I shut my eyes. She fills my vision. My mind. Every fucking part of me.

"Soon you're getting on your knees in front of me," I tell her. "Naked except for tight cotton panties that rub against your pussy. You're going to squeeze your pretty tits together so I can push my cock between them and fuck them. Thrusting into that hot, damp valley all the way up to your throat.

"I'll shoot hard all over you, like a goddamn geyser. My come will drip off your nipples before I make you rub it in. Then you're going to lick my cock clean, swiping your tongue over the shaft and taking it all the way into your greedy mouth."

"Oh, my God, Dean..."

"Your clit will be throbbing, and you'll gasp and squirm and try to get yourself off, but I won't let you. Then you're going to turn around and bend over the arm of the sofa so I can pull your panties down and spank your gorgeous ass."

She moans. I'm about to shoot all over my hand, and I'm just warming up.

"You're going to spread your legs to show me your wet slit." The images flash in my brain like fire. "I'll let you finger yourself, but you won't be allowed to come. You'll writhe around, pleading with me, rubbing your nipples against the sofa cushion. You'll be so turned on your juices will drip down your thighs. Then I'm going to spank your ass until your cheeks are red and burning. You'll be gasping, hungry, begging for my cock."

"I want it. I want you..."

"I'll put my cock right at your slit and ease slowly inside you, watching my shaft disappear into your sweet, tight hole while you push backward and fuck yourself on me..."

"Oh, Dean, let me," Liv gasps. "I'm... I want to come. Please, I..."

"Do you see it?" I work my prick faster, the urgency at boiling point. "See yourself bent over the sofa, legs spread wide with my cock plunging in and out of you while your ass slaps against me and you tighten your pussy around my shaft... fuck."

I spurt all over my hand and stomach, an explosion of heat. Liv moans heavily against my ear. I see her shuddering, quaking, her thighs clamping around her hand as she works all the sensations from her clit.

The air fills with the rasp of our breathing. My heart pounds against my ribs.

"I..." Liv pulls in a breath. "I'm really enjoying dating you again."

I struggle to grab a coherent thought. "Just wait until I get you back here."

"But I can't wait." Though she groans the words, there's a smile in her voice. "You know I love you like peanut butter loves jelly."

"You know I can't wait to get you all sticky again."

Liv laughs. After we end the call, I lean back on the pillows and close my eyes. Though I'm still aching with the need to bury myself deep inside my wife, there's also a heavy sense of satisfaction. The feeling that I'm finally getting it right.

My proposal to Liv was the worst ever. In fact, it wasn't even a proposal. I knew she didn't care about extravagant gestures, which was a relief since I wasn't good at the romantic stuff. But even I could have done better than that.

The summer after my visiting professorship in Madison ended, nine months into our relationship, Liv and I drove to Pennsylvania, where my next job at the University of Pennsylvania was located. We had plans to continue our relationship long-distance until Liv graduated, and then we'd figure out our next step. En route to the university, we stopped in a small town with a dozen antique shops catering to tourists.

After lunch, we walked around town and visited a few of the cluttered shops. I was looking at some old camera equipment, and Liv was busy examining the contents of a glass case near the front.

I heard her talking to the owner, a friendly, middle-aged woman with a nametag that read Mrs. Bird. I wandered over to see what they were discussing.

"It's a cameo ring." Liv held out a silver ring topped with a delicate, carved silhouette of a woman with flowing hair.

"A unique one," Mrs. Bird added. "Late nineteenth century, rose gold, with a carved shell cameo. Undamaged, as you can see. Notice the detail on the woman's dress too, the open flower near her collar."

Liv slipped the ring onto her finger and spread out her hand. "My mother used to have something like this. It belonged to her mother, I think. I don't know what happened to it."

"Does it fit, Cinderella?" I asked.

Mrs. Bird smiled. Liv twisted the ring and nodded.

"How much is it?" she asked Mrs. Bird.

The owner glanced at the tag inside the counter. "Nine hundred dollars."

"Oh." Liv tugged the ring off. "It's lovely, but I'm afraid that's too much."

"We'll take it." I pulled out my wallet.

"Dean-"

"I haven't gotten you an engagement ring yet." The words just came out.

Liv stared at me. My stomach twisted.

"Uh, if you... if you want one, that is," I stammered. "An engagement ring. I mean, if we... I... want to... you know. Get married."

Mrs. Bird chirped with excitement. Liv blinked. I started to sweat. I wanted Liv with a force that hurt, needed her like I needed air, loved her beyond reason. But not until that instant did I realize I couldn't imagine the rest of my life without her.

"Dean-"

"Ring it up, please." I handed Mrs. Bird my credit card.

"Oh, what a romantic gift!" Mrs. Bird fluttered over to run my card through the machine. "Congratulations to both of you."

Liv was quiet as I finished paying and Mrs. Bird packed up the ring in a little box. When we stepped back outside, Liv put her hand on my arm.

"It doesn't have to be an engagement ring," I said quickly. "It can just be a..." Shit, what was another reason for a ring? "A... friendship ring."

"Dean, I love you."

My heart stopped as I waited for the "but."

Liv smiled that beautiful smile that hit me in the middle of my chest every single time.

"And I would love to be your wife," she said.

