Chapter title from "The Way You Look Tonight"- Frank Sinatra.

Smut... but not until the end. This is mostly an old-fashioned romance kind of chapter.

_

"Today is Monday, February 14... Happy Valentine's Day and Good Morning, Gotham!"

Jim's head jerked up at the television as he buttoned his crisp dress shirt over his still-bandaged torso and tucked it into pinstripe pants.

Red tie today, he thought grimly. And a desperate call to a flower shop along with a prayer to luck up on a last-minute canceled dinner reservation.

Jim chuckled to himself as he remembered the oft-joked about platitude that all relationships should break up on February 13th. Clearly he hadn't gotten the memo and had chosen to get back together instead. The lovely lady herself was across the island, no doubt getting ready for work herself under Grace's watchful care. He'd agreed to separate from her for a few days so they could rest and recover in their own beds, but he'd insisted that she have Grace with her at all times. Not that the little pipsqueak of a girl could do much protecting— but it was better than leaving his Claire alone again.

The strain of the kidnapping, rescue, and hospital stay resulted in him having no clue what day it was. Hearing that it was Valentine's Day threw him for a loop, but he owed her something special for sure. Flowers had definitely become the norm over the years with Barbara. With his busy work schedule, picking up the phone to order a bouquet just made sense. Hell, he was pretty sure he'd even asked Claire to order them for him last year, now that he thought about it. Well, shit. That wouldn't do. He needed something to set her apart, to show her that she was more than the doldrum of a routine he'd fallen into with his ex-wife.

Jim rushed his usual morning activities so he could beat Claire to the office. He needed time on his computer in peace. He should have known better. The station was already buzzing with people coming and going, the smell of coffee already percolating on the air.

"Hey there, stranger," Peter Foley remarked as he chomped down on a pink glazed, presumably Valentine's doughnut. "You've been out a lot lately. Pretty soon they're going to have to name a deputy commissioner."

"Watch it, Foley," Jim muttered. "I have a lot going on, and years of working weekends and taking zero vacations to make up for now that we're not putting our lives on the line every hour of the damn day."

"True, true," Foley acknowledged, helping himself to the seat across from Jim's desk. "Say... did you all fire Greene? She was gone the whole time you were out."

Jim gave a nonchalant shrug. "She's got a lot of vacation built up too, from what Kay told me. Might as well let her take it when it's slow. The other shoe could drop any day."

Foley chuckled. "Jim Gordon— always fear, dread, and suspicion. You need to tell that gut instinct of yours to simmer down before you worry yourself into a heart attack, old timer."

Peter was lucky they had a long history of fighting in the trenches together, or he would have found himself on the receiving end of an insubordination write-up. Jim wasn't in the mood for games— he had a week's worth of work to catch up on and a Valentine's night to plan.

"Say, Foley— what are you doing for Dana for Valentine's?" Jim asked thoughtfully, rubbing his chin with one hand and the other tapping his cherry desk with a pencil.

Peter grinned. "Trying something other than flowers for Barb this year?"

Jim froze for a second. He knew the MCU had been buzzing with talk about Barbara leaving with the kids over the summer. Did Foley just forget, or was he that self-absorbed that he'd never paid attention in the first place? Well, having the man completely in the dark about Claire certainly didn't hurt.

"Sometimes you realize someone special is worth more than flowers," Jim replied. "And that perhaps taking the easy route all your life was a mistake. Give me a better idea."

"What makes you think I'm Mr. Romance, Gordon? We have a newborn, remember? Dana's cooking a nice dinner tonight and we're staying home. But last year I took her to that place out in Pemberton, near Fort Dix. Old fashioned dinner and dancing kind of place— commemorating Jersey's role in the world wars. Really good menu... fancy, old school. If you can swing a babysitter this late in the game, might be a good place to take her."

Jim nodded. "Perfect. I'll give them a call. How about a gift?"

