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hollygolightlys (hollygolightlys) wrote in 20somethings,

"Your own? Your own what?" She asked, distracted by his lips on her neck, a spot that sent sparks right to her toes. Goodness - how had he been single when she met him? How had he not seen what a catch he was? Handsome, if in a non-conventional way, and so big in an unbelievably hot way (Holly had never known she had a thing for size but, well, the things we learn), accomplished and brilliant and giving. Gods, what she wouldn't do for this man. She may only be 21, and they may have only been together a little more than a year, but she was pretty sure she would do anything for him, and she was more than pretty sure - 100% sure in fact - that she wanted to marry him someday. She wanted to be his wife and give him a dozen perfect children and live a long, lovely life with him. She knew.

And she didn't care that he was more than a decade older than her, or what people might say about that. She didn't worry that he wanted her for her money or her name or anything else - she just had to figure out how to be his and Holly Shingleton of Shingleton Holdings at the same time.

Of course, at the moment, none of this was occurring to her because his lips were on his skin, the bowl of popcorn forgotten on his bedside table, their large bed and warm duvet enveloping them with very little cloth between them. She 'hmmmmm'ed when he nipped lightly at her collarbone.