Karma's POV

"What do you mean grounded?" I said, gaping at the woman on the other side of the counter. She was about my age, with freckled cheeks and strawberry-blond hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She also looked like she was two seconds from strangling me and every other person in the international terminal at LaGuardia.

"Unfortunately we've just been informed of a mechanic union strike," she said flatly. "All Provence Airlines flights in and out of the airport have been canceled. We're terribly sorry for the inconvenience."

Well, she didn't sound very sorry. I continued to stare, blinking rapidly as her words sunk in. "Excuse me, what?"

She arranged her features into a tight, practiced smile. "All flights have been canceled due to the strike." I glanced over her shoulder to the Provence Airlines departure and arrival screens. Sure enough, CANCELED was emblazoned across each line.

"You're telling me I'm stuck here? Why didn't anyone tell me this in Chicago?"

"We'd be happy to help you make accommodations for the night—"

"No no no, that's impossible. Please, check again."

"Ma'am, as I told you, there are no Provence Airlines flights taking off or landing. You can check with the other airlines to see if they can accommodate you. There's nothing else I can do."

I groaned, letting my forehead fall to the counter. Amy was waiting for me, probably sitting outside in the sun at this very moment, laptop open and working like the overachieving loser she was. God, she turns me on.

"This can't be happening," I said, straightening and giving the attendant the most pleading expression I could muster. "The sweetest jackass in the world is waiting for me in France and I can't screw this up!"

"Mkaaaay," she said clearing her throat and straightening a stack of papers.

I was doomed. "How long?" I asked.

"There's no way to tell. Obviously they'll try and resolve the issue as soon as possible, but it could be one day, it could be more."

Well, that was helpful.

With a dramatic sigh and a few muffled swear words I dragged myself from the counter, in search of a quiet corner to call my assistant. Oh, and to text Amy. This was not going to go over well.

The phone rang within seconds.

I maneuvered through the crowd, through the throngs of stranded passengers taking up virtually every flat surface in the Provence Airlines terminal, and stopped at a tiny alcove near the restrooms.

"Hi."

"What the fuck do you mean 'stuck in New York'?!" she shouted.

I winced, pulling the phone from my ear before taking a much-needed calming breath.

"It means exactly what you think it means. We've been grounded, no flights in or out. I'm having a few people check with Delta and a few other airlines, but I'm sure everyone else has already done that, too."

"This is unacceptable!" she roared. "Do they know who you are? Let me talk to someone."

I laughed. "Nobody here knows or cares who I am. Or you for that matter."

She was silent for a moment, long enough that I actually looked to see if I'd dropped the call. I hadn't. The sound of birds singing filled the line, a wind chime off in the distance. When she finally did speak, it was in that low, steady voice I'd become so accustomed to. The one that still sent goose bumps along my skin. The one she used when she meant business.

"Tell them to get your ass on a plane,"she said, enunciating every word.

"Everything is overbooked on every plane, Amy. What the hell do you want me to do? Catch a ride on a boat? Use a portkey? Simmer down, I'll get there as soon as I can."

She groaned, and I could tell the moment she realized she couldn't argue or charm her way out of this. "But when?"

"I don't know, babe. Tomorrow, maybe? The next day? Soon, I promise."

With a resigned sigh she asked, "So what now?" I heard the sound of a door opening and closing, the tinkle of soft music in the background.

"We wait." I sighed. "I'll get a room, maybe get some work done. Maybe I can check out those apartments while I'm here. And then I promise, the first available flight out of here? I'm on it. Even if I have to take out a few businessmen with the heel of my shoe—I'll get there."

"You bet your ass you will," she said.

I shook my head to clear it from the sound of her commanding voice. "So tell me about the house. Is it as gorgeous as I imagine?"

"Better. I mean, your company would obviously improve it, but damn. Emily really outdid herself on this one."

"Well, try and enjoy it. Sit in the sun, swim, read something trashy. Walk around barefoot."

"Walk around barefoot? That's an unusual request, even for you."