Foley shook his head and stood, polishing the last bit of pink icing off his fingers. "Now I'm not gonna do all your work for you, Gordon. You really do think I'm your deputy commissioner, huh? Oh hey, go grab one of those doughnuts before they're gone... they're pretty good. Oh, morning, Greene. Nice red blouse... you afraid you're gonna get pinched?"

"That's green and St. Patrick's Day, Foley, but thanks for the compliment," Claire said with a smile, taking a seat at her desk just outside the glass paneled wall of Jim's office.

Foley gave Jim's doorframe a tap with a wink. "Good luck on that gift, Commissioner."

Jim waited for the man to take off downstairs before he met Claire's gaze. She smiled demurely at him before putting her glasses on and digging in to what Jim was sure were about 850 emails that had amassed during her absence. The woman did look good in red... pink lips, dangly gold hoops... but no necklace.

That's it. He'd buy her a necklace... buy Princess a necklace. A... collar? No, she wouldn't like that style, of that he was certain. But he knew enough about the lifestyle now to know that collars weren't all collars... some took on different forms. He got on the website for the local jewelry store and started searching. Just for the hell of it, he typed the word "princess" in the search bar. Engagement rings popped up of course... square diamonds. Tempting, but...

Jim leaned forward eagerly when the results yielded a silver chain with a princess crown dangling next to a round birthstone. It came in both silver and yellow gold, so yellow it would be — Claire's favorite color. He was pleased to discover that it said in stock.

"Kay!" he called, walking quickly to her office. He discovered that it was sugar central, spread with an appreciation table of red sprinkled sugar cookies, cupcakes adorned with Red Hots, and Foley's much-lauded pink doughnuts. Jim was certain Claire was craning her neck to overhear his conversation, so he opted to scribble on a post-it instead.

Need Greene's birthday.

Kay just laughed and scrawled back: June 12th.

Jim immediately pulled his phone from his pocket and Googled birthstones. Shit! June has three different ones!

He held his phone up to Kay with a helpless look.

She shrugged. "Whichever is easiest to find I guess."

Jim sighed and put his nose to the grindstone to catch up on work so he could beat the mad lunchtime rush to Old Gotham Jewelers. He joined his fellow middle-aged men in line at the counter, scrolling through his phone while he waited and finally deciding on the pearl over the moonstone or alexandrite. Daddies gave their princesses pearls. It would be a kinky collar disguised as fine jewelry. He ran his fingers happily over the corded handle of the bag as he got back in his car and called the restaurant Foley had mentioned. He was more excited than he'd been in his entire life.

XXXXX

Claire slid into a black sheath dress with a high lace collar, sliding dangly antique earrings on beneath her curled updo.

She absolutely couldn't wait. With them having just gotten back together after such a dramatic breakup, she had tried to curb her expectations for the holiday. After all, it wasn't like she'd ever really had a Valentine before. The club always did a big event on February 14th... usually a masquerade-type get together where unattached Doms and subs would be paired as mystery matches for the evening, even though you could almost always figure out who was who very quickly, even from behind the mask. But tonight there would be no club... only her sweet, sexy commissioner, who'd texted her at four o'clock:

Pick you up at 7:30– fancy dress... pack a bag for the night. - XO

She'd breathed a sigh of relief. They were finally back. Life without Jim was something she never wanted to experience again.

Jim picked her up at seven-thirty on the nose, still in the handsome pinstripe suit from earlier. He'd had to work right up until time to pick her up. But he'd splashed himself with cologne and combed that sexy silver tinged hair, and Claire wanted to drag him inside and bed him instantly, skipping the formalities. Of course she'd have to be gentle; she was sure his stab wound was still tender. She'd just have to get creative with how she worshipped him.

They hadn't slept together since the day they'd gotten back from visiting her folks at Christmas, and they'd been so exhausted from the early morning flight that the encounter had been merely half-asleep hand jobs before dozing off. She was beginning to feel first-time jitters again, amazed at just how many times she'd felt them in their short relationship. Each time with Jim had some kind of significance that made it feel like a journey to the moon and back.

