Calendar Girl: November(2)

By: Audrey Carlan



Taking our time, we unpacked our things into the hotel dresser drawers, showered, and made love. I could feel the tension seep right out of Wes’s pores when he released inside of me, words of love spilling from his lips.

While I lay there catching my breath, a Mia blanket over my man, I felt Wes lift my left hand, bring it to his lips, and kiss each finger. Then the sneaky bastard slid something weighted over my bare ring finger.

“When are we going to get married?” he asked out of the blue. We were both naked, had just had some intensely pleasurable, drowsy after-travel sex, and I was lying limp on top of his chest. I’d ridden him for all I was worth and would likely have the fingerprint marks on each hip to prove it.

I blinked and pushed my hair out of my face, setting one hand on top of the other over his heart. I liked feeling his heart beat under me, knowing it was mine.

“Is that a proposal?” I quipped.

His eyes narrowed, and he tipped his chin toward my hand. I looked down at the band of diamonds sparkling back at me. “We’ve already discussed this.” He added, “You know that you’re never getting asked. You don’t have the option to decline.” His words were firm, leaving no room for compromise.

Pushing up, I sat naked on top of him and focused all of my attention on the most exquisite ring I’d ever seen, which now adorned my finger. It was a single band of diamonds all the way around. It wasn’t ostentatious like most engagement rings. No, this one was simple yet sparkly. A ridiculous amount of twinkly diamonds filled the inside of a band that wrapped all the way around my finger. It wouldn’t get caught on anything. I could still ride Suzi without worrying about my riding gloves. It was simply perfect.

Tears filled my eyes. “So you’re really not going to ask me?” I choked back a little sob while staring at what was apparently an engagement ring.

He sat up, looped an arm around my back, pushed his heels against the mattress, and propelled backwards until he was sitting up against the headboard, me straddling his lap.

He tunneled his fingers into my hair, keeping my face level with his. “Do you really need me to ask?” His eyes were a brilliant green as he forced me to look him in the eye.

“Need? No. Want? Kind of,” I admitted while water leaked from my eyes.

Wes sighed and rubbed his forehead against mine. “Don’t make me regret this,” he whispered, his voice shaking with what was probably his anxiety—even worry—about how I would respond. “Mia, my love, my life, will you marry me?”

I looked into his eyes and could see concern, as if I might say no. Not in a million flippin’ years would I deny sealing this man to me for eternity. “Instead of another ring, can I have another motorcycle?”

Wes blinked, tipped his head back, and laughed.

I kissed his chest as he lost it, and I pecked and nipped my way up his neck to his ear. “Yes, baby. I’ll marry you.” I said the words I knew he wanted to hear.

He tightened his arms around me. “I’m going to make you so happy.”

I looked him dead in the face. “Then you are getting me a new motorcycle?” I responded hopefully.

He shook his head and kissed me—over and over until my mouth was so bruised I could barely feel his lips pressed to mine.

“When?” he growled into my ear, moving his way down to my bare breasts. Looked like round two would commence in two point five seconds.

“Um…next year?” I answered, gripping his head to my breast as he latched onto one erect peak.

“Mmm. Okay, January first it is.” Wes mumbled around the erect tip. He plucked my other nipple and sucked hard on the first.

“Oh yeah.” I moaned. “Wait…what?”



* * *



I knocked on the door to Anton’s New York City penthouse. Wes stood at my side, arm around my waist, holding me close. The door opened just when I was about to knock again. I was actually surprised I had to knock at all, since the front desk had called up.

“You’re here!” Heather said, bouncing up on her toes. She wore a pair of open-toed boot stilettos that made her already tall frame hit extreme goddess stature. Her blond hair was rock star cool as it had been when we were in Miami. She was wearing a skintight hot pink long-sleeved shirt that said Pink is the new Black in white lettering across her bust. The shirt was slouchy and tucked into her skinny jeans with a studded belt for a look that conveyed “I’m a badass.” There were fuchsia streaks throughout her hair that made her look ultra-hip. Hell, she was ultra-hip.

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