"Humor me."

"Yes, ma'am."

I grinned. "Damn, I think I like this side of you. Pretty sexy when you take orders, Raundelfed."

She laughed softly into the phone. "Oh, and Karma?"

"Hmm?"

"I hope you didn't pack any panties. You won't be needing them."

I spent the rest of the day at the airport, praying for a miracle or a flight to France. I got neither.

It took hours to locate my luggage, so by the time I finally walked through the door of my hotel room, I was ready to pass out. With the time difference it was too late, or too early, to call Amu, so I'd sent her a short text while I ran myself a bath and ordered a bottle of wine, along with anything containing chocolate, from the room service menu.

I'd just climbed into the large tub—wineglass and chocolate cheesecake balanced precariously on the edge—when my phone rang. My hand fumbled around on the tile floor until I found it, and a smile filled me when Amy's face lit up the screen.

"I thought you'd be asleep," I said.

"Bed's too big."

I smiled at her sleepy voice. This was the Amy who would roll over in the middle of the night, limbs warm and heavy, sweet words mumbled into my skin. She'd always been so much better at all of this than I had, even from the beginning.

"What are you doing?" she asked, bringing my attention back to the phone.

"Bubble bath," I said, and grinned at the sound of her groan on the other end of the line.

"No fair."

"What about you?"

"Just going over some paperwork."

"Did you find my note?

"Note?"

"I left you something."

"You did?"

"Mm-hmm. Check your laptop bag."

I heard the creak of leather as he stood, the sound of feet padding across a tile floor followed by laughter. "Karma," she said, laughing harder now. "It looks like someone slipped a ransom note in here."

"Very funny."

"'Three observations about today: I didn't get everything done on my to-do list, the salad you made me for lunch was delicious, and, most importantly, I love you,'?" she read, and then fell silent as she read the rest of the note to herself. When she finished, she grumbled, "I . . . fuck. It makes me insane that you aren't here."

I closed my eyes. "The universe is conspiring against us."

"You know, there's a part of me that wants to say none of this would have happened if you weren't so stubborn, and would have just come with me in the first place." I started to protest. "But," she said, continuing, "your determination is one of the things I love most about you. You never settle. You'd never expect someone to do a job you wouldn't do yourself. And you wouldn't be the woman I fell in love with if you changed that. It's exactly what I would have done. As usual. And also a little creepy to realize how alike we are."

I sat up in the cooling water, bringing my knees to my chest. "Thank you, Amy. That means a lot to me."

"Well, I meant it. And you can show me your appreciation when you get that hot little ass to France. Deal?"

I rolled my eyes. "Deal."

I didn't get to France the next day. Or the day after that. And by day three I was actually trying to remember why hitching a ride on a boat had seemed like such a bad idea in the first place.

It's possible I called Amy more in those three days than in the entirety of our relationship, but it wasn't enough, and did nothing to ease the hollow ache that had taken up permanent residence inside my chest.

I kept myself busy, but there was no denying I was homesick. I wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, but at some point, Amy had become it for me. As in it it. The One.

And it was fucking terrifying.

I'd come to this realization while out for a walk. My assistant had called, saying she'd been able to get me on an Air France flight later that night. My first thought had been of Amy, and how I couldn't wait to tell her I was on my way. I'd nearly sprinted to my hotel room.

But then I'd stopped, heart racing and lungs on fire. When had this happened, when had she become my everything? And I wondered, was it possible she was trying to tell me she felt the same way? I packed in a daze, throwing clothes aimlessly into my bag and collecting my things around the room. I thought back on how much she'd changed in the last year. The quiet moments at night, the way she looked at me sometimes as if I were the only woman on the planet. I wanted to be with her—always. And not just in the same apartment or bed, but for good.

It was then that I was struck by an idea so crazy, so insane, that I literally burst out laughing. I'd never been the type of woman to sit back and wait for the things I wanted to appear, so why should this be any different? And that was it.

Amy Raudenfeld had no idea what was about to hit her.