"Ready for 'some enchanted evening,' kiddo?" he asked her as he cut through the Narrows to the Trigate Bridge. He punched a couple of buttons on the dash to cue up the Frank Sinatra version of the song he'd referenced.

"Oh, my god... you're still so corny," she giggled.

"I prefer to think of it as classic and charming," Jim replied.

Claire ran a hand over the pinstripe wool of his thigh. "I love classic and charming."

"Good. You're in for a treat tonight then." The man was beaming, finally giving her a glimpse of the happiness they'd shared before things had gotten so sad and scary.

"We're leaving Gotham?" she asked in surprise as his car left the bright city lights behind and headed onto a dark wooded highway.

"Headed to a place called Pemberton Gate... named after the entrance to Fort Dix. You ever been there?"

Claire shook her head, having no clue where it even was.

"It's about 45 minutes out. But it's a restaurant built in a fancy hillside mansion. Big band era look, live music, an old wooden dance floor... four course dinner... big wine list. Military memorabilia all over... vintage photos... kinda like a museum in a restaurant. Classic— like your guy."

"Mmmm... you are my guy," she affirmed, giving his leg another squeeze.

They rode in relative quiet, enjoying the compilation Rat Pack CD he'd chosen for the ride. Jim's kids called about half way into the journey, and he got to hear about their Valentine parties at school and about the colorful boxes they'd made to collect their cards. Apparently Jimmy got a special card from a cute girl and was excited to tell his dad.

"Did you get any cards, Daddy?" Barbie's big, excited voice asked through the phone.

"I got a very special Valentine this year," answered Jim. He looked over and smiled at Claire warmly, and her heart melted. That was definitely the closest he'd come to divulging her existence. Barbara must have heard, because she soon took the phone from her daughter to hang up.

"Uh-oh," Claire said. "She's going to be asking you questions about that one, I'm afraid."

"Who cares?" Jim shrugged. "I love you. It's time everyone else I love knows. I'm going to tell them next time I see them."

"But what about work?" she asked cautiously.

"Work... is a different story," admitted Jim. "Gotham is a different story, in general. I think it's best to lay low. I'm a liability to those I love, unfortunately."

"You're not. At all," Claire replied. "But I get it... you have to be careful. We'll take it slow."

"Take some things slow," Jim clarified with a side grin. "Other things... I'm ready to go very, very fast."

"Hahaha, no way, cowboy. You heard Grace. No thrusting for a few weeks, remember? You're going to let this cowgirl do the riding tonight."

"Mmmm, careful... you're about to make me turn this car around," Jim growled.

"Sorry, Daddy. I'll be good."

They arrived to the sounds of brass instruments carrying on the chilled winter air and the laughter of lavishly dressed couples coming and going from the huge, Italianate villa. Claire and Jim walked arm in arm up the lantern-lit, topiary lined path— Benny Goodman's "Sing, Sing, Sing" providing their swanky rhythm. As Jim confirmed their reservation with the maître d', Claire noticed that the couples swinging one another on the maple wood dance floor were seriously skilled, even putting her and Jim's little impromptu holiday ball romp to shame.

"Going to be a few minutes," Jim said apologetically. "Want to look around at the memorabilia?"

Claire nodded eagerly and took his arm again, nuzzling his bicep lightly as they examined the glass cases of old photos, letters, military gear, equipment models, and maps. Even the waitstaff seemed to have stepped out of a different time, looking more like Bacall and Bogart than twenty-first century Jersey kids. Jim took it all in with a smile a mile wide and a proud arm around her waist, holding her close. They took a few photos in different places around the mansion while they waited, hamming it up for the camera to document their romantic night away from Gotham.

