Page 62 of Renegade
Lines furrow her brow as she frowns. “Yes. But there’s always a certain tenderness with you, and I always knew in my heart that I could let go with you because you’d never let me fall. Maybe it’s not the role that defines the relationship; it’s the relationship that defines the role. Maybe you’re only dominant with me. And maybe I loved doing all those things because they were with you.”
“I don’t care, sweetheart. Kinky or not, I just want to be with you. Every day. For the rest of my life. Do you have a marker?”
She looks at me with confusion. “Yeah…”
“Where?” I’m already headed to the kitchen, pulling open drawers until I find a black Sharpie. Striding back into the living room, I grab her around the waist, taking her with me as I fall back onto the couch. She squeaks with surprise, and then starts giggling as I position her ass up over my lap.
“Oh no, you don’t.”
She tries to wriggle away, but she’s no match for my strength, and I can tell by the way her breath is coming in those fast little gasps I love that she’s enjoying every minute of our power struggle as much as I am. There will never be a dull moment with Gemma.
I give her ass a warning slap, and she giggles and wiggles deliberately over my crotch. God, I love this woman. I hold her down firmly as I uncap the marker and writemineacross her ass before turning her over so I can look into her green eyes that are stormy with love and passion. For me. I’m the luckiest fucking man alive.
“That will have to do until I make it official with a ring.”
Her eyes widen.
“Oh, yeah. You’re marrying me, sweetheart. We’ve wasted nine years. There’s no way I’m letting you go now.”
“Was that supposed to be a marriage proposal? Because the common practice is you’re supposed to ask.” She’s laughing, but her eyes are shining, and I have no doubt what her answer is.
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing common about us. There never has been. You are one of a kind, and so is my love for you. Marry me and I promise you’ll never be sorry.”
She cups my face tenderly. “I would marry you a thousand times.”
I kiss her then, and I grip her throat lightly, not to cut off her air but so she knows unequivocally what I’ve known all along. “You’re mine,” I whisper.
“I always was.”