Amy's POV

As impossible as it seemed, I was bored out of my f**king mind in this beautiful, enormous French villa. The place required no cleaning or handyman work, my VPN connection was so slow I couldn't get on the RMG server to conduct actual business, and—perhaps most strangely—I felt like there were certain things I shouldn't do until Karma got here.

It felt wrong to dive into the infinity pool knowing she was stuck in New York. I didn't want to walk through the vineyards bordering the house, because it seemed like something we should discover at the same time. Emiy's housekeeper had put out some bottles of wine for us to enjoy, but surely only a giant a**hole would drink them alone. My claim to this house was hers, too. I'd still only opened one bedroom door, and slept there, not wanting to go through our options until she'd arrived. Together we would pick out where we would spend our nights.

Of course, if I said any of this to her she would laugh at me and tell me I was being dramatic. But that's why I wanted her here. Something monumental happened to me the other day when I used the bat signal, and that sense of urgency hadn't diminished, and probably wouldn't until she was here and had heard what I had to say.

I walked through the gardens, stared out at the ocean in the distance, and checked my phone again, reading Karma's most recent text for the hundredth time:

Looks like Air France might have an open seat.

She'd sent this one three hours ago. Although it seemed promising, her previous three texts had been similar, and ultimately she'd been bumped from those flights. Even if she had left three hours ago, she wouldn't make it to Marseille until tomorrow morning, at best.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small figure emerge from the back of the house and place a platter of food on the table closest to the pool. Another peek at the clock on my phone told me that I'd managed to kill a few hours, and it was finally time for lunch. The house had come with a cook, a fifty-something woman named Dominique, who baked bread every morning, and, so far, served some variety of fish, fresh garden greens, and figs at lunch. Dessert was handmade macarons or tiny cookies with jam thumbprints. If Karma didn't get here soon, Dominique would have to roll me to the door to greet my lady friend.

Beside my plate was a large glass of wine, and when I looked over at Dominique, she'd stopped at the threshold of the back door, pointed to the wine, and said, "Le boire. Vous vous ennuyez, et solitaire."

Well, shit. I was bored, and I was lonely. One glass of wine couldn't hurt. I wasn't celebrating—I was surviving, right? I thanked Dominique for lunch, and sat down at the table, trying to ignore the perfect breeze, the perfect temperature, the sound of the ocean not even a half mile in the distance, the feel of the warm tile beneath my bare feet. I wouldn't enjoy a single second until Karma was here.

Amy, you are one pathetic navel-gazer.

As usual, the fish was incredible, and the salad with tiny tart onions and little cubes of a sharp, white cheese packed so much flavor that before I knew it, my wineglass was empty and Dominique was at my side, quietly refilling it.

I began to stop her, telling her I needed no more wine. "Je vais bien, je n'ai pas besoin de plus."

She winked at me. "Puis l'ignorer."

Then ignore it.

One bottle of wine down and I began wondering why I hadn't bought a villa in France myself. I had lived in the country before, after all, and while the memories were bittersweet—time away from friends and family, a grueling work schedule—I'd lived here in a time of my life that felt so short in hindsight. I was still young. I was still starting out, really. Thank fuck Karma and I had found each other when we still had our whole lives ahead of us.

Hell, if Emily could find a gorgeous place like this, I could find one that was even more lush and beautiful.

The wine had left my limbs warm and heavy, my head full of rambling thoughts that seemed to have no reason. How insane would it have been to know Karma in my early twenties? We would have torn this place up, and probably lasted only a weekend. Isn't it amazing how you meet the person you're meant to meet, when you're supposed to meet her?

I fumbled with my phone and texted Karma: I'm so glad we met when we did. Even if you were an enormous pain in my ass you're still the best thing that ever hapened to me.

I stared intently at my phone, looking for an indication that she was replying, but nothing. Had her phone died? Or was she asleep in the hotel? Could she text on the airline? I did the mental calculation, knowing she was six hours? Seven hours behind . . . ? No, too complicated. I smiled at Dominique as she poured me another glass of wine, and I texted Karma again: Not drinking all of the winembut what I have is dellicious! I promise to save some for you.

