by Amelia Stone
I snaked a hand under her tee shirt, tweaking her nipple hard, and her eyes flew open as predicted.
She turned her head, smiling at me. “Good morning,” she said, her voice throaty with sleep.
I kissed her deeply, relishing her uniquely sweet taste. She whimpered as I slowly continued to pump my fingers inside her, circling her nub with my thumb. “Good morning, my love,” I said when I broke the kiss.
She glanced back at the clock, her eyes squinting blearily. “Is it time for me to get up already?”
I shook my head. “Your alarm isn’t set to go off for another forty-five minutes.” I grinned. “But I’m already up,” I added, grinding my hips against her ass cheeks.
She chuckled. “I can feel that.” She gave me a wry smile.
I kissed her neck, darting my tongue out to her pulse point, just like she loved. She moaned, and I pulled my fingers from her, eager to get her naked. She made a mewling noise in protest, but I swallowed the noise with a kiss.
We broke apart long enough to remove our pajamas, then tumbled back onto the bed, our limbs tangled. We laughed as we worked to free ourselves, our hands all over each other. I pulled myself up into a sitting position, my back against the headboard, and she straddled me.
When she finally sank down onto me, I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, savoring the moment. Sex with Hannah really never got old. Every single time, I thought it couldn’t get any better, only to be proven wrong.
She kissed my throat and jaw as she began to move her hips, and I looked down at her. Her green eyes were still hooded with sleep, but they glowed with desire and affection as she looked up at me.
“I love you,” she whispered, a dreamy smile playing on her lips.
I chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me that while we’re doing it. You already know I’m going to come back for more.”
She laughed and punched my shoulder playfully. “Dork.”
I kissed her. “I love you, Hannah.”
She hummed happily, smiling. “That’s more like it.”
We moved together for several more minutes, increasing our pace, until both of us were at the tipping point. I was just about ready to explode, but she still needed to come. So I moved a hand down to flick her nub at a rapid-fire pace. After a minute of that, she convulsed around me, breathing my name and digging her nails into my shoulders. I stroked up into her frantically, once, twice, until finally I came.
I pulled her in closer to me, my arms circling her in an intimate embrace. She rested her cheek on my shoulder, sighing contentedly as she nuzzled my collarbone. I looked down at her, stroking her long red hair.
My beautiful Hannah, right where she belonged – in my arms.
Suddenly, I didn’t want to wait until later to pop the question. Fuck the live swing band, the thousand sunflowers, and the dozens of witnesses. None of it mattered. Everything I needed was right here.
I reached into the nightstand drawer, shuffling the contents around until my fingers closed on the small velvet box hidden in the back. I felt her lean back to look at me, and her expression was curious when I glanced back at her. I smiled as I pulled the box from the drawer, my fingers clamped tight around it to hide it from her view.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Rather than answer, I dropped the box into her palm. She sucked in a breath. “What’s this?” Her voice was shaky as she stared down at her hand.
I grinned as I reached down to open it, my hands trembling. She gazed down at the ring, a round-cut chocolate diamond surrounded by a circle of teardrop yellow diamonds pointing outwards, all in a platinum setting. I spent more money than I make in a month on this custom ring, so I prayed that she’d love it as much as I thought she would.
I watched her nervously, biting my lower lip. Finally, she lifted her gaze to mine. Her cheeks were wet and her chin was wobbling.
Shit. She hated it. I knew it was a risk, not getting her a more traditional ring, and now it was blowing up in my face.
“We can get you something else if you don’t like it,” I said as quickly as I could.
“Don’t you dare.” She shook her head. “It’s beautiful.”
I blew out a relieved breath. They were happy tears. Thank God. “It’s supposed to look like a sunflower.”
She nodded. “It does,” she assured me, her voice thick with tears. “It’s perfect.”
I kissed her tenderly. God, I loved this woman. “You’re perfect,” I told her when I tore my lips from hers. “You’re the perfect woman for me, Hannah. You’re my heart and soul. I love you so much. Please tell me you’ll marry me.”
She made a strangled sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Of course I will. Yes. I love you.”
I kissed her again and again, grinning like a fool. “Say that one more time.”
She laughed. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Brian.”
THE END
Acknowledgements
I would never have been able to finish this story without help from so many wonderful people. Endless thanks go to Kristi, Amy M., Christine, and my doofy big brother, Matty, for your encouragement, love, and patience in answering my sometimes bizarre and intrusive questions.
A special thanks, especially, to Jamy for suggesting my nom de plume, and for always reminding me to be kind to myself. I hope your namesake meets with your approval, though she falls far short of the magic that is you.
On this second edition of this book, I’d like to again thank Jamy, for making the most amazing book cover I’ve ever laid eyes on - not least because it’s mine.
And most of all, my love and thanks go to my best friend, my first beta reader, my brain twin, Amy Lyn. You’re the bread that holds my grilled cheese together. I couldn’t have gotten past page one if you hadn’t believed in me, encouraged me, and held me together through the toughest year of my life. You never once laughed at me when I told you I wanted to write romance, and you never once judged me when I made what seemed like boneheaded decisions. I hope one day to be half as good a friend to you.
And thank you, all my readers, for purchasing this story, and for making it through to the end. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you’ll come back for more!
Amelia Stone is the author of the Time for Love series. She knew at the age of five that she wanted to be a writer, and she wrote and illustrated her first book in the third grade. (It was about kittens, of course.) When she’s not writing, she can usually be found eating Mexican food, listening to New Wave music, or attempting to co-opt someone else’s dog. She lives in Michigan with roommates.
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Also by Amelia Stone
A Time For Love:
One More Time
The First Time
Moments in Time
Time After Time – coming soon!