When their turn finally came to dine, they were escorted to a table laid with damask, silver, and fine crystal. Jim ordered the restaurant's signature cocktail, the Hoboken Destroyer, and Hangar Steak No. 1 for his main course, an ode to the Wildwood Naval air station. Claire chose a spicy chicken dish called the Tempest Turner in honor of the fighter planes that used to fly bearing the image of Lana Turner, her favorite old Hollywood star, painted on their noses. It was a cute and quirky place with no detail spared, and their meal ended with a luscious dessert cart presented table side.

"Omg, I haven't seen one of these since I was a kid!" exclaimed Claire. "I can't choose between hot fudge cake and red velvet trifle."

"We'll get both and share," Jim said immediately. "And coffee. We have a late night ahead of us."

They ended the evening in each other's arms on the dance floor after Jim put in a request with the band. Claire sealed herself to his strong body and rested her head on his shoulder as they swayed to "Moonlight Serenade." She felt giddy, like a silly schoolgirl with a crush, and she had crazy desires to just disappear into him; holding him as close as possible just wasn't enough. When he pulled away to tighten their frame for the next song, she gave him a pout.

"But I want you to hold me, Daddy."

"Not now, little girl. Our song is about to start."

The band launched into the more upbeat, Sinatra version of "The Way You Look Tonight," and Jim immediately began leading her in the best version of a foxtrot he could manage while minding their still-healing wounds. Claire looked at him quizzically at the choice of song.

"It's the song you danced to with Bruce Wayne," Jim told her with a smirk. "Made me insanely jealous. I'm making it mine. Making you mine." His voice was raspy and possessive and made heat rush through her like molten lava.

"I'm completely, one-hundred percent yours, Jim Gordon," she whispered. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed hers teasingly before he twirled her around and enveloped her from behind. He was soon showing off modified moves from first-responders' balls past, and all she could do was follow his lead and pray she didn't look too pathetic to the other skilled dancers on the floor.

Keep that breathless charm...

Won't you please arrange it,

'Cause I LOVE you...

Just the way you look tonight

Jim spun her around at the swell of the song, and he pulled her slowly against him on the fade. He kissed her tenderly this time, his fingers splayed onto the black lace covering her behind. She felt him harden against her stomach, and she was already cursing the 45-minute drive back to Gotham.

"Are you really one-hundred percent mine?" he asked in her ear. Claire answered with an affirmative whimper.

"All right, then, let's do something about that," he said cryptically, leading her back to their table. Once seated he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket where it hung on the back of his chair. He laid a rectangular box on the table, wrapped in shiny gold paper.

"I could have gone with Valentine red, but since you love yellow, I went with gold."

Claire eyed the box and smiled. "It's perfect. But wait— let me get yours." She reached into her purse and produced a similarly sized box wrapped in silver.

Jim chuckled immediately. "What have we done?"

"I guess we'll find out," she laughed. "On the count of three we open, okay? One... two... THREE."

Their simultaneous rustling of the paper filled the air as they both tore open the little white boxes, lifted the velvet lids, and revealed their gifts to each other. Claire's hand clapped to her mouth when she saw the dangling "princess" charm next to her pearl birthstone. She knew it wasn't just a necklace, of course, in their world— just as the dog tag she'd given him on a long silver chain was so much more than a simple accessory.

"Owned by Kiddo... December 3, 2010," he read aloud. "The night of the ball?"

Claire nodded. "We've had so many 'dates'... for all of our different roles, and now for bringing our relationship back. But I wanted to celebrate the night we finally broke them all down, and just said that we love each other. Because when it all gets complicated, we just need to go back to that."

Jim turned the tag over in his hand, his eyes sparkling in the low lighting as he raised his gaze to her. "And Kiddo... not Mistress?"

She nodded again. "I own you... Mistress just gets to play."

Jim grinned, looking like he'd burst with happiness. "Do you like yours? I was nervous. I wasn't sure how Mistress would feel..."

Claire laughed. "She is like a separate personality, huh? But I love it. It's beautiful. Will you put it on me, Daddy?"