I stood, tripping over . . . something. I frowned down at the lawn and wondered if I'd stepped on a small animal. Discarding the thought, I walked into the garden, stretching my arms and letting out a long, happy sigh. I felt relaxed for the first time since I'd last fucked Karma, which was about a zillion years ago. With a full stomach and a bit of wine in me, I realized I hadn't taken the time to plan for Karma's arrival at all. We had some things to get out of the way first. We had some talking to do, some planning.

Would I lead her to the garden, pull her down onto the lawn with me, and make her listen? Or wait for a quiet moment over dinner and then go to her, guiding her out of the chair and close to me? I knew what I wanted to say—I'd gone over the words a million times in my head on the flights here—but I didn't know when I would say it.

Best to let her be here a few days before dropping the hammer.

I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and tilted my head up to the sky. I let myself enjoy it for just a beat. The weather was spectacular. The last time I'd been outside in the sun with Karma was at a barbecue at Lauren's the previous weekend, and it had only been marginally warm. After a day in the sun and wind, we'd gone home and had some of the laziest, quietest sex I could remember.

I opened my eyes and immediately clapped a hand over my face in the bright sun. "Ow. Fuck."

Dominique appeared several yards away and pointed to the front gate. "Allez," she said, telling me to go. "Se promener. Vous êtes ivre."

I laughed. Hell yes, I was tipsy. She'd poured the entire bottle of wine for me. "Je suis ivre parce que vous me versa une bouteille entière de vin." I think that's what I said.

With a smile, she lifted her chin. "Allez chercher des fleurs dans la rue. Demandez Mathilde."

This was good. I had a task. Find some flowers. Ask for Mathilde. I bent to tie my shoe and headed out of the property, toward town. Dominique was a wily one, getting me drunk and then sending me off on errands so I wasn't moping around the house all day. She and Karma would get along swimmingly.

Not a half mile down the road, there was a small storefront with flowers spilling out of every conceivable container: vases and baskets, boxes and urns. Over the door was a small sign written in looping script that said simply, MATHILDE.

Bingo.

A bell rang as I entered, and a young blond woman stepped from the back into the small main room of the store.

Greeting me in French, she quickly gave me a once-over and then asked, "You're the American?"

"Oui, mais je parle fran?ais."

"But I also speak English," she said, her thick accent curling around each word. "And it is my store, so we'll practice for me."

She raised her brows flirtatiously, as if to challenge me. She was beautiful, no doubt, but her lingering eye contact and sexy smile made me a touch uneasy.

And then it hit me: Dominique knew I was bored and lonely, but she probably had no idea that I was waiting for Karma's arrival. She'd filled me with wine and then sent me to the hot young single woman down the street.

Oh dear God.

Mathilde moved a little closer, adjusting some flowers in a tall, slim vase. "Dominique said you were staying at Ms. Stella's."

"You know Emily?"

Her laugh was husky and quiet. "Yes, I know Emily."

"Oh," I said, eyes widening. Of course. "You mean you know Emily."

"This doesn't make me unique," she said, laughing again. Looking away from her flowers, she asked, "Are you here for flowers? Or do you think perhaps Dominique sent you for something else?"

"My girlfriend is coming tomorrow she was stuck in New York and then they had a strike and now she's coming," I blurted out in one steady, awkward word-flood.

"So you're here for flowers, then." Mathilde paused, looking around the store. "What a lucky woman she is. You are very beautiful." Her eyes slid back to me. "Perhaps you'll be sober by then?"

I frowned. Straightening, I muttered, "I'm not that tipsy."

"No?" Her eyebrows lifted and an amused smile spread across her face. She moved back through the store, collecting an assortment of flowers as she walked. "You are charming anyway, Friend of Emily. The wine just makes you less inhibited. I bet normally you button up your shirts and frown at people who will walk too slowly in front of you."

