She sighed and slumped into me, taking me by surprise. Was she upset that I’d taken it so far?
“There’s no one else here, Owen. You don’t have to pretend when we’re alone.”
What the fuck? “Pretend what, baby?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.
“That we’re engaged.”
I reared back in shock and growled, “This is not pretend. We are fucking engaged, Sienna. This is not up for discussion. I love you, you love me, you’re having my baby, and we are getting married as soon as we get home.”
“You really want to marry me?” she asked hopefully.
“Baby, what in the hell ever made you think that I didn’t? I gave you a damn engagement ring and have told everyone I’ve come into contact with that you’re my fiancée.”
“You never asked me.”
Well fuck. “You’re right, baby,” I sighed. “I just assumed that you would know I was serious since I already had a ring for you. It was a spur of the moment decision. I know you deserve more than that, and I had every intention of doing it right once we got home. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re going to do it right?” I nodded. “Flowers, candles, romance, down on one knee?” She ticked off her fingers as she went down the list.
I chuckled and shook my head—so damn adorable. “Anything you want, baby. As long as it ends with me fucking you in nothing but heels and my engagement ring.”
Her eyes heated, but she pursed her lips as though she were deeply contemplating. I raised an eyebrow and leaned in to place my lips over hers. I kissed the fuck out of her, only stopping when I was about ten seconds away from ripping off her clothes and fucking her right there on the couch. Not that we hadn’t christened the couch already, but I had to be on set in about five minutes.
She shook her head, trying to clear away the lust fog I’d induced. “Ring, heels, fucking.” She canted her head and winked at me with a sexy smile. “I can make that happen.” She wiggled her ass on my lap, making the erection I was already sporting, harder than steel.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I decided five minutes was plenty of time for a little preview.
Epilogue
Sienna
Flowers, candles, romance, rings, heels, and fucking... it all became a tradition for Owen and me. It was how we celebrated our official engagement, our wedding, the birth of our baby girl—although we had to wait six weeks for the fucking part—and now our first anniversary.
We were cuddled together on a bench seat in a little French bistro that was owned by one of his chef friends. We’d been seated at a table in the corner with plenty of privacy. Ours was the only one with a huge bouquet of soft pink Sophie roses as a centerpiece, and I knew Owen had gotten them for me because they were one of my favorites. All the tables had candles, but I was still going to give him credit for it since he’d definitely nailed the romantic mood.
“You can’t keep buying me rings for every occasion. I’ll never be able to wear them all.”
“Sure I can, baby. You keep wearing those heels and letting me fuck you in them when we get home”— he slid his hand down my leg and squeezed—“and I’m going to keep finding rings to slide on your finger.”
“I’m going to run out of fingers to use!”
I felt the loss of his warmth when he lifted his hand from my leg, but not for long since he dropped it onto my belly. “If this one’s a little girl, too, then we’ll have another set of fingers on a daughter who will eventually grow up and want to wear her mommy’s rings—just like Ciara will.”
My heart melted at how his voice softened when he talked about our six-month-old baby girl and the pregnancy we’d just confirmed with a test that very morning. My super sexy husband had turned into an even sexier baby daddy. I’d just about ruined my panties when he’d told me he wanted to get a full sleeve tattoo, and then swooned when he showed me a design that incorporated me and Ciara into it. He waited until I’d recovered from her delivery and then took me with him to the tattoo parlor while he had it started. The artist finished a big section of the artwork, from his shoulder to his elbow, with an intricate design in black ink.
I’d been ready to combust, sitting there and watching him have it done. We hadn’t even made it back home before Owen had pulled over onto a secluded road so we could rip each other’s clothes off and steam up the car’s windows. It hadn’t mattered how many times we’d had sex the night before—which was a lot since I’d finally gotten the doctor’s all clear that morning—we couldn’t wait the extra ten minutes before we got home.