Pulling her to me, I kiss her and then roll her onto her back so that I’m on top of her now. “I like this position better because now you can’t ever leave me again.”

She whimpers when I grind myself against her. “I’m not going anywhere, honey.”

My lips find hers and we kiss at an unrushed pace, relishing in what we’ve missed for what seems like an eternity although it’s only been a week. Climbing off of her, my eyes never leave hers as I pull her to her feet.

I scoop her into my arms, her squeal of delight filling my heart with joy, and stalk down the hallway toward my bedroom.

“What are you doing?” she says with a giggle.

I look into her gorgeous blue eyes and flash her a shy smile. “I’m carrying you. Just like I promised.”

Her eyes water until I toss her on the bed. And then it’s game on. A frenzy of clothes being ripped off and moans are the prologue to our epic make-up sex. Our mouths connect and our tongues join, linking us as one.

One soul.

One heart.

Two halves that only become whole when together.

But it’s when I push myself fully into her that we truly become complete. Emotions, thoughts, and dreams twist together into a beautiful being that is our love. As I pump into her fast and hard, desperate to mark her—to prove to her my devotion, she claws at me with an equal need to be closer.

When she finally unravels, spurring on my own orgasm, I then collapse on top of her. We don’t move or interrupt our perfect bliss despite the evidence of our love trickling out of her body. Instead, we kiss like there’s no tomorrow.

Our hearts are fused together forever.

I’m going to spend the rest of my years with this woman.

I’ll protect her with my life and nurture her heart.

I will give her babies or puppies or a fucking alpaca farm if she wants.

Whatever she wants, I will give it to her.

Including all of my heart and soul.

And most definitely my last name.

“Shit it’s cold,” she whines as we push back into the house, paint supplies in hand.

It’s nearly Christmas and a fucking cold-ass Sunday afternoon, seven months after our reconciliation. I’ve never been happier than with this woman in my arms when I go to sleep each night and wake up each morning.

“I offered to warm you up in the car,” I laugh.

She sets the can of paint on the living room floor. “You told me I could give you a blow job in the parking lot of the hardware store!”

I bellow with laughter and help her out of her coat. “I always look out for you. You know that.”

She scoffs. “Like you looked out for me when you hightailed it away from me on the count of two, not three, leaving me in the florist shop so you could win the race to the car? You’d better believe I told Ben and Sarah all about it afterward. You big cheater.”

It was so cute watching her sit between their graves griping about me as if they could hear. The truth is, I hoped somewhere out there, they could hear. I know Ben would be happy for her finding love again.

I smile and shrug. “For the record, I waited until the count of three. And, I offered to let you drive but your little legs just couldn’t outrun the beast. So I won, plain and simple.”

“The beast, huh? More like the pansy that can’t handle thirty-three degree weather!” she taunts.

Chuckling, I shrug out of my coat and stare at the wall.

It’s perfect.

Tori made sure of that. Once she knew the color I was trying to achieve, she asked her mother for a picture she’d taken of Sarah that fateful day. Before, it had been too hard for Tori to face—seeing pictures of them the day they died. But now, a huge blown up picture of Sarah blowing on a dandelion wearing that pretty dress is the centerpiece of our coordinating yellow wall.

We even had a special vinyl phrase ordered that now stretches across the wall above her picture.

She dances with angels.

“You ready to paint?” I question, dragging my gaze from our wall.

She shrugs her shoulders. “I guess. What is this? Number thirteen? Jesus, you have a problem, Chase.”

“Eight, not thirteen. It isn’t the right shade and you know it.”

I grab the bucket of paint and saunter into our room where the furniture on the far side of the wall has been moved away. Once in the room, I set the paint down and stare at it.

“I look at them every single day, honey,” she grumbles. “It’s the right color. You’re just obsessed with painting. Maybe you should leave teaching college and become a painter.”

Shaking my head, I stalk over to her and grab both of her cheeks in my hands so I can stare into her eyes. The color of the Caribbean seawater just before the ocean floor dips into the dark depths. That is the color of her eyes—the ever elusive paint color which we can’t seem to find.

Today, though, maybe we’ll get lucky. We’re trying a color called Aquarius. But while it seems close, nothing will ever compare to the unmatched beauty of her eyes, I’m afraid.

“Nah, I prefer my schedule. What other job would allow me to stalk you at work on Tuesdays and Thursdays?” I laugh.

She rolls her eyes. “Chase, you seriously have to stop camping out in my office those days. Stacey thinks it’s party time and I swear to God, she takes pride in packing us all matching lunches those days. You distract my assistant and you two idiots make fun of me the whole time. It is so damn annoying.”

Tickling her sides, I grin. “You like it. Glenda even told me so yesterday.”

She gasps. “That hussy! I thought she was my friend!”

“I, darling, have subjected myself to those God-awful cookies of hers while you have managed to get out of eating them every time because of some made up diet you’re supposedly on. Start eating the Snickerdoodle Shits and maybe she’ll start keeping your secrets.”

With her hands on her hips attempting to glare, unsuccessfully I might add, I decide she’d be much cuter naked. Ignoring her faux anger, I set to undressing her by peeling off her sweater. The moment I manage to get her bra off, she’s no longer mad and the rest of our clothes come off in a matter of seconds.

She’s just crawled onto the bed and gotten on her back when I climb after her and latch my mouth to her neck. Her moan is my undoing and my cock presses painfully against her belly as I worship her with my tongue.

“Chase, now,” she begs, wiggling her hips at me.

I don’t make her wait long and push my cock into her tight, hot body.

“I love you.” Her voice is soft and breathless.

My mouth connects with hers as I thrust into her slow and steady, enjoying the sensation of being joined with her. When she moans in pleasure, I stare into her pretty blue eyes.

“I love you. Forever, baby. For fucking ever.”

Ten years is a long time to mourn, and breaking that cycle isn’t easy. Learning to open yourself back up, to allow yourself to dream, to become someone you thought you’d lost forever. But here I am, a mixture of the young woman I was, and the woman I’ve become. The one I want to be.

From my side of the bed, I watch Chase walk out of the bathroom, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips, his sculpted chest on display with the beautiful tattoo. His glasses are perched on his face, and his messy hair is flopping adorably over his forehead. When he sees me staring, he gives me that smile, the one that lights up his entire being. The one that is just for me. It never fails to set my heart racing, my skin tingling, and make my panties oh-so-wet. I’ll never get enough of him.