I lean in close, pressing my body into hers, letting her feel my cock pressing into her side and whispering in her ear. She’s trembling already, and I feel confidence returning. She’s so going to be mine.
“For you,” I say, meaning both my cock and the ring. I pull away a second later, grinning at the effect my moves have on her. “I’m sure it’s just the right size.”
She’s red in the face and her chest is heaving as I take the ring out of the box and place it on her finger. A perfect fit, of course.
“Why—” she begins to say breathlessly when I step away, staring at the ring as if it’s magic, and she’s not sure if it’s good magic or bad yet. “How did you . . .?”
“The details don’t matter, Princess,” I tell her. “We’re supposed to be engaged. How would it look if you show up without an engagement ring?”
She looks like she wants to say something, but she knows I’m right. “You’re right,” she mutters so low I can barely hear her. “I guess I didn’t think about that. Where’d you get it?”
I wink at her and throw her words back in her face. “That old thing? Oh, I just found it lying around somewhere.”
I hold in my grin as she scowls at me and I call the redcap for her bags. We check in the airport and walk through the terminal. On the way to the plane, she says very little. I try to keep my eyes off her tight curves, wanting to keep the little edge that I’ve got.
But by the time we board the plane and get in our seats, some of her spark has returned. We’re flying first class, of course, and she knows as she slides past me to the window seat exactly how much her ass is in my face. The flight attendant brings us some pre-takeoff drinks, and she turns to me, raising her glass.
“This ring is beautiful,” she says, her shoulder brushing mine as she leans slightly in to toast me. Up close, I can smell her perfume and it smells like heaven. Running her finger along the band, she chuckles as she checks out the stones. “Nice bullshit story about where you got it though. So, you’re a May baby?”
“I am,” I admit. “Figured it’d help you remember.”
“Nice idea,” she says with a chuckle. “So where’d you get it?”
Damn, she really wants to know badly. Well, it won’t hurt to tell her. “I got it from Feinberg’s in the middle of town. He’s got a good selection of stuff.”
“It must’ve been a small fortune,” Mindy says, biting her lip unconsciously.
“It wasn’t cheap,” I confirm. Actually, Feinberg will let me bring it back, minus a thousand bucks, but Mindy doesn’t need to know that. Besides, the ring looks good on her hand.
I clear my throat as the plane begins to taxi. “So what’s this place like?”
“Summerfield?” Mindy says, looking out the window for a moment. “It’s a rich bay town, sorta like the Keys or Martha’s Vineyard. Oh, by the way . . . for the next week, your name is going to be Harold.”
“Harold?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You must be fucking kidding me.”
“You got a problem with that?” Mindy asks in challenge. “Seriously, it’s what they’re expecting.”
“I’ll go by Oliver,” I say firmly. “There’s no way in hell I’m answering to Harold.”
“But . . .” Mindy says, stopping when I shake my head.
“We’ll say Harold’s a bad joke of a name you gave me. For something being especially . . . hairy.”
Her mouth opens and shuts like a fish and I hold in a grin.
“Nothing wrong with being called Harold,” she grumbles after a moment, having to get the last word in. “I had a goldfish named Harold. By the way, did you rehearse the names?”
“I looked at it a little.” To be honest, I couldn't focus much on anything but Mindy.
She sucks in a breath, frustrated. “Okay, let me give you some tips. Mother can be bossy. She’ll try to run all over you. Grandma pretends to be dumb, but don’t let it fool you—she’s as sharp as a tack.”
“Anything else?” I ask. Sounds like Mindy’s not going to be the only fun I have this next week.
“Listen to me and follow my orders and you’ll be fine.”
I have to grin. She should know by now. “What did I tell you about that, Princess?”
Mindy hums and turns back, her hand brushing her cup and dumping half a Sprite with ice in my lap. “Oh, Harold, I’m sorry!” she says with an overly dramatic gasp.
Before I can react, she gets a napkin and dabs at my crotch. Her strokes barely brush the top of my dick, and it twitches, wanting nothing more than to get rid of the two layers of fabric between me and her soft fingers.