Page 219 of One Wild Wish

Her hand floated up to her neck. “Why?”

“If we didn’t work, where would that have left you? With friends like Kayla who only ever wanted to social climb? Feed you false information, so she could make her move on me?” I shook my head. “I couldn’t risk it.”

“You knew Kayla did that?”

“Not until much later. The night I broke up with her, when…everything went down, she didn’t walk away easily. She badgered me awhile, and when she figured out something happened with you, she told me you hated being my charity case. That what we had hadn’t been real. She framed it in a catty way to make you look bad, but it was easy to read between the lines, that she’d turned those tables on you, too. At the time, it was more shit heaped onto a shit pile. But I know you, Gwen. I understand how your mother beat you down. How one word from someone like Kayla would infect you.”

Her spine went rigid. “My mother never hit me. I would have told you.”

“Emotional abuse is just as bad.”

She winced, and it crushed me. I’d walked in once, unannounced, to overhear Mary Hamilton call her only child worthless. Stupid. The word disgusted had been used. Always in that acrid tone, like Gwen was lice stuck in her hair.

“Thing is,” I shut the door and inched forward, walking until we were in her kitchen, her back pressed to her island countertop, “you never cowered when she laced into you. You would lift your chin and take it. Stand taller. I never pitied you, Gwen. I was amazed by you.”

She tilted her head to meet my eyes. Disbelief shone. “Really?”

“Oh, honey. I was in awe of you.” I planted my hands on either side of her, caging her body against the counter. The space between us swelled with nine years of bridled heat.

“But you don’t know me now,” she said, her voice breathless. “I also wasn’t fully honest with you earlier, when you asked why I slept with Finch.”

My grip on the counter stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“You asked if I did it to hurt you, and I think part of me did. Aside from being sad and lonely, and wishing Finch was you, I was devastated when I saw that stupid picture of Kayla. I was angry and knew sleeping with Finch would hurt you. I knew, and I did it. I wanted you to feel my pain.” She finally touched me, her hands branding my chest. “I’m sorry. It was so wrong.”

My first instinct was to wrench away from her and pace an angry line, but to what end? Feed the demons that had chased me these long years? Try to surgically remove this woman who lived under my skin? I’d only cut myself. “I understand,” I offered instead.

But she curved forward, her shoulders sloping in dismay.

“Look at me, Gwen.” When she lifted her head, I held her chin between my fingers. “You loved me. I loved you. We should have done something about it, but we didn’t. We hurt each other instead. But what I see in front of me now is a fresh start with the only person who knows I love Gilmore Girls and who spreads rumors I get the shits from eating beans.”

That earned me a smile. “I should run your fan club.”

She should be the goddamn president. I erased the inches separating us, pressed my hips into hers. My dick lengthened, got hot and heavy. She mewled at the contact, her hands snaking around my waist. She pulled me into her.

Lust blasted up my thighs. “Please tell me you want this, too. Because being with you is killing me. I’ve never wanted anything so badly as I want you right now. You have no idea.”

She latched her leg around mine and rolled her hips. “Then stop talking and start kissing.”

I slammed my mouth onto hers. There was no holding back the years I’d fought our pull, the eternity I’d dreamed of sinking into Gwen. My thrusts rocked her into the sharp counter, my lips working hers open. She let me in, sucked on my tongue, my bottom lip. I palmed her ass and pressed into her.

Her aggression rivaled mine. She pushed back so hard I lost my grip on the counter and tumbled to the floor, taking her with me. Because I wouldn’t let her go. Not now. Maybe never. Fuck, I had Gwen Hamilton in my arms, under me, on her apartment floor. Abruptly, I shoved my hand up her shirt. She gasped. My knuckles skimmed her taut stomach until her breast was in my greedy grasp. Her bra was lacy, her nipples hard buds beneath. My cock throbbed with each squeeze of my palm.

Gripping my hair in unforgiving fists, she rutted against me and sucked on my neck, her jeans abrading mine so wildly sparks were sure to light. I thrust harder; she cried out. We were dry-fucking like a couple desperate teens.

“Jesus, Gwen. I can’t last like this. I need you so fucking bad.”

“If I don’t fuck you in the next three seconds, I’ll die.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Then get to work.”

A command I’d happily follow. She pushed up my shirt and yanked at my belt buckle. I made quick work of dragging off her jeans, but mine only made it to my knees. My hand was in her underwear, the slick heat of her obliterating me. “You’re so wet.”

She writhed beneath me and cupped me over my briefs. “That’s all for you.”

A gift I’d never have dared wished for. The pressure of her hand on my cock, rubbing brazenly, had my eyes rolling to the back of my head. She pulled at my waistband, so hard she trapped my hips against hers. I eased her back. “Easy, sweetheart. I need space to get them off. And we need a condom.”