My frown deepened. That did sound a little like me. "I take my work seriously but I'm not like that . . . all the time."

She smiled, tying some twine around the flowers. Mathilde handed me the bouquet and winked. "You're not at work here. Keep your shirt unbuttoned. And don't sober up for your lover. There are nine beds in that house."

The front door was open. Had Dominique left and not closed it behind her? Panic seized me. What if something had happened when I was in town? What if the house had been ransacked? Despite Mathilde's advice, I sobered instantly.

But it hadn't been ransacked. It was exactly as I left it, with just a bit more wind blowing through the open door. Yet . . . I hadn't come out this way; I'd walked from the backyard to the front gardens.

Down the hall, I heard water running, and I called out to Dominique, "Merci pour l'idée, Dominique, mais ma copine arrive demain." She should know as soon as possible that I was spoken for. Who knows if she would start inviting women over here? Is that what she did for Emily? Dear God, the woman hasn't changed one bit.

As I neared the closest bedroom off the hall, I realized that what I'd heard was a shower. And just inside the door were suitcases.

Karma's suitcases.

I could have barreled in there and scared the ever-loving shit out of her. She had, after all, been stupid enough to leave the front door open enough for it to blow wide in the wind, and then climbed in the shower. I clenched my jaw and fists as I imagined what might have happened if someone else had decided to walk into the house instead of me.

Fuck. I hadn't seen her in days and I already wanted to strangle and then kiss the hell out of her. I felt a smile pull at my mouth. This was us. It was such a familiar battle of love and frustration, desire and exasperation. She would push every button I had, and then uncover new ones I didn't even know I had, and push those.

Her quiet singing drifted from the bathroom into the bedroom I'd claimed the first night here. As I moved closer, peeking around the doorway to where she stood, I was greeted by the sight of her long wet hair slick and shiny down her naked back. And then she bent over so her perfect ass was in the air as she shaved her legs, and kept singing to herself.

Part of me wanted to climb in, take the razor from her hand, and finish the job for her, kissing every smooth inch. Another part of me wanted to climb in and make good on the promise to take her from behind, slowly and carefully. But an even larger part of me relished playing the voyeur. She still didn't know I was there, and seeing her like this—thinking she was alone, singing quietly, maybe even thinking about me?—was like a cold glass of water on a scorching day. I would never get tired of watching her in any setting. And naked, wet, and in the shower wasn't too far from the top scenario on the list.

She rinsed her leg and stood, turning to clear the conditioner from her hair, and that's when she saw me. A smile exploded across her face, her nipples tightened, and in that moment I almost shattered the glass shower door to get to her.

"How long have you been standing there?"

I shrugged, looking down the length of her body.

"Such a creeper."

"Still a creeper, you mean." I moved a little closer, crossing my arms over my chest as I leaned against the wall. "When did you get here, you sneak?"

"About a half hour ago."

"I thought you just caught a plane in the States? Did you go by portkey after all?"

She laughed, tilting her head back under the showerhead for one final rinse, before turning off the water. "I caught the first one I told you about. I thought it would be fun to mislead and surprise you." Taking her long hair in both hands, she pulled it over her shoulder and squeezed the water from it, watching me with eyes that grew increasingly hungry. "I think I was hoping you'd come home to find me naked in the shower. May have been why I stepped into the shower."

"I'll admit it's pretty fucking convenient because I'm ready to be naked myself."

Karma pushed open the door and came directly to me. "I wanted that pretty mouth on me as soon as I heard you were flirting with the flower girl."

I scowled. "Oh please." And then I paused. "How did you know about that?"

She smiled. "Dominique speaks very good English. Said she grew tired of your moping and sent you down there because you're so cute when you're annoyed. I agreed."

"She—what?"

"I'm glad you didn't decide to bring Mathilde back with you, though. That could have been awkward."

"Or it could have been awesome," I teased, pulling her against me and wrapping a towel from the rack around her shoulders. I felt the water from her breasts soak into my clothes.

She's here. She's here. She's here.

