When I got to George and Rita’s room, Rita answered, telling me that George was down in the cigar bar with his brother, so I headed down there. Once I found him, I filled him in on Tim, and the things he had told Liz. While we were talking, he told me about Tim, and his arrival yesterday with Kara.

He told me that Rita knew he was going to ask Kara to marry him, but didn’t want to tell Liz until they met in person. George was pissed about the money, and said he was going to talk to Tim about it after the wedding. He didn’t want to upset Rita or Liz any more than necessary. I agreed with him, and headed back up to the room, where I found Liz sitting outside on the balcony, eating what was left of some chocolate cake.

“Hey.” I walked over to her, getting a chocolate kiss.

“So do you feel better now that you talked to George?” she asked as I'm sitting down.

“Yep.”

“You smell like smoke.”

“George was in the cigar bar downstairs. How about that bath?” I asked, picking her up and carrying her into the bathroom.

“You’re awake?” Liz says, snapping me out of my thoughts. I lift my eyes to her still-sleepy face. Her hair’s a mess, and her skin is clean of makeup; this is my favorite look on her. After we got out of the bath last night, I laid her out in bed, and spent a good amount of time appreciating her.

“Yeah, I’ve been up for a while now.” I run my hands down my face.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She comes up on her elbows, the sheet sliding lower down her hips, her long hair covering one breast, leaving the other exposed.

“What?” I swallow. I feel like a prick; all I can think about when I'm around her is fucking her. It doesn’t help that she has nothing on but the sheet.

“You couldn’t sleep?” she asks again, this time with a smirk, lifting her ass slightly off the bed.

“You’re really asking for it, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Mayson.” She smiles, licking her lips, while looking down my chest to the sheet that is now tented.

“I'm trying to behave,” I tell her, and my hand clenches.

“Hmm, you do that then,” she says, pulling the sheet up over her head. I see her scoot towards me, then feel her mouth wrap around my cock. I almost come right then.

“Shit.” My hands go above my head. I don’t want her to stop, so I don’t touch her. I can tell that she’s kneeling under the sheet, and I feel her moan against me. I pull the sheet away to see her mouth and hand wrapped around me, her other hand between her legs. “Jesus.” I pull her ass towards me so I can watch as she plays with herself. “Is it turning you on to suck me off, baby?” She moans, her fingers moving a little faster. I twist her more so that I have the perfect shot of her wet pussy. “You gonna let me clean you up with my mouth after you make yourself come?” I can feel her whimper as she takes me all the way, until I hit the back of her throat. My spine starts to tingle. “I'm going to come,” I say, giving her a chance to retreat before one hand goes to her hair, and the other to her pussy. I come in her mouth as I put two fingers inside her. I can feel her start to come around them. I lift her up so she’s sitting on my face, her hands going to the wall behind my head. I wait until she looks down at me before I do one long sweep of my tongue.

“Oh my God,” she says, her head falling back.

“Play with your tits while I eat you.” She does as I say, her hands going to her breasts, and then pulling her nipples. Without realizing it, she starts grinding down on my face. I grab her ass in my hands, pulling her tighter against me. When I know she’s about to come, I lift her, and then impale her on my cock. She yells, and her muscles contract around me. “You’re so fucking hot,” I groan, pulling her down as I lift up to pound into her. “Give me your mouth.” I tell her. She does, leaning forward, and I feel her start to convulse. And just like that, I'm shouting her name, coming inside of her as her pussy milks me. She lays against my chest; we’re both breathing heavy, with me still inside of her. I love this. I love being inside of her, feeling her wrapped around me in every way. I run my hands down her back, pulling her hair to one side. “Are you okay?”

“Umhmm.” I smile when I feel her cheek move against my chest.

“What do you want to do today?”

“Mom and I have an appointment at the spa for this evening; but before that, I kinda just wanted to lay out in the sun and read.”

“We can do that. How ‘bout we shower first?”

“You broke me. So if you want me to move, you’re going to have to do all the work.”

“I can do that.” I laugh, sitting up. I pull her legs around my waist and carry her into the bathroom.

"Hell no," I mumble, walking out of the water towards Liz. She's been laying out since we came down to the beach, her white bikini making her already golden skin look darker. She is always hot, but Liz in a bikini under the Caribbean sun, her skin shimmering from the suntan oil she used, her long hair braided down one side of her chest…is perfection. That's not what has my teeth clenching; it's the surfer dude who has pulled his chair up next to hers, trying to get her attention. Lucky for her, she hasn't noticed. As usual, when she has her Kindle in her hand, the world could crumble around her and she wouldn't have a clue. I'm 20 feet away when surfer dude leans over, talking quietly to her. She looks over at him and smiles. My blood starts to boil, making me pick up my pace. I cover the distance between us just as surfer dude says something, making her laugh. All I can think is that smile is mine; that laugh is mine. When I reach her, I stand at the end of her lounger; the guy looks up, and Liz bites her lip.

