Page 107 of The Wrong Game

“Okay,” she said, her voice softer as she cut me off, and I could already hear her shuffling around. I imagined her jumping out of bed, pulling on her sweatpants. “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Let me get myself together. Just go home. I’ll meet you there.”

“Hurry, Gemma. Please. I mean, be safe, but—” I could hear the shaking in my voice, but I couldn’t stop it.

“Zach, are you okay?” Gemma asked. But I couldn’t answer. “Is everything okay?”

I swallowed, the silence stretching.

“Yes,” I finally said, but my eyes blurred again. “No. Not really. I don’t know.”

There was a short pause. “Okay,” Gemma whispered. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

Gemma was barely through my front door before I yanked her into my arms, and I buried my head in the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as I wrapped her up tight. I couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of her skin on mine.

She dropped her purse on the ground at the door, folding her arms over me and holding me just as tight. She didn’t say a word, didn’t ask what was wrong, didn’t demand an explanation. In that moment, she felt me — and she didn’t push for more than what I could give her.

My chest was still tight, heart thumping so loud in my ribcage I was sure Gemma could hear it, but now that she was here, my breaths came a little easier. I pulled back, and when she lifted her eyes to mine, those emerald irises peering up at me through her lashes, I did the only thing I could in that moment.

I kissed her.

The moment our lips met, I inhaled a breath like it was my first shot of clean oxygen since Doc had given me his news. I kissed her slow, gentle at first, and with my next breath, that oxygen met a spark, and that same fire I’d felt every time I touched Gemma came to life again.

I needed her. I needed to feel her, to have her skin against mine, to have my tongue on hers, to have her eyes on me. There were no words that needed to be shared — not yet, not in that moment. Instead, I walked her to my bed, carefully lowering her into the still-messy sheets from that morning.

Her hair splayed on my pillow, and she pulled me down into her, hands sliding into my hair as I nestled between her legs. She kissed me harder, tugging at my shirt until I leaned back and pulled it off. She leaned up on her elbows, helping me strip out of the sweats I’d put on, and I did the same with hers, peeling them off one leg and then the other.

She didn’t wear anything underneath them.

There was no foreplay, no playful banter or sexy costumes. I didn’t stop to take her sweater off. She didn’t ask me to tell her what had happened. It was animalistic, my need for Gemma in that moment, and I barely had a condom on before I was inside her.

She whimpered at the feel, spreading her legs to allow more access as I buried my face in her neck again. My hands gripped where her thighs met her hips, and I flexed into her, filling her slowly as I rocked back and forth.

My breaths turned from anxiety to passion, from an aching fire to one that burned me in the way I loved to be burned — the way only Gemma could. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck, kissing me and holding my gaze as I worked between her legs.

Time was lost.

There was no music, no words, no laughter. It was just the symphony of the city, still buzzing outside my window as I rolled us to one side. It was just her gentle sigh, my hungered groan as I spooned her from behind, hips thrusting, one hand snaking between her legs to rub her clit as the other gently tugged at her nipple under her sweater.

Every moan eased the pain. Every sigh took away the uncertainty. Every time I filled her, and she tightened around me, I breathed a little easier, a little more of the worry subsiding.

It felt like hours passed as we rolled in those sheets, her climbing on top of me to ride me slow before she laid on her stomach, letting me take her from behind. She climaxed first, quietly, with only her quickened breaths and hands fisting in the sheets letting me know she was coming at all.

And I was next, in the same quiet fashion, biting the soft muscle at the back of her neck as I found my release.

I didn’t move to discard the condom, just rolled us again until I was spooning her, our skin slick and chests heaving as we came down. I kissed her neck, her shoulders, her hair, holding her tighter, wishing I could somehow pull her closer, eliminate all space between us.

She came.

I told her I needed her, and at two in the morning, she answered. She came over. She was there for me when I needed her most, and she didn’t even ask why.

My heart squeezed for a completely different reason than it had felt tight all night, and I held her closer, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe she was real.

I couldn’t believe she was mine.

“Doc is leaving,” I whispered after a moment, the words croaking out of me like they were the first ones I’d spoken in years.

Gemma stiffened in my arms at first, but then she snuggled in closer, wiggling her hips to wedge us more together.

“He’s leaving, and he wants to leave the bar to me. Or sell it, and give me the money to do whatever I want — if I don’t want the bar.” I sighed, and Gemma listened, fingers drawing lazy circles on my arms where I held her. “I don’t know what to do, Gemma. I don’t want him to leave.”