But...?

She looked at me expectantly. I swallowed hard.

"But?" I asked.

"What?"

"You would love to be my wife, but... what?"

Liv looked baffled. "But nothing."

"You would love to be my wife, period?"

"Yes." A frown creased her forehead. "You do want us to get married, don't you?"

Jesus, West, pull it together.

Because I couldn't stammer out a sentence, I just grabbed her and hauled her against me. I planted a deep kiss on her that was probably indecent in public. Then I eased away to look into her brown eyes.

My girlfriend. My fiancee. My beauty.

I wanted her to be my wife as soon as possible, but I knew women had ideas about big weddings and fancy dresses. Though I didn't think Liv ever had, I asked her what kind of wedding she wanted.

"One that ends with us married," she said.

I thought I should do something extravagant to make up for my pitiful excuse of a proposal, so I contacted an old friend whose father owned a vineyard in the Loire. After a few months of making arrangements, Liv and I went to France in July and were married on the villa's terrace by the cleric of the local church.

The details are all fused together-like the parts of a brilliant, stained-glass window.

Ivy climbing up the stone walls of the villa. The Delacroix family sitting nearby. Endless sloping hills covered with grapevines. The family dog lounging in a patch of sunlight.

Liv walking toward me in a simple white dress, a few flowers threaded through her long hair. Breaking my heart with her beauty.

The soft clasp of her hands around mine.

Her smile, like a secret meant only for me.

Her voice, gentle and certain.

The intense, overwhelming love that almost brought me to my knees.

"I'm at your feet forever, Olivia Rose," I whispered the instant before our lips met. "I'll move heaven and earth to give you whatever you want, whatever you need."

"Oh, Dean." She pressed her hand to the side of my face. "All I need is you."

And then the kiss, a perfect harmony of the stars and planets that started my universe all over again.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Olivia March 28 finally understand why Dorothy, Maria, Eliza, Gigi, and Sandy break out into song in the midst of going about their lives. Sometimes your heart gets so filled with emotions that words alone can't express them all. So you need singing and dancing, a philharmonic orchestra, and a full chorus backing you up. Because there is that much inside you.

Since I don't have an orchestra or chorus, and my dancing skills are decidedly lacking, I compensate by humming a little tune as I arrange croissants and brioche in baskets. It's just past dawn, and the air is filled with the rich, fragrant scents of coffee and fresh baked goods.

My husband is home... my husband is home... my beautiful, intensely hot husband is home...

And he has a sexy weekend planned that has me all fluttery with excitement. I couldn't be more in love with that man if I tried. I also couldn't be more stirred up at the thought of all the erotic things we're going to do, but I manage to contain my arousal beneath my anticipation.

The wait, I know, will be so worth it.

Still humming, I go through the swinging doors to the kitchen and get another tray of brioche. The owner of La Premiere Moisson is a gruff, older fellow from Lyons who thinks "zee Ahmericans ruin zee good cuisine with zee fast food."

The man does know how to make a spectacular croissant, though, so I forgive him his pretensions. Plus, he might be right about us.

"Hey, Gustave, do you know how to sing?" I ask him as I slide the tray of golden-brown bread onto the counter.

"Zing?" His brow furrows. You would think I'd just asked him if he knows how to yodel.

"Yeah. Like Edith Piaf." I clear my throat and warble, "Je ne regrette rien..."

Gustave looks as if I just spit in his vat of butter. I stop singing.

"Only curious." I dump the brioche into another basket.

"I do not zing." Gustave returns his attention to shaping baguettes. "Neither, apparently, do you, Oleevia."

I grin and head to the front counter with the basket. After getting the displays filled, I unlock the doors at seven and help the customers who come in for coffee and breakfast. It's busy for the next couple of hours, with hardly a lull until around nine.

When the crowd finally dwindles down a bit, I restock all the baskets with fresh pastries, clean the counters and floors, and get ready for the second morning rush.

I'm dipping almond cookies in chocolate when a familiar, deep voice rumbles over my skin.

"Medium coffee, please."

I turn, my heart leaping at the sight of Dean standing on the other side of the counter. His dark eyes crinkle with warmth as he looks at me, a smile tugging at his mouth. He looks gorgeous, all rumpled masculinity in a sweatshirt and jeans, his hair disheveled by the breeze. If I stepped close to him, I'd smell shaving cream and fresh spring air.

A thousand memories wash over me of those early days when he'd walk in the door of Jitter Beans and our eyes would meet with sparks of electricity. How wonderful to feel that happy excitement again.

"Coming right up." I turn to the coffee dispenser. "Room for cream in your coffee, sir?"

"No, thanks."

I pour the coffee and slide the cup across the counter. "Can I interest you in a fresh croissant or brioche?"

"Sure. You pick for me."

I select a buttery, chocolate croissant for him and slip it into a bag, then ring up the purchase.

"See how I'm moving up in the world?" I ask. "From Jitter Beans to La Premiere Moisson. Ooo la la."

"Indeed." He returns my smile, digging into his pocket for his wallet. "You always did have that je ne sais quoi."

He glances behind him to ensure there's no one else in the shop, then leans across the counter to press his lips against mine. A hint of eucalyptus and fresh air fill my nose.