"Do you need something?" surfer dude asks. I don't even look at him.

"Let's go." I take her hand, helping her up.

"Trevor." I can hear the warning in her tone. I ignore it, take her bag from her, take her hand, and walk away from the beach and surfer dude. I do not know what's wrong with me. I have been feeling over-the-top crazy-jealous, crazy-possessive, and just plain fucking crazy. I don't like feeling like this; in fact, I hate it. If she would let me tattoo my name across her forehead, I would consider doing it. Part of me knows that one of the reasons I'm so on edge is because I need to tell her that I love her. The words have been consuming me, eating me alive. I need her to know how I feel, so that I can take the next step and ask her to be my wife. I know people are going to say that we're moving too fast, and we don't know each other, but I don't care. I love her. I get her. I want her to be my forever. Fuck what everyone else says; as long as she will have me, they can all suck it. “Hey, slow down,” she says, and I do immediately. We walk silently up to the room, and once we’re there, I throw her bag onto the chair, and start pacing back and forth, running my hands over my face and head. “You’re freaking me out,” she says quietly. I look at her, and before I can think, I'm pushing her towards the bed. Once she’s down, I trap her arms above her head. “Trevor, stop. You’re scaring me.” Her voice wobbles, making me crack.

“I love you.”

Finally, the words are out and I feel like I can breathe. “I fucking love you so fucking much that it’s making me fucking crazy.” I lay my forehead against hers. “I need you to say you will marry me. And don’t tell me that it’s too soon; I don’t give a fuck what anyone says. It’s going to happen one way or another, so just agree.”

“What?” she questions and I can hear the shock and disbelief in her voice.

“Tell me you love me,” I growl. “I'm going fucking crazy; tell me you love me.”

“I love you.” I watch as tears start to slide into her hair.

Seeing her tears, I realize that I have been such a dick. I hate seeing her cry. “God, baby. I'm so sorry. I'm an asshole. I just needed you to know that I love you, and I want you to be my wife.” Great, now I'm sounding like a pussy. I stand, picking her up, and I walk out to the balcony, where I sit down on the couch with her in my lap.

“That has to be the worst proposal in the history of proposals,” she says, her face tucked into my neck.

“It’s original.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, but doesn’t sound angry. But I'm pissed at myself. In my head, that’s not how I ever imagined asking her, and she deserves a lot more than some fucked up jealousy proposal. I don’t even have a ring to slide on her finger.

“I take it back.”

“What?” she asks, lifting her head and looking at me.

“I take it back. Just forget the whole thing ever happened.”

“I—” she starts to talk, but I cut her off when I see tears in her eyes again.

“Shit. No, not that part. Definitely remember the part where I told you I love you; that hasn’t changed.”

“Oh.” Her face scrunches in confusion.

“One day, I'm going to ask you to marry me, and I’ll do it the right way. Until then, know that I love you.” I run my fingers down her cheek, watching her smile, feeling the weight that has been sitting on my chest finally release.

I lean in and start kissing her. She smells like coconut, ocean, and sun. She leans her head to the side, giving me better access to her neck. Then she’s gone, running back into the room. “Shit! I'm late,” she says, pulling a dress out of her bag, slipping it on over her head.

“Late for what?”

“I was supposed to meet Mom at the spa twenty minutes ago.” She pulls out her hair tie, unravels her braid, then pulls all her hair up into some kind of crazy ball at the top of her head. “I’ll be back in a couple hours,” she says, picking up her bag from the chair. Before she can run out the door, I grab her, kissing her deeply.

“I love you,” I whisper against her lips. She smiles, bending back against my arm, and looks up at me.

“I love you, too.” Before I know it, she’s gone, the door closing behind her.

“Shit.” I rub my face, thinking that I need to call November and see what she thinks I should do about proposing. I flop down on the bed, pull my cell out, and dial her number.

“You’re calling me from Jamaica? What’s wrong?” November answers on the first ring. I laugh at the motherly tone in her voice, then I hear my niece July start to cry in the background.

“Is this a bad time?” I hear Asher in the background telling her that he’ll take care of July while she’s on the phone.

“No, your brother’s got her. It’s his fault anyways; he won’t ever put her down, so now, if someone’s not holding her, she starts to cry.”

“I think you’re both to blame for that one.”

“Nope, it’s all his fault.” I can actually feel the love she has for my brother in her voice—as crazy as it sounds. “So what’s wrong? Why are you calling me from sunny Jamaica?”

“I think I fucked up.”

“Trevor!” she huffs out, sounding just like Mom.