I bent, brushed my lips over hers. "Hey, sweetheart."

"Hey," she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. "Have you ever been with two women at once?" she asked, leaning back and running her hands up under my shirt as I worked to dry her off. "I can't believe I haven't ever asked you that."

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too. Answer my question."

I shivered. "Yes."

Her hands were cold and her nails felt sharp when she scratched down my torso. "More than two at a time?"

Shaking my head, I bent to run my nose along her jaw. She smelled like home, like my Karma: her own mild citrus scent and the soft natural smell of her skin. "Weren't you saying something about wanting my mouth on you?"

"Specifically between my legs," she instructed.

"I assumed." I bent, scooped her up, and carried her to the bed.

When I put her down on the edge, she sat up, leaning back on her hands behind her, pulling her feet up on the edge of the bed . . . and spread her legs. She looked up at me, and whispered, "Take your clothes off."

Holy Christ this woman was going to kill me with views like that. I kicked my shoes across the room, yanked off my socks, and reached behind me to pull my shirt over my head. Giving her a few seconds to reacquaint herself with my bare chest, I scratched my stomach and gave her a smile. "See something you like?"

"Are we giving shows?" Her hand slipped over her thigh and between her legs. "I can do that."

"Are you fucking kidding me," I breathed, fumbling with my belt buckle and pulling the buttons of my jeans free in a single movement. I nearly fell over trying to get them off.

Her hand moved away, and then she reached both arms out for me. "On top," she said quietly, apparently not wanting my mouth after all. "Over me, I want to feel your weight."

It was perfect, like this, without pretense. We both wanted to make love before we did anything else: looking around, eating, catching up.

Her skin was cool, and mine still felt flushed from the sun, my uphill walk back to the villa, and the thrill of seeing her here so unexpectedly. The contrast was astounding. Beneath me she was nothing but smooth skin and tiny, quiet sounds. Her nails dug into my back, her teeth slid over my chin, my neck, my shoulder.

"I want you inside," she whispered into a kiss.

"Not yet."

Although she let out a little growl of frustration, for a while she let me simply kiss her. I loved the way her lips felt on my tongue, the way her tongue felt against my lips. I was acutely aware of every point of contact between us: her breasts against my breasts, her hands on my back, the tendons of her thighs pressing into my sides. When she wrapped her legs around mine, her calves felt like a band of heat around me..

Beneath me, she arched and rocked, getting as much friction as she could. Kisses would start tentative, maybe playful, and then grow into deep, ravenous, arching hunger before returning to slow and tasting. She let me press her arms over her head, let me suck and bite her nipples almost to the point of pain. She asked me what I wanted, what felt good, and whether I wanted her body or her mouth first. Her first instinct when we were naked was always to pleasure me.

This woman amazed me. I'd lost perspective on who she used to be outside of our relationship. With me, she could be anything. Brave and afraid weren't opposite. She could be sharp and tender, devious and innocent. I wanted to be her everything in the same way.

"I love the way we kiss," she whispered, the words coming out pressed against my lips.

"What do you mean?" I knew what she meant. I knew exactly what she meant; I simply wanted to hear her talk about how fucking perfect it all felt.

"I just love that we kiss the same, that you always seem to know exactly how I want it."

"I want to be married," I blurted. "I want you to marry me."

Fuuuuuuuck.

And so my entire carefully constructed speech was thrown out the window. My grandmother's antique ring was in a box in the dresser—nowhere near me—and my plan to kneel and do everything right just evaporated.

In the circle of my arms, Karma grew very still. "What did you just say?"

I had completely botched the plan, but it was too late to turn back now.

"I know we have only been together for a little over a year," I explained, quickly. "Maybe it's too soon? I understand if it's too soon. It's just that how you feel about the way we kiss? I feel that way about everything we do together. I love it. I love to be inside you, I love working with you, I love watching you work, I love fighting with you, and I love just sitting on the couch and laughing with you. I'm lost when I'm not with you, Karma. I can't think of anything, or anyone, who is more important to me, every second. And so for me, that means we're already sort of married in my head. I guess I wanted to make it official somehow. Maybe I sound like an idiot?" I looked over at her, feeling my heart try to jackhammer its way up my throat. "I never expected to feel this way about someone."

