Crazy Girl(91)

I kissed her.

When our mouths met, she clung to me, a grateful whimper escaping her as I lifted her in my arms and squeezed her to me. Our skin slick, we slid against each other, frantic with need and want. Suddenly, she braced her hands against my chest and pushed off slightly, her gaze on her hands before moving it slowly to my face, searching my eyes. I shook my head, frustrated. I knew what she was doing, and this wasn’t the time.

“No,” I gritted, taking her wrists and gripping them tightly. “Stop second-guessing. And we’re not stopping so you can memorize details and word it in your head to use later when you’re writing. Right now, you’re here, with me, in this moment. We’re writing our story right now, Hannah.”

She swallowed hard, her glossed eyes focused on my face. She bobbed her head a few times, letting me know she understood. “There’s no place I’d rather be in this world than right here with you,” she confessed, her voice quiet but sincere.

Taking her in my arms again, I kissed her hard. I have no idea how long we were in there, but we took our time. We washed each other, slowly. And when we were finished, I was too amped up to bother drying off. Picking her up, I took her straight to bed. Her skin was smooth and wet, her nipples budded. Droplets of water from my soaked hair fell on her face and chest as I kissed her everywhere. Goddamn, I’d missed her. I was grateful she was there, but I was still angry. The war inside of me waged; one part of me wanted to punish her for what she’d done, and at the same time, the other part of me wanted to give her exactly what she came for—relief.

“Wren,” she whispered as she fisted my hair, her hips lifting in a plea, trying to meet me, find more of me. My hand skated over her breast, down the ridges of her ribs, and found her hip. It was one of those moments when my primal instincts as a man pushed me to take her hard and fast, drive deep inside of her, make her moan and cry out in pleasure. But something told me to slow it; to take my time. This wasn’t about sex. This was more. So much more. I needed to break her. I needed the wall she’d built to crumble and expose her. Not just tonight, in this one vulnerable moment, but for good. She came to me for a reason. She came to me for peace. Well, sometimes peace comes at a price. If I was bending, forgiving, which was usually as likely as hell freezing over, she’d have to, too. She’d have to lay herself bare to me, give me the one thing she’d never given me, or anyone in a long time.

Trust.

Complete and unadulterated trust.

And I wasn’t sure she could.





“Only the broken know what it’s like to live

inside their imagination, creating worlds to dream in,

we are artists of the mind. Our true gift is survival.”

-Christy Ann Martine





Every cell of my being was honed in on Wren, his large body against mine, his heat, his breath tickling my skin. On top of me, I relished the feeling of his weight, the way it pinned me to the bed. He was between my legs, his length pressed against my slick sex, thrusting his hips ever so slightly, taunting me. I was raw with want. And hurt. I had so much pain and anger built up inside of me I needed to release. I needed him to wring it from me, drain me of it, make me feel lost in him.

“No more running, Hannah,” he growled. “This is it,” he went on, his hips still grinding against me in a maddening rhythm. “You came here tonight because you needed me. If I take you now, you’re in this. You have to trust me. No more running away.” I turned my head slightly, breaking our eye contact, but he took my jaw in his large hand and turned it back, forcing me to look at him. “I know I’m not the easiest man to deal with, but you have to talk to me when you get lost in your head and thoughts. You have to give me a chance.”

My chest tightened, the sincerity in his voice and the intent in his stare slamming me. He meant it. This was it. I was apologetic, but was I going to do something about it? Either I committed to his terms right here, right now, or we were done. For good. I knew, more than anything, that I wanted him—needed him—but fear still held my heart in its cold hand. Wren was many things, inspiring to me in so many ways, but he was just as flawed as me. He could be cold; abrasive. He rarely thought to share his feelings. And he lost his patience easily when it came to emotion. And here I was, a gargantuan ball of emotion, full of doubts and insecurities. Our path to a chance at forever would be bumpy. He was hard and unrelenting; I was soft and easily wounded. We would drive each other mad. Staring up at him, I gently brushed some of his damp locks from his face and ran my fingers over his beard. Flawed like me, he might be, but he had moments where he forgot himself and let me in. Moments where I saw the tender side of him. Moments he’d never know how much I cherished. He was hard yet vulnerable, just like me. I was terrified as our gazes were locked, him waiting for me to agree. That uneasy feeling in my belly I got whenever I thought about us moved in. But in the end, I knew nothing terrified me more than the thought of never seeing him again. It was why I came.

“I’m here,” I whispered to him. “I’m with you.”

His thumb brushed gently over my cheek as his dark stare burned into mine. He’d never looked at me like that before; with want and fear to match my own. He was just as afraid as me; afraid to give us another chance, but also afraid not to. I hated seeing that doubt in his gaze. It meant he was afraid of me—that I might hurt him.