me, and this time I moan loudly; I don't know why this feels so good, almost as good as actually being with him, but it does. He seems to like doing this; he watches me as he does it, studying me intently, sometimes going slow, sometimes fast.

Tonight he seems to want to go slow. Interesting, because I feel like going fast.

Maybe we can compromise.

I push myself up a little, temporarily forgetting what I was looking for, and he immediately captures my breast in his mouth. "Ohhhhh." He puts his hand on my back, pushing me closer, and I feel his teeth scraping over me gently. I never knew my breasts would be so wonderfully sensitive, or that having someone pay such attention to them would be so incredible. I'm not sure if it's experience or luck but he seems to know just what to do, when to go at it furiously and when to pull back so that his touch is lighter than a whisper.

It makes me crazy, but in a way I thoroughly enjoy.

He rubs the heel of his hand against me and I push down on him harder, my mouth dropping open as I moan.

At first, I was self-conscious about making much noise—to a degree, there was no way I could really help it. Some of the things he did to me made me make noise, but I tried to hold it in a little. I also didn't know if that was something that was supposed to happen. Of course, when he started calling my name and emitting glorious sounds of his own, I knew I was on the right track. The walls in this place are so thin, though, that I was worried that everyone else would be able to hear me—hear us. But the walls being thin goes both ways, as there are a lot of people doing a lot of different things at all hours of the day and night, some of which I can't identify, nor do I know if I want to. It did make me care less if anyone could hear us, though. Only if Phoebe's trying to sleep do I worry about volume.

We try not to when she's around but sometimes…it just can't be helped.

"You ready?" he breathes and I slowly open my eyes, focusing on his lovely face, already covered in a fine sheen of sweat. I nod weakly and lean over him once more. He doesn't stop moving his hand though, and I nearly fall off the bed as he continues to thrust.

I grab onto his arm and dig my nails in to his bicep. He just laughs lightly.

"I hate you," I moan, pawing through the crate again.

"I know," he murmurs, granting me a bit of mercy, slowing down to just a gentle stroke. I finally find a condom buried beneath my clutter and hold it up to him. "Would you?" he asks, his voice shaky.

I nod and slide off him, carefully opening the package, my own hands shaking a little; he takes care of this part more often than I do. Before I can even take it out its package, he thrusts his fingers into me again and I grab onto his forearm for balance, going rigid for a moment.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to do this when you won't stop touching me?" I ask breathlessly.

"I can't stop touching you," he answers, his thumb rubbing across me gently.

I groan and arch my back, pushing into him. "Don't you want to get to the good part?"

"It's all the good part for me."

"Ohhhhhh God." His fingers curl inside me and with strength I didn't know I had, I push myself off him, breathing heavily. We stare at each other for a few moments, and I can see that he's trying his hardest not to look too smug. I slide away from him, just out of his reach and pull out the condom. I move to kneel between his legs, trailing my fingers up and down him again. He clenches his jaw, the sheet fisted between his fingers. He tries to keep his breathing steady, but I think it's a losing battle.

"I've been doing some more reading," I tell him softly, running my fingers over him, his stomach muscles twitching.

"About?" he asks, his voice choked, and I start to feel a little smug myself.

"You know that thing you like to do to me? The part with your mouth?"

He smiles at me, his eyes heavy-lidded. "Oh, yeah," he drawls, and I tighten my grip around him a fraction.

"Well, did you know that there's something I can do that's similar?"

His eyes grow wide. "Mon, you don't have to—"

I take a deep breath to push down my nerves and lean down, running my tongue over him carefully. His hips jerk as he makes a choked noise, so I do it again. I'm a little surprised to find that it's not that bad. I suppose it's like everything else—reading about it doesn't do it justice. Actually, reading about it sounded a little, well, gross, but then again, so did his part. When he does it to me, it doesn't feel gross at all. I want to be able to make him feel as good as he makes me feel; the added bonus to this seems to be that I immediately get the upper hand.

I put the condom on his stomach and grab his hips, watching his face. His eyes are still wide, his breathing even heavier, and ever muscle in his body looks tensed. He grabs my hands suddenly, giving them a little tug. "You win," he gasps. "You win."

