Chapter 23 #2
I knew what we were risking. He did, too, or he wouldn’t have asked. But if he was like me, he craved a deeper connection. No barriers. Just us.
He pushed inside, slowly filling me, not taking his time but also not frantically thrusting. He seated himself all the way, then placed a hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss on my shoulder. “Fuck, you feel good. Fucking perfect.”
Feathering his hand back around, he was on my clit again. I undulated, and he didn’t move. He remained that way as he propelled me to another orgasm.
I was doing all the moving, but I was able to feel the tremors in his arms as he held himself still. The trembling of his body, doing all it took to keep from losing control as I bucked wildly on him.
“Myles! Yes!” I slammed into the peak and let the ecstasy wash me away.
He thrust once, twice, then pulled out. Hot jets of cum hit my back right above my ass. We were too close for his cock not to get pinned between us.
“Fuck, Wynn,” he grunted as he came.
I held on to his arm, loving how I drove him crazy. Loving these brief moments when there was nothing between us. These short clips when we were in sync. When I told myself we could work.
Hating that the next moment, I would be alone again, even lying next to him.
Myles
We’d had wakeup sex. We’d had shower sex. With a goddamn condom this time. What had I been thinking? I didn’t risk pregnancy, but I had woken up so damn grateful she hadn’t fled from my bed like I had from hers. She’d been warm, compliant, and all mine.
I wanted someone to be mine.
Foster House was enough. I’d been content with this place for almost twenty years.
Have you, though?
I’d been ignoring that thought all night.
Since we’d napped so late in the day, we weren’t going to bed anytime soon.
I’d called Cooper to bring more food. Empty Thai containers were in the garbage with leftovers in the fridge.
We hadn’t talked about anything of substance beyond the food and the weather—cold with snow flurries.
Wynn was curled up in the opposite corner of the couch as me, her feet tucked under my thigh.
Cozy. Familiar. Somehow more intimate than having her wrapped around me in the shower like after we’d woken from our nap.
She’d fielded some calls and messages from her family. “I told Mama your mom died and that I came out here to be with you, and she got the others to back off.”
Idle chitchat was no longer on the menu. “What all did I tell you when I called?”
“Not much at all. Do you get drunk often?”
That wasn’t what she was asking. I must’ve told her something about my mom.
“No. I’ve seen what addiction can do to people and those around them.
I got drunk once before, and I hated every moment.
” I’d had too much to drink out of spite.
Then I’d gotten into a fight in the bar and had to call Darin.
My life had turned on a dime after that.
“Was your mom an alcoholic?”
“Gianna drank, but it wasn’t her drug of choice.”
“Gianna?”
“Gianna Florentina Cardellini Foster. Daughter of proud Italian immigrants who passed away in a Portland apartment fire when she was young. Her grandfather had come over after her parents, but he was from a different generation. The kind that kicks granddaughters out when they get pregnant at fifteen.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
I shook my head. “Gianna never took me to meet him, and he died when I was young. My grandmother died in Italy.” Telling this was like reciting someone else’s story, one I’d heard but never uttered myself.
“My father’s parents were broke as hell, but they took her in, made them get married as soon as they turned eighteen.
” I stared at the black TV screen. “I remember a picture hanging up. Gianna was in an evening gown, and Devon, my dad, was in an ill-fitting tux. I was in shorts and a T-shirt, only like two. What should’ve been a prom photo was their wedding picture. ”
“You don’t have that picture?”
“Nope. She said his parents were greedy bastards and awful people, and she and my dad got away from Portland as soon as they could. She claimed my uncle was the biggest asshole she’d ever met. But to Gianna, no one was a good person. She had something against everyone.”
“So Gianna and Devon were on their own.” She shook her head, sympathy floating through her eyes. “What happened to your dad?”
“He developed an autoimmune disease, and they, uh, just couldn’t afford…
” I had to clear my throat. There was a lot of my childhood I didn’t think about, but none more so than my dad.
“I was six, and he just got so weak. The pain was awful toward the end, and he got pain meds. And when he passed, I was eight. Gianna got the meds and a payout from the life insurance policy he’d taken out at work. Then she changed.”
Wynn scooted closer, folding her legs under her and facing me. “Coming into money so young, after what she’d been through, and with no support system? That was too much for her to handle, wasn’t it?”