She stared at me, eyes wide and lips parted as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. I stood and ran over to the dresser, pulling the box from the drawer and carrying it over to her. When I opened the box and let her see my grandmother's antique diamond and sapphire ring, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I want to be married," I said again. Her silence was unnerving, and fuck, I'd completely botched this with my rambling nonsense. "Married to you, I mean."

Her eyes filled with tears and she held them, unblinking. "You. Are such. An ass."

Well, that was unexpected. I knew it might be too soon, but an ass? Really? I narrowed my eyes. "A simple 'It's too soon' would have sufficed, Karma. Jesus. I lay my heart out on the—"

She pushed off the bed and ran over to one of her bags, rummaging through it and pulling out a small blue fabric bag. She carried it back to me with the ribbon hooked over her long index finger, and dangled the bag in my face.

I ask her to marry me and she brings me a souvenir from New York? What the fuck is that? "What the fuck is that?" I asked.

"You tell me, genius."

"Don't get smart with me, Ashcroft. It's a bag. For all I know you have a granola bar, or your tampons, in there."

"It's a ring, dummy. For you."

My heart was pounding so hard and fast I half wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. "A ring for me?"She pulled a small box out of the bag and showed it to me.

"You were going to propose to me?" I asked, still completely confused.

She punched me, hard, in the arm. "Yes, you butt face. And you totally stole my thunder."

"So, is that a yes?" I asked, my bewilderment deepening. "You'll marry me?"

"You tell me!" she yelled, but she was smiling.

"Technically you haven't asked yet."

"Goddamnit, Amy! You haven't, either!"

"Will you marry me?" I asked, laughing.

"Will you marry me?"

With a growl, I took the box and dropped it on the floor, flipping her onto her back.

"Are you always going to be this impossible?"

She nodded, eyes wide, lip caught between her teeth. Fuck. We could settle this later.

I bent, pressed a kiss into her neck and slid my fingers into her slowly, even though every tendon and muscle in my body wanted it rough and frenzied.I felt her arms wrap around my neck, her face press into my neck as she rose to meet my movements.

"Give it to me," I whispered into her mouth, licking forward, asking. She pressed her head back into the pillow, parted her lips to gasp, and I took the opportunity to slide my tongue into her mouth, to suck a little on hers. "That okay?" I whispered, pressing into the skin of her hip with my fingertips. She loved the edge of pain and pleasure, that razor-sharp line we'd discovered early on together. She nodded and I moved faster, filling my head with the smell of her. I tasted her collarbones, her neck, bit a mark into her shoulder.

"Up here," she breathed, pulling me back up to her face. "Kiss me."

So I did. Over and over until she was panting and squirming beneath me, urging me to move faster. I felt her abdomen tense and then her legs squeezed hard around me, her cries sharp in my ear.

Her cries grew louder, and she screamed and then gasped and I tried to stop and pull my fingers away but I knew she could come again. I knew she was sensitive but she could take more.

"Coming," she breathed. "I can't—I can't—"

Her hips shook and I pushed my fingers inside her as hard as I dare. "Don't you fucking stop."

"Touch me . . . there," she gasped and I knew what she wanted. With a sharp cry she came again, the coiled muscles beneath her skin tightening all around my fingers.

"Yes yes yes yes . . ." she chanted, delirious, before collapsing onto the pillow beneath her.

It felt like the walls rattled in the silence that followed. Everything in my head shook with need for her; it was disorienting.

"Yes," she gasped one last time.

I held very, very still as awareness seeped back into my thoughts. "Yes?"

Then with her limbs still trembling, and breaths coming out in sharp little pants, she gave me a radiant smile. "Yes . . . I want to be married, too."

A/N: So that was THE END...or should I write the wedding too? ;)