It depends what she means.
When I don’t reply immediately she adds, “The book, chocolates, the card. And the… Ring.”
Fingers crossed for foolhardy, but I won’t lie to her. Even if my obsession could scare her away for good. “Yes.”
“You were following me?”
How to explain the visceral need to see her, to be with her, to keep my girl safe? It’s been a constant tug at my chest since we met, leading me to her.
I don’t attempt to say all that. I simply nod.
“Stalking me.”
I think of the CCTV cameras in her father’s house that I hacked into. There wasn’t anything too private, I’ll give the bastard credit for that at least. Just corridors, public areas, and the kitchen. I liked watching Felicity in her kitchen. My baking queen.
“You could put it like that.”
She licks her lips. How is it even legal for a girl to be this pretty?
I wait for the disgust, or judgement. Or perhaps the next question: Why. She shoots a look at me from beneath long black lashes and I see the words in her eyes.
I’m willing to lay out my heart for her. I love her. I’m certain we belong together.
“Thank you for the gifts,” she says instead.
“I’m sorry you had to leave them all behind.”
“Only the book. I ate the kisses…” She smiles ruefully.
“And the other gift?” My heart hammers in my chest. A diamond ring. Not exactly the most subtle gift I’ve ever given, even if it wasn’t as expensive as what I’d have chosen. But I saw the longing on her face as she examined the jewellery that day and didn’t care about anything but making her smile.
“Why did you give it to me?”
“Why do you think?” I quirk one eyebrow up and she blushes. We’re both circling around the real question here.
“I couldn’t wear it before… But… I could now…?”
“Would you like to?” My heart is bashing around my ribcage as though it’s been tossed over a waterfall in a barrel.
She’s digging eagerly into the seams of her hoody grabbed from where it was discarded earlier, and a cautious smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “If you’d like me to?”
“I would.”
Then the ring is glinting in her palm.
I lift it and for the second time in as many days I’m kneeling at her feet in the back of the car. But instead of snapping her bonds, this time I’m taking her hands in mine. They’re small and delicate. I stroke my thumb over her palm. Her mouth falls open into a little ‘o’ and her pupils go wide. Blown.
Mmm. My girl.
I slowly slip the ring over her fourth fingertip, holding her gaze all the time. It’s borderline erotic, a fore echo of my taking her virginity, slipping my cock into her, and we both know it. The smooth unyielding metal and her soft skin. My cock twitches. I’m rock-hard again.
Sliding it further, curving over her finger, it reaches her second knuckle. I push, the slightest pressure. Then the ring is over the barrier and onto her finger, snug.
Her breasts, only just covered by that little top, are rising and falling with laboured breath and the bottom of her neck is tinged pink. This is the hottest moment of my life, and none of the apparent good bits are involved. Not my cock, not her pussy. Not even our tongues.
I had no idea that the mere act of putting my ring on her finger would make pre-come seep from my erection. I’m so ready to claim her in the other way.
She flexes her hand and looks at the ring, admiring it, a pleased smile on her face.
“It suits you. A beautiful diamond for a beautiful girl.”
“Thank you.” She takes a deep breath. “Can I have one more thing?”
I wait.
“A kiss,” she finishes awkwardly, eyes darting away. “A proper first kiss.”
“First?” My mind goes full of static. We haven’t kissed? No, she’s right.
“When you… Put your mouth on mine last night. It was my first kiss,” she confesses in a rush.
“Oh cara. I’m sorry.” Not that I was the first to kiss her. I’m positively gleeful about that. But she’s so perfect. Her first kiss should have been all sweetness and—yes—love. Not a tumultuous mixture of desperate lust and the need to keep her quiet.
I surge up and onto the seat beside her. Then I steady, focussing on her. I want us both to remember this. I skim my fingers through her hair deliberately until I reach the back of her head, then plunge them into the silk. I draw her forwards until our lips almost brush, so close my skin tingles in anticipation. For a few breaths I relish this moment.
“Let’s try that first kiss again, shall we?” I whisper, and she whimpers and nods.
The first brush of our lips is a shock, even though I’m expecting it. Her lips are plush and soft but there’s electricity between us. I’m leisurely. Gentle presses and catches, not deepening the kiss until I hear her breath hitch and she reaches for me. Her hand finds my shoulder and grips tight. An anchor in the storm of our kiss.
Her lips fall open and I take the invitation, sliding my tongue into her mouth. She lets out a mew of delight as I stroke the inside of her lip.
Our hands are still joined, and as I hold her head I rub my thumb over the place where her palm and fingers meet, feeling my ring there. She’s wearing this sign of our commitment, and even though no words were said, I know she understands the significance. Pride seeps through me, feeling that band of metal—a sort of collar of ownership—as I kiss her. I take her first kiss and make it mine.
And when the kiss gradually goes deeper, wilder, dirtier, I can’t help but grin. Because my clever girl is a quick study. No sooner as I’ve shown her something that feels good, but she tries it on me. To devastating effect.
I touch my tongue to hers, she copies and arousal unfurls in my groin. I suck her lip and graze it with my teeth and she retaliates with a nip.
“So perfect. You’re being such a good girl for me,” I growl as she tries thrusting her tongue into my mouth. Her hand on my shoulder has begun to wander. No longer looking for just support, she’s stoking our desire by kneading the muscles and pressing her thumb along the roughness of my unshaven jawline.
I kiss her with all the longing of weeks of wanting her by my side, and the intensity demanded by my aching cock. I’ve thought so many times of this moment, of her in my arms, my ring on her finger.
I have to have her, and she has to be my wife.
“Cara,” I say, drawing back. “Marry me.”
Her eyes go wide. “But…”