"Of course, sweet girl."

Claire watched as eyes from the surrounding tables peered over to view their impromptu collaring ceremony. As soon as Jim latched the clasp at the back of her neck, she fingered the little crown charm before reaching for his silver tag and chain, standing to slip it over his head. She tucked it beneath his collar and tie for now.

"I made it long so you can hide it well at work," she said shyly. "I knew you wouldn't want anyone asking questions... or thinking that anyone 'owns' the commissioner. But you can wear it in your shirt and feel the metal on your skin as a reminder. I actually had it for your birthday last month, but then we broke up the night before..."

Jim grabbed her and silenced her with a rough kiss. She didn't even think he was aware of all the perplexed eyes watching them and wondering what was so special about two necklaces.

"A huge mistake," he said. "But it worked out, because now we have something to give each other." He backed away and slid his hands down her arms to grasp hers. "You ready to get out of here and celebrate?"

Claire's bare arms shivered at his electric touch. "Yes."

XXXXX

That night they christened Jim's bed in the Tricorner, his previous reservations about having her there completely a thing of the past. Mainly because she had him so intoxicated by everything she did to his body that his mind didn't have time to contemplate. Claire seemed to be in charge that night, pushing him backward into his bedroom with a firm hand to his chest and her sexy hips swinging into his. She deposited his jacket on the floor and pulled roughly at his tie and belt before her nimble fingers danced over his buttons and zipper. He was nearly naked before she even so much as kicked her heels off.

"What's gotten into you?" he joked between her heated, frantic kisses.

"Shhh, commissioner" she commanded breathlessly. "Don't make Mistress come to play tonight... be a good boy and follow the rules. Your most important command is not to thrust no matter what I do. Understood?"

Jim gave an amused chuckle. "I feel fine, Claire. Believe it or not I've taken some pretty bad hits in almost three decades on the force. I recover fairly quickly."

Claire slapped him silent. Her deep amber green eyes with their smoky makeup were positively on fire as she dared him to challenge her again. He immediately felt himself release into surrender, like magic.

Claire's manicured fingers entangled themselves in the silver chain around his neck— his collar — his goal for almost half a year, now realized. She grabbed it and forced his naked body against the scratchy lace of her dress while her tongue conquered his mouth. He curbed the urge to ask her what she wanted him to do, telling his rabid desire to please her to sit back and await her direction.

Her sensuously plump lips moved down to the nerve-rich area below his ear, and she alternated between suckling and flicks of her tongue. Her dangly earring brushed his collarbone, and her hand drifted over the uninjured side of his torso, grabbing and pinching and teasing. She worked her way down his chest, lapping at his nipples, leaving a faint red lipstick trail in her wake. She zeroed in on his navel then nuzzled the smattering of hairs leading down into his navy boxer briefs. Jim felt his knees buckle in anticipation of her next move.

"Please take your dress off first," he begged. "I want to see you."

Just centimeters away from his bulge, Claire straightened up and obliged him, turning around to get his assistance with her dress. "Undress me..." she directed. "Show me that you love me."

Jim launched into action, eagerly lowering her zipper and kissing his way down the swath of creamy skin it exposed. Even with the slower-to-fade scars from Benny's torture, she was still gorgeous. His fingers fumbled with her bra clasp, and he slid it down her arms along with the cascading dress. He carefully lowered himself down to kiss the curve of her hip, making sure he followed her instruction to mind his incision when crouching. He spent a few seconds on his knees, appreciating the small of her back, lowering her black silk bikinis and nipping at the cheeks of her gorgeous ass.

"So fucking perfect," he muttered, kneading her flesh in his hand before smoothing his hands down her legs. She slowly kicked up each heel for him to remove her pumps then turned to face him, her Venus-like form on display. No wonder he'd drained his savings account for her, dirtied his hands alongside a criminal, and had even been prepared to sacrifice his life to save hers. Any hot-blooded man would do the same for this vixen vision— but he, Jim Gordon, was the only one she wanted.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked her in a raspy whisper, looking up from his kneeling position on his Berber carpet, pupils blown in lust-filled desperation. He could smell the desire between her thighs, a reminder that she was his after such a long time apart. "I'll do anything, Claire."