I grab the prophylactic again and sit up, sheathing him with a lot more outward confidence than I feel. "Don't you forget it." I shift up, hovering over him, and he puts his hands on my hips, holding me steady as I slowly slide down him. My eyes fall shut, my senses going on overload, and I put my hands on his, clutching his fingers tightly. He hisses out through his teeth and I force my eyes open, trying to watch him. His muscles are still tensed, his fingers digging into my hips, and I watch him breathe deeply. I shift forward, running my hands over his stomach, his sides, and his eyes fly open. I swallow heavily, licking my lips in anticipation, and he gives me a tiny nod.

I start to move.

I may have been nervous about it at first, but I found I actually like being on top. It gives me some of the control, which helped to ease some of my nervousness about everything, and it definitely changes the way everything feels.

Chandler says he likes watching me.

"Ohhh. Ohhhhhh." I move my hips against his, back and forth, feeling pressure starting to build deep within me. I dig my nails into his chest as my head drops, and I can feel sweat slipping down my body. I brace my hands on his chest and move faster, the sound of our skin hitting against each other extraordinarily erotic.

He puts his hands on my thighs, slowing me down, and I look up at him, gasping. "What's your hurry?"

I fall forward, wrapping my arms around him. "Feels good," I answer, pressing my lips to his, moving my hips again. He moves to meet me, his pelvis coming off the bed as he moves faster and faster, his hands grasping my backside, moving me even faster.

"Oh. Oh, God. Oh, God." I bury my face in his neck, and he presses a kiss to my ear. "Yes. Please, yes."

He thrusts into me at an impossible speed before he stops completely, gasping for air. "Not yet," he grunts, stroking his hands down my back.

I moan into his skin for a few moments, feeling myself wind down just a little, already eager to build up once again. I push myself back to a sitting position and he grabs my hands, linking our fingers. I move slower this time, watching his face, concentration furrowing his brow. His eyes are focused on my hips, on me pushing up and sliding down him. I feel him shudder beneath me and I wiggle just a little, smiling when he moans.

"You're so beautiful, Monica." He gasps a few times, his fingers tightening. "Oh, my God, how are you mine?"

"Yours forever," I tell him, panting just a little. "Forever and ever."

He pulls my left hand to his mouth, kissing my ring finger, and I feel myself falter a bit. I spread my fingers out, cupping his face, managing to keep our fingers mostly intertwined. "I love you," he tells me softly, and tears spring to my eyes.

"I love you, too."

I feel him thrust up just a tiny bit and I push my hips forward, rocking back and forth. My head falls back and I call out to the ceiling. Our fingers grip tighter. "Ohhh." I gasp suddenly. "Ahhh, ahhhhhh." I close my eyes tightly, biting my lip.

Being with him like this, I can't understand why anyone would think something this beautiful could be wrong. How can some people consider it "dirty" or "sinful"? I have to believe those are people who have either never done it, or have been with the wrong person. Nothing feels more right, and he makes me feel complete.

He sits up suddenly, his arms wrapping around me, our lips meeting in a series of gasping kisses. My legs wrap around his waist and I groan at the contact, the friction we create, and I don't think I can possibly hold out much longer.

"Oh, my God, Chandler, yes." He pushes up against me, somehow rotating his hips in the process, and I bite back a sob at how good it feels. I dig my nails into his back, dragging them slowly down his skin. He hisses a little in pain but it just makes him move faster.

"Feel so good," he grunts into my ear. "Oh, you're so good."

I push myself against him harder, faster, pulling back to look into his eyes. They're so dark right now, like deep pools that I could get lost in forever, and I'm so close right now it hurts. "Touch me," I breathe, my voice not even a whisper, and I can't even believe I've said it.

He smiles against my lips. "Do it yourself."

I shake my head, gasping. "Your job. You're the husband."

One of his hands comes up, cupping my breast. "Like this?" He rolls my nipple in between his fingers. "Or this?"

"Chandler," I groan, holding onto him tighter; he's taunting me. He knows what I mean, but he wants to torture me.

He brings up his other hand, now cupping both breasts. "Better?"

"You're such an ass," I groan, wrapping my legs around him tighter.

He groans, his forehead resting on my chest for a moment. "Such language," he gasps outs.

"Got it from you," I tell him, trying to push myself against him faster. He bends down a little more and captures my nipple between his teeth, tugging it just a little. "Oh, God!"

