Page 103 of Final Proposal

Our bodies ride the high as we come down ever so slowly. Ford releases my hips, but I’m able to keep them right where they are because I don’t want him to pull out just yet. I don’t want to lose this feeling.

He presses a tender kiss on my spine as his cock slowly softens inside of me. “God, yes?” He chuckles. “Should I take that as a yes, I’ll partner with you, Ford?”

My body shudders with the waning pleasure. I’ll give him anything he wants if I can have whatever we just did again. “Consent under duress can’t be taken seriously in a court of law.” My voice feels sex drugged. Sated.

“Duress?” He hums, and it sounds so sexy as it rumbles through the room. “Baby, that was anything but duress. But if you need me to do it again so you can contemplate the merits of yes under pressure, I’ll be more than happy to give it a go.”

“What?”

“Do you want me to fuck you again?” And in an instant, I’m on my back and his head is between my thighs. When he looks up at me with a grin on his lips, he whispers, “I dare you to tell me no.”

Ford

She’s gorgeous.

I can’t sleep. My mind is reeling—too many thoughts, too many emotions to process in this early morning hour—but the one that’s constant is, she’s gorgeous.

But isn’t that what I think every time I look at her?

It is, but it never gets old. Never.

Her hair has fallen over her cheek, and I itch to push it off but don’t want to wake her just yet. I’d rather enjoy these few moments where I can study her without her being self-conscious.

Then again, how can anyone be self-conscious after how fucking hot that was earlier?

The woman is incredible. And a turn-on in every sense of the word.

And her books? Those scenes? One word. Fore-fucking-play.

My sigh is deep as I relive the fun we had. The laughter. The sex. The falling asleep sated and satisfied. The . . . asking her to be my partner.

Was that my chickenshit way of keeping her close without admitting to her I’m head over fucking heels in love with her? Without scaring her away?

Unequivocally, yes.

And I have no shame in doing so. None. I’m not ready to give her up just yet. Or to admit how I feel and have her run the other way.

Too bad life isn’t like that romance novel, right?

But she said yes.

And for now, that’ll have to be enough.

I roll onto my back, the next few weeks on my mind. What is going to happen with Ellery and me in the in-between—the end of this project and the beginning of the next one? There’s only so many bullshit meetings I can call before she’ll catch on.

Just tell her you want this to be a thing, Ford. You don’t have to tell her you’ve fallen for her. You don’t have to admit you want so much more than a fling. Just tell her you don’t know what this is between you two and you want more of it.

In the morning. It can wait till then. Until the sun has risen and she has woken up.

I’ll do it when she has that sleep-drugged voice and pillow creases on her cheek. When her lips are swollen and these thin sheets cover her body.

I give her one last look, determined and feeling slightly surer of myself.

Decided, I try to will myself back to sleep. To quiet my thoughts. To count fucking sheep. Nothing works. Insomnia is something I deal with on the regular. I thought the sexhaustion would help tonight. That the several orgasms would lull myself to sleep.

I was wrong.

Because other than the shadows dancing on the ceiling and the bathroom light we accidentally left on, it’s just me, a sleeping Ellery, and not a single Z for me in sight.