She took a step closer and gently caressed the underside of his jaw, her eyes warm and loving. "Stand back up," she replied, and as soon as he did so she swapped places with him, her hands locked to the backs of his thighs and her tongue snaking up in a spiral along his cock from base to tip.

Jim groaned as his body threatened to crumble under pleasure once again. Her mouth worshipped him expertly as always— her one hand twisting around his thick base while her saliva mixed with his precum and created a warm slick all over his plump, swollen head. Her other hand gripped his sack tighter than she ever had before; he was a little scared at first with the increasing pressure that showed no signs of stopping. But it magnified the arousal in his erection tenfold. His hips all but begged him to buck against her mouth, but he remembered her strict instruction not to thrust.

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered.

Claire let out a little laugh that sent a vibration up his shaft. She released him with a wet pop and gazed up at him wordlessly. Her graceful nude body swayed as she made her way over to his bed, which was neatly tucked with not even a single wrinkle. She laid herself over it languidly, forearms flat and knees together, the curve of her ass high in the air.

"Stand behind me and line yourself up," she whispered sexily. "But remember to let me do the work."

Jim was frozen for a few seconds, fixated on every perfect pink fold that glistened with wetness and begged to be invaded. His hard-on was raging after going so long without, and it required no preparation. He sheathed his entire length within her quickly and basked in her ecstatic cry at being filled.

"You're made for me," he groaned, and he couldn't resist pumping a bit within her tight walls.

"Don't make me pull off and leave you hanging, Toy," she warned. "Stand still."

Jim whimpered but stilled. He watched as Claire took over the work, her breathtaking curves undulating in his field of vision as she railed up and down on his shaft. He focused on sensation instead of her pornographic movements, hoping he could delay his eruption. The pinch and friction on his sensitive head as she pulled up and sank all the way back, over and over... the sight of her slick juices accumulating on his swollen skin more and more with each retreat... the wet smacks... her labored sounds. Her position on all fours allowed her free movement and allowed him to receive the pleasure he craved without further injury to his side.

"May I touch your tits?" he pleaded, catching glimpses of them bouncing at her sides. He could feel himself naturally slipping into the role of Toy at just her utterance of the word.

"Mmmm, yes, Jim."

He grinned with pride as he always did when she returned to his real name during sex. The woman loved him; she couldn't help herself, and the realization sent him to heaven. He reached forward and cupped her beautiful breasts, one in each hand, squeezing them so tightly he heard her cry out. The impact of their slapping bodies knocked her curls loose from their bronze clip, and they began to bounce along with the princess charm dangling between her breasts. Her hips maneuvered so that his tip lined up exactly where she seemed to want it, controlling her own pleasure and sending herself into a series of unbridled moans.

"Whoa, baby girl... slow down..." Jim warned.

"Hmm? Am... I... hurting...you?" she gasped, her tempo never slowing.

"No, but I'm gonna explode." He felt his sack tightening as if the admission somehow gave him permission to leap over the edge. He was out of practice, and his stamina wasn't the greatest. Plus having her in this submissive pose, doing all the work and just letting him watch the show was one of the biggest turn-ons of his life.

"Then I'll stop," she breathed, pulling away from him and coming up to her knees, sealing her mouth to his before he could protest. Her fingers glided through his hair, holding his head still for her hot, open mouth kisses. His wet cock probed her stomach, seeking relief, barely hanging on.

"Oh, god, kiddo... please," he begged. "I need you."

Claire straddled him and forced him back onto his quilted bed, teeth nipping at his ear, nails raking over his skin. She situated his cock back into her wet cunt and resumed her work, a bouncing rhythm decorated with a sexy, enraptured grin. He felt his tip being forced against her front wall again with her targeted movements, and he knew she wasn't far from her own release.

