Page 70 of The Activist and Her Billionaire

“Same,” she says breathlessly.

As I enter her, her back arches, and her eyelids flutter close. I kiss between her breasts and paint a line with my tongue beneath them. I play with her nipples, twisting them between my fingers while gently sucking on them, bringing them to a hardened point.

“So beautiful,” I whisper. I pump into her steadily but vigorously. Her breasts bounce with each thrust as I grasp her hips. She touches herself.

“Oh God,” I murmur and withdraw my cock to reposition Brynne so that she is straddling my lap, sitting astride me, my cock buried in her pussy.

I sink into her more deeply. She clutches me for dear life as I bury my face into her chest. She grips the back of the couch and rides me. Up and down, small circles with her hips as she loses herself in a rhythm she controls.

Sensing that sweet hitch in her body that signals she is about to find her pleasure, I lean back. Brynne plants one foot onto the floor and pistons up and down onto me. I cup her wondrous breasts, asking her to lean towards me so I can suckle. I drew her rosy tip into my mouth, biting just hard enough to make her gasp. Her body surges with warmth and wetness.

The heat floors me. I take hold of her hips and drive into her delicate body like a freight train. We hammer against one another to make that blissful, elusive climb to a world-class orgasm. We pant and gasp, feverishly laboring.

“Yes,” she mutters faintly in my ear.

Her body is engulfed with clutching spasms. They roll throughout her, clenching me, spasming fiercely. My eyes are slack as my face tilts towards the ceiling. I give myself over to rapture. It is the sweetest moment yet. And then we are still entwined.

“Us, you and me together, is the only thing that matters,” I whisper when I can speak again. “You are who matters to me.”

She presses her lips against my cheek as though we are still trying to fuse. We have worked up quite a sweat and are beginning to chill as the sweat dries. I grab the throw from the back of the couch and cover us. Brynne rests her head on my shoulder.

“I have something I want to tell you,” I begin, the words coming out of my mouth before I’ve thought of what I will say. It’s not as if I haven’t toyed with the idea since I met her. The thoughts were along the lines of “what ifs?”. What if she’s the one for me? What if I let her get away? What if I ask her to move in with me? What if I ask her to marry me?What if she doesn’t feel the same way?

When I couldn’t reach Brynne last week, I realized I had fallen in love with her, totally upending my life in less than a month.

“I know we’re new. We can take all the time you like,” I say. “But I want to put a ring on your finger for real. I will propose a million times if that is what it takes.”

Brynne pulls back and smiles.

“Who told you?” she asks.

“Told me what?” I reply, not following her.

“That Adrianne taunted me about not having my pretend ring on,” she says. “If you tell me that the inn is mine, that’s all I need to hear.”

“This is not about that,” I say, bracing her face gently with my fingers. “I am not motivated by her. I am motivated by you. In a way, I feel like I’ve finally figured out what I want to be and do. I am proposing to you, silly.”

Brynne bats her eyes, clearly startled. I feel a little vulnerable.

“You don’t have to say yes or no right now,” I tell her. “Not sure I can handle a rejection after the moment we shared. Which I thought was glorious, by the way. I’ve never been so happy as when I am with you.”

I kiss her forehead and go about picking up my clothing. I step into my trousers and slip on my shirt. “I’ll be right back,” I say. Even though neither of us are big drinkers, this moment cries out for champagne.

I head to the kitchen to grab the bottle of Dom Perignon I had snuck in and stashed in the fridge when I arrived last night. Ihear her dart up the stairs. I have to shake the image of her doing this stark naked, like some wood nymph. But when she returns to me, she is dressed.

“Close your eyes,” she says. “And hold out your hand.”

“Dangerous,” I say. I close my eyes. She brushes my lips.

“Trust me,” she whispers.

I flatten my palm, and she drops something into it. I open my hand, and in the middle of my palm is a platinum and diamond ring.

“It was my mom’s,” she confesses. “And before that, it belonged to my grandmother. My uncle John gave it to me. Either my sisters didn’t want it or got what they thought was better. I don’t know. But this is mine. Ask me again.”

I grab a pillow from the couch and drop it to the floor. “Sorry,” I say. “Football knees.”

I bend down on one knee as Brynne stands before me. I take her hand in mind.

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