Finally, mercifully, one of his hands slides between our bodies, finding my sensitive nub of flesh, and I jerk against him. "That what you wanted?" he manages to whisper, his breath hot against my overly-sensitized skin, but I can't answer. I've run out of words.

I slide one of my hands up to his head, grabbing his hair, but he refuses to release my breast. His fingers increase the pressure and I gasp loudly before letting out a long, low moan.

This is better than good. I feel like I'm dying, but it's still phenomenal.

His fingers move again and my body snaps to attention. I immediately reach in between us to keep his hand in place, pushing down on it to keep him where I need it the most, and my body starts to spasm out of control, the wonderful sensation of pleasure beyond anything I've known before washing over me, pushing me to the brink of insanity. My other hand yanks at his hair and he looks up finally, the look in his eyes pushing me more thoroughly over the edge as a yell leaves me, probably waking the neighbors. "Oh, my God!"

He snaps, too, his trapped fingers moving against me furiously, trying to get more out of me. His other arm wraps around me, pulling me tight against him and I see stars. Stars and fireworks. Everything is so intense I have to close my eyes against it all. I feel him thrusting wildly against me and he moans my name loudly; we clutch at each other and I force my eyes open, meeting his. We move as one for a few more moments before our bodies go limp and I collapse against him. We drag our arms out from between our bodies, holding onto each other loosely as we breathe heavily.

I reach up a hand and stroke his sweaty hair and he kisses my shoulder. "Did we die?" he asks weakly.

I sigh into his neck, my body melting into his. "Maybe."

With a groan he falls back, taking me with him. A little reluctantly, I roll of him, grabbing the wastebasket off the floor so he can dispose of the prophylactic. A few moments later I drag the quilt over our cooling bodies and he wraps himself around me, nestling his head on my chest. I run my hand over his cheek and he turns his face, kissing my palm.

"You probably won't be able to wear that ring around in this neighborhood," he mumbles.

I feel disappointed, even though I know he's right. "Yeah." I kiss his forehead, feeling his lips respond against my skin. "I have my mother's gold chain; I can keep the ring there. It'll be good for at work, too."

"One day, Monica…I promise you I'll take you away from all this. I'll give you a beautiful home and you'll never have to worry about anything."

I want that life with him so badly it hurts. Right now, I don't even care about getting out of this seedy, rundown neighborhood; I just want to be with him. I don't want him to leave; I'll work in the Moonlight Lounge forever if it means keeping him safe.

"Sleepy," he says suddenly, his voice drowsy.

"I know," I whisper, stroking his hair. He's usually awake for the better part of the day and night; he has to be dressed in uniform, everything ready by seven in the morning, he's usually busy with training and things until at least six or seven at night, then he comes into the Lounge to spend time with me. For almost as long as I've known him, we've gone out after work, talking until the wee small hours, or now he comes here when he can; he probably only gets three or four hours a night. He doesn't complain, though, nor does he ever really seem tired. It's only after we've been together that he seems exhausted, so I just let him sleep. I'm usually still wide awake, especially since moving in with Phoebe I've become quite a night owl, often sitting up with her after Chandler's left, talking and smoking and drinking coffee until after sunrise.

I feel him shiver a little, burrowing closer to me. "Tomorrow I'm getting you another blanket. It's too cold."

"You don't have to do that," I tell him, wrapping my arms around him tighter.

"Just as much for me as for you," he tells me with a yawn.

"Okay," I whisper, knowing he probably won't even remember this in the morning.

"Love you," he mumbles, his voice fading off before the words can completely leave his lips.

"Love you, too," I answer, kissing his forehead. I love holding him, though. I like that I get to have some time to watch him, taking him all in. He looks like a little boy as he sleeps, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes move beneath the lids, mumbling occasionally, pulling me closer. Friday and Saturday nights are the best; he's usually free most of the weekend, so he can stay with me as long as he wants, often waking me up by pressing me into the mattress, giving me sleepy kisses, his body already awake and ready for me.

I wonder how much longer these little moments of heaven will last.

*A/N…someone asked a few chapters ago about Chandler's mom being a romance novelist in this story—sorry, but no. She's more of a wealthy widow.

Also, someone else mentioned how I had over 300 reviews for this story…um, yeah. Have I mentioned how much you guys rock? That's all you, guys, and I can't thank you enough. It's kind of bodacious, actually. So, seriously, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.