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“Graham,” I gasped as the pressure built between us.
“I know, baby. I feel it too.”
His thumb found my clit, circling with just the right pressure, and I shattered around him with a cry that echoed through our new living room. Graham followed me over the edge, his own release tearing through him as he buried his face in my neck.
For long moments, we just held each other, hearts racing, skin slick with sweat.
“Well,” I said finally, my voice shaky with laughter. “I think the sofa passes the test.”
Graham chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Definitely sturdy enough.”
I pulled back to look at him, noting the thoroughly satisfied expression on his face. “What are you thinking about?”
“How perfect this is. Coming home to you, to this.” He gestured around the transformed room. “I never thought I'd have something like this.”
“What, a nice sofa?” I teased.
He smirked, then his expression softened. “A home. A real home with someone I love.”
My heart clenched at the raw honesty in his voice. “This is just the beginning, you know. We still need to pick out dining room furniture and furniture for the two guest rooms, or maybe make one of the rooms into an office.”
“More shopping trips?”
“Many more shopping trips,” I cooed.
Graham groaned dramatically. “You're going to kill me.”
“But what a way to go.” I kissed his nose. “Besides, I'll make it worth your while.”
“How?”
“I'll wear sexy lingerie underneath my clothes at every store.”
“That's definitely not going to help me focus on furniture.”
“That’s my job. You can focus on anything you want.”
Graham's grin was pure sin. “I love the way your mind works.”
Graham got up and disposed of the condom, then came back and I settled in his lap, not ready to move away from him yet. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“When you think about us living here together, what makes you happiest?”
Graham was quiet for a moment while he took off my corset, then stroked circles on my back. “I think about the ordinary stuff. Like coming home and finding you here. Watching you reading in that corner by the lamp. Fighting over what to watch on TV.”
“What else?”
“Sunday mornings in bed with nowhere to be and nothing to do but hold you. Cooking together and watching you burn dinner. Having people over and watching you light up the room just by being yourself.”
“Hey buddy, if you keep complaining about my cooking, I’m never baking for you again.”
He held up his hands, laughing. “I’ll stop. I’ll stop. What about you? What do you want our life to look like?”
I thought about it, picturing all the possibilities that stretched out before us. “I want traditions. Like Friday night movie marathons and Saturday morning waffles. I want a garden in the backyard where we can grow tomatoes and herbs.”
“You want to garden?”
