Page 153 of Dear Future Husband

“I thought about asking you to move in with me, because I can’t spend one more night without you in my bed or in my arms. Knowing that what I really wanted to ask you was for your hand in marriage. And I’ll admit it… I am so obsessed with you.”

She snorted, and I sniffed.

“I love you, May. I see you. I know you. I want to keep knowing you, learning about you, living with you. You are the life I want to live.”

Choking, I coughed on the emotions that threatened to turn me into a blubbering idiot.

“So—Maybelle Mason,” I quickly shoved out. “Marry me.”

She ran to me. She crossed the sandy space between us, veering left. Kicking up sand as she tackled me in a fit of giggles and squeals, Maybelle planted frantic kisses all over my face.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes,” she exclaimed between each kiss, her arms linking around my neck. Soon, each kiss was drawn out, and each excited “Yes” whispered more reverently as she molded her body into mine.

I let my hands glide up the backs of her thighs, my fingers dipping in against the thin fabric of her leggings. With a roll of her hips and the languid glide of her tongue, I gripped tightly to her waistband.

“May, sweetheart.”

“Hmm?” she crooned, the vibrations against my lips setting my nerves on fire.

My hands were now exploring up her shirt, a mind of their own. “If I don’t get you home now, you’re going to be cleaning sand out of your hair for a week.”

Her round, peachy lips turned up, pressing into me.

“Well, then, my dear, future husband. Take me home.”