Page 70 of Wish You Would

Now, Gigi and I were snuggled up on the gigantic couch, debating what to watch on the even more gigantic TV. As it turned out, we had vastly different tastes in entertainment—and not in the ways I expected.

“I promise you,” Gigi was saying, gesturing toward the TV with the remote. “You’ll love it.”

The it she referred to was the latest season of a historical romance series. “Of course,” she went on, eyes bright with excitement, “you’ll probably want to start with the first season. But you don’t have to!” She put her hand on my arm, as if to reassure me. “They’re standalone stories. But I think you’ll get more out of it if we start from the beginning. I—” She stopped talking when she realized I was staring. “What?”

I laughed and shook my head, threading my fingers with hers. “Nothing,” I said, heart absolutely exploding. “You’re so cute.”

“Pssh.” She blushed—a first, I was pretty sure—and waved me off with her other hand. “Am not.”

“Are too.” I leaned in and took the remote from her. Aiming it at the TV, I selected her show and navigated to the first season. “Now, shush and get over here.”

I’d tried to convince her to watch my favorite true crime documentary initially. But the look of abject horror on her face made it clear where she stood on that, even if she had nodded her assent. I couldn’t do that to her.

Usually, I wasn’t a romance girlie. Maybe if was, I’d have figured out how to flirt on my own. But, ya know? I couldn’t regret it. Not when it got me to this moment.

And all the moments yet to come.

Her face softened, eyes like hot chocolate on a winter morning, and she scooted closer, her body curving against mine as if she belonged there. I arranged a throw blanket over us and pressed a kiss to her temple. She smiled my way, then rested her head against my shoulder, a happy sigh escaping her as she settled in.

Smiling to myself, I sat the remote aside and let regency England unfold on the screen before me.

“Wait,” I said as the credits rolled on our latest episode. We’d made it through half of the first season and I was, to my surprise, hooked. “How am I supposed to root for that guy? He’s a micromanaging man-whore with mutton chops!”

Gigi laughed and hit pause on the next episode. “He grows on you, I promise,” she said as she untangled from our blanket nest and stood. Stretching her arms over her head, she groaned. I tried not to stare as her t-shirt rode up to reveal the full curve of her bottom.

I stared, anyway.

“Can I help you?”

I tore my eyes away to find her watching me, a knowing smirk on her face. Flushing, I shifted my focus to the chevron pattern on the blanket in my lap. “Nope,” I said. “Nope, I’m good.”

“Mm-hmm.” She pulled the blanket away, casually folded it and put it aside. “I’ll make a shameless ogler of you yet.”

“Oh, I’m not ashamed.” I took her outstretched hand and let her pull me to my feet. Face to face, I looked her over, letting my eyes linger on her mouth. “I just didn’t want to…distract you from your favorite show.”

“Babycakes,” she murmured, pulling me tight against her. “Your entire existence is the most distracting thing to ever happen to me.”

I lifted my chin, letting our noses brush. “I’m…sorry?”

“Don’t be.” Then she kissed me.

What started as a soft graze of lips instantly became more. Winding my arms around her neck, I leaned into her, opening my mouth against hers, inviting her in, rewarding her with strokes of my tongue over hers. Her fingers pressed into my waist, urging me closer, until there was no her, no me. Just us.

And still she pulled me in.

“I could spend,” she whispered as she dragged her lips over my jaw to nip at my earlobe, “an eternity getting distracted by you.”

I shivered and dug my nails into her shoulders, earning a delicious growl. Throwing my head back, I urged her mouth down my neck. Blinding sparks flashed beneath my eyelids as she scraped her teeth over my tender skin, soothing it with her tongue. “I,” I gasped, squeezing my thighs against the burgeoning throb between them, “would absolutely let you.”

She chuckled, a low, sexy sound, and pulled us both backward until she was sitting on the couch, me straddling her. I moaned at the press of her soft warmth against my aching center, arching into her, swiveling my hips to find the relief my body was begging for.

“Needy girl,” she whispered, grabbing my bottom with both hands, the sharp press of fingernails making me gasp. “You want to come, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.” I braced my hands on her shoulders and pressed myself harder against her. “Please.”

“Mmm.” Gigi shoved her fingers through my hair and pulled my face to hers, kissing me with a hunger that fed my very bones. I moaned into her mouth, tightening my thighs around her. My head spun like I’d had one too many drinks. But it was her, it was all her. I was drunk on her.

I wanted more.

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