"Mmmm, you feel so good, Gordon," came her hot praises in his ear. "I've missed your big, hard cock and I'm about to come all over it."

Jim closed his eyes and shuddered. Maybe if he didn't watch her gyrating on him like a goddess riding a beast, he could manage to hang on. But closing off his visual sense only served to heighten the others... the smell of their combined sex, the feeling of her soft skin under his tight grip on her hips, the swirling explosion twisting up from his balls to his tip. He felt her dive forward and capture his mouth as the final swings of her hips sent her into powerful contractions around him.

"OH, Jim... YES!"

He opened his eyes and watched her angelic face twist as she lost all control. Risking his incision and her wrath, he arched up one final time into her trembling walls to release his seed deep within her, feeling her clamp down and tug every drop from him. At the exact same moment, their hands reached for the chains around one another's necks, clutching them as they came down from their highs. Taken by surprise, their eyes met each other's with a laugh.

"I love you," they said in unison, and they laughed again.

"God, we are so silly!" Claire exclaimed. "We're like a really bad TV movie." She dismounted him like he was a horse, his cum already dripping down her thighs, but she paid it no mind as she collapsed at his side.

Jim didn't waste a minute rolling her over and pinning her with his bodyweight and with fierce, powerful kisses. "Marry me," he said.

His mind instantly demanded an explanation from whatever force had taken over his reason and logic in that moment. What the hell had happened?

Claire's eyes widened as well. "What?"

Jim took a deep breath. "You heard me. Marry me."

She didn't say anything else right away, simply running a thoughtful hand over his left pectoral. Her nervous gaze flickered back and forth from his bare chest to his intense stare.

"I love you, Jim," she began slowly. "But you just finalized your divorce not even two months ago. And we can't be outed at work. I haven't met your kids yet. What happened to my careful, cautious, responsible commissioner?"

"He's crazy about you," replied Jim. "And can't lose you again."

Claire's eyes sparkled as she drew in a deep, contented breath. "You won't. But let's think it through. The risks, the rewards, the repercussions."

Jim chuckled. "Did we do some kind of Freaky Friday and swap personalities?"

She giggled in return. "Maybe. But let's not shelve the idea. Let's take some time to talk about it." She raised up and ran the tip of her tongue along the bristles of his mustache before licking his upper lip.

"You sure love that mustache," he teased her. "What would you do if I shaved it off?"

"Die."

"Ah. Same thing I'll do if you don't marry me."

"Jim!" Claire groaned and rolled her eyes before snuggling in at his side to sleep.

It wasn't long before he heard her breath become even and felt the subtle relaxation of her muscles as she seemed to meld into him. Jim's hand gained a mind of its own and began tracing her features, each subtle angle and curve. She gave a sleepy little mewl at his touches.

His inner voice, the one that was always ready with what he "should" be thinking, feeling, or doing, told him to quit admiring her and get a hold of himself. He was like a man possessed. But he wasn't listening to the voice anymore. Not where Claire was concerned. She fit into him like a puzzle piece, like she was cut from him, like she was the only partner in the universe made for him.

He kept expecting to regret the words that had escaped his mouth, awaiting the realization that you didn't just marry someone else with the ink still wet on your divorce papers. You didn't just procure a stepmom for your kids without telling them first. You didn't break up with a woman for being a former mob mistress and then suddenly let Cupid fire an arrow and bind you to her just a month later. It was insane... absurd... irrational. But god, he loved her. And it felt so damn right.


I decided to do a huge chapter dump today to get FFNet caught up with my other platforms... so now they're all up-to-date! If you are enjoying the story so far or have feedback, I would truly appreciate your reviews. I honestly don't hear from readers much on any platform and would love to improve my work. I would be honored if you'd drop your thoughts. Thanks for reading. :) More to come soon...