You Make Me (Blurred Lines #1)(61)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“I know. And I’m sorry that I was so insecure, that I put my feelings about other people on you.”

“I’ll never abandon you, Cat.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“Because, the thing is, when I heard that man, that motherfucker, say his wife was replaceable, I wanted to put a bullet through his black heart. A wife, a woman, isn’t a commodity, she’s a gift.” His voice was impassioned, his grip firm. “And if you treat her right, she’ll love you better than you ever deserve, and that’s you with me. You love me better than I’ll ever deserve.”

I rolled so I was on top of him and I stared down into those eyes that were as dark as the sky. “I love you exactly like you deserve.”

Inside the house a few minutes later, we kicked off boots, and Heath unwound my scarf from around my neck, cupping my cheeks with his cold hands. It was me who didn’t deserve that, such a look of complete and utter devotion. His lips brushed mine softly.

“It’s nice to be home, isn’t it?” he asked, taking down the zipper of my coat.

It was. The house was warm, a fire Heath had built roaring in the fireplace, the colorful lights on our Christmas tree softly glowing. I had baked bread, and it smelled like cinnamon and bananas, and as his hands slid inside my coat to rest on my waist, I knew that we did deserve each other. We were creating a future together, and enjoying the now.

“It’s very, very nice,” I said, taking a page from his book and reaching under his sweatshirt to cruise over his chest and stomach. “Better even than your abs.”

He laughed softly. “But the abs are pretty amazing, you have to admit.”

“I admit nothing.” I shifted forward and murmured into his ear, “Except that I love you.” I took his earlobe between my teeth and gently tugged.

He made a low sound in the back of his throat, his touch seeking my br**sts, finger pinching my nipple in an echo of the mild sting I’d just given to him. Beaten at my own game. But I fought against the urge to tear at his clothes and have him take me hard. Instead I kissed the corner of his mouth, then the other corner, before drawing my tongue lightly across his bottom lip. Heath reached inside my sleeves and pushed my coat off and onto the floor.

The fire popped cheerfully, and we warmed each other up, one stroke, one kiss, at a time. We had forever, and as we peeled layer after layer of clothing off each other, and Heath softly dropped me down onto the couch on a blanket, we kissed with the languid desire of two people perfectly in tune.

He brought me to the edge with his hand, knowing how to dip and stroke and drive me insane, before he pulled away.

“No?” I asked, breathless, wanting to orgasm.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not until I’m inside you.”

When he pushed inside, we both sighed. I was open to him in all ways possible and I reached up to rub the pad of my thumb over his lip. He pressed a kiss on my skin.

“Cat, will you marry me?” he asked, as he stroked, hand drawing my knee up so he could reach deeper, more fully inside me.

Caught off guard, I stared up at him, sensations overwhelming me. I still wore his ring but he had never officially proposed to me. That he would now, like this, while we were naked and entwined, our bodies as connected as our souls, the fire and Christmas lights the only illumination in the room, was so Heath. No intricate planning, no presentation, no show for anyone else.

Just us.

“Yes, I will marry you.”

Heath and Cat.

Cat and Heath.

Around and around. Endless.