CHAPTER TWENTY

RORY

We fall onto the mattress—panting, sweating, and satiated—with the sheets tangled around. We curl together, tangling our limbs, as we both try futilely to catch our breath. Jorge’s exhale blows across my chest as I pull him against me.

His heavy breaths slow, and he grows more still as I hold him in our dimly moonlit bedroom. Having him here day and night has been nothing short of incredible. Being with him brings me comfort—peace. But I want more. The simple thought passes over my lips—almost involuntarily—at just above a whisper. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Me, too.” Jorge’s response is slow and sleepy, but there’s warmth and love behind it.

Tightening my embrace, I pull him closer. “No… That’s not…” I stammer, trying to get my words right. Trying to make this special and memorable. “That’s not what I mean, mo rúnsearc. I’m trying to… apparently very poorly… to ask you to marry me.”

The room falls silent, and Jorge moves slightly in my arms. His face slides along my chest, and I feel his eyes on me. Glancing down, I find them wide with surprise. He blinks blankly as though he’s still trying to comprehend my words.

“Marry you?” he asks, his voice ticking up an octave.

I laugh, trying to hide my nerves with humor. “Is the thought of marrying me that appalling?”

“No…” Jorge laughs with me. “It’s just… I didn’t expect…” I know he didn’t. For as much as I was afraid to let him in, I’ve been ready to propose to him for months. And I did already… fucking poorly that time, too, because he thought I was asking him to move in with me. I mean, I was—as my husband.

Climbing off the bed, I place one knee on the hardwood floor. He shifts to look at me, and the moonlight washes over his face. The way he’s looking at me is enough to make me forget my own name, much less why I’m kneeling on the floor. Reaching across the bed, I gently take his hand into mine. My thumb brushes tenderly over his knuckles as I hold his gaze.

“Jorge Rivera”—I swallow the lump in the throat—“will you marry me?”

Waiting for his response feels like an eternity, but it all melts away when he rolls toward me. His face inches from mine; he cups my cheek and grazes his thumb over it. With soft but sure words, he exclaims, “Yes. Yes, Rory McLaughlin! I will marry you.”

I pull him toward me and, cupping his face, I press my lips to his. Our embrace feels like a promise. A promise of forever and a lifetime of growing old together. We’re both breathless when we finally pull apart.

My heart races as I press my lips to his forehead and whisper, “Your lips… They’re the last I’ll ever kiss.”

Jorge’s hand slides around the back of my head and pulls me toward his mouth for another kiss. “Then you better make sure you like them.” I crash against his mouth without an ounce of hesitation. Claiming his mouth, I stand from the floor and climb onto the bed with him.

Our hands and mouths roam each other’s bodies until I grow hard again. Climbing between his thighs, I settle against his ass. My forearms press into the mattress beside his head, and I lean over him and stare into his dark eyes. Holding his gaze as I tenderly press into him again, I promise, “The last man I’ll ever fuck.” Languidly thrusting into him with long, deep strokes, I run my fingers through his hair. “But most importantly,” I whisper, dusting my lips over his. “The last man I’ll ever love.”

The only man I’ll ever love.

“I love you,” Jorge whispers, sliding his hand along my chest and over my heart.

My lips dusting over the stubble on his jaw, I vow, “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it.”

Stilling deep inside him, I kiss him softly as I pull him tight, feeling his heart pounding against my chest—matching the racing rhythm of my own.

This is going to be my forever.

Jorge is going to be my forever.