Taming Georgia (The Flawed Heart Series)

by Ellie Wade

  Wyatt isn’t one for many words, but I see him just the same. I always have. My eyes water as I stare into his because there’re so many unspoken words that I feel down into my soul. Without a sound, he requests access, and I nod, desperate for him to touch me.

  He lifts one of my legs and drapes it over his shoulder. I close my eyes, dropping my head back as he begins to explore, first with his fingers and then with his tongue. My head explodes with pleasure, and it’s all I can do not to crumble. Wyatt fills me with his fingers as his tongue drags against the perfect spot. It’s a slow worship at first. My hips involuntarily rock into his mouth, needing to be closer.

  His tongue picks up speed, and the surge of pleasure starts building, more intense now. I’m out of my mind. Heated sobs exit as I cry into the lust-filled space. The explosion starts in my toes and then shoots upward until my entire being is bursting with bliss. Wyatt pushes me over the edge, and I fall.

  I succumb completely to the experience, taking in as much as my body will allow. I want it all. My knees buckle, and I feel myself going down, but Wyatt holds me up. He lifts me into his arms as my body hums with the aftershock of gratification.

  I don’t have the strength to open my eyes as he carries me out of the kitchen.

  “Is this yours?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

  I crack an eye open to see my bedroom.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  Wyatt lays me down on the bed and removes his jeans.

  “Do you have condoms?” he asks.

  I point toward the top drawer on my night table. I open my eyes to see Wyatt covering his length with a condom, and I’m immediately on fire once more. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than Wyatt’s naked body.

  Holy hell.

  He’s atop me now, his arms against the bed on either side of me. The tip of his length is against my opening, his stare burning into me.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Yes. Please,” I plead.

  Wyatt enters me in one quick movement, and we both groan.

  “Fuuck,” Wyatt cries out as he thrusts into me.

  He pushes my legs back. Grabbing my ankles, he holds my legs on either side of my head. I’m completely open now, exposed to him, and when he pushes into me, I feel him so deep that it aches. I cry out as he picks up the pace, hitting me harder and harder within.

  I grasp at the sheets as my body desperately chases its release.

  Wyatt growls my name, and the carnality in his voice sends me over the edge. He slams into me once more and holds me to him as our bodies quake in pleasure. His back is slick with sweat as my hands cling to it.

  After we’ve come down from our orgasms, he rolls off me. We both lie on my bed, faces toward the ceiling, our breaths still coming out hard.

  Suddenly, I’m very aware that I’m lying naked next to Wyatt, my first crush turned asshole.

  Crap. I just had sex with Wyatt.

  I pull the sheet that’s scrunched in a ball at the bottom of the bed up and cover us. So many emotions race through my mind. I feel like crying and smiling all at once. What does any of this even mean?

  “Wyatt?” I say hesitantly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you kiss me?” The question comes out before I can stop it. For some reason, I need the connection of his kiss. I need to know our actions of a moment ago weren’t a mistake.

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rolls over on his side. He reaches out and then pulls me toward him. Then, slowly, he presses his lips against mine.

  A tear rolls down my cheek, and I don’t even know why.

  Wyatt’s kiss is soft and sweet. It’s over quickly. He doesn’t move away. Our faces are a breath apart.

  He studies me, and I, him, searching for answers.

  “You regret it. Don’t you?” he asks.

  “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “On what happens next.”

  “What do you want to happen next?”

  “Wyatt, I can’t give you the answers. You’re the one who is always pushing me away. I need you to figure that out for yourself.”

  Despite my best efforts to detest him, I feel something real for Wyatt. If I’m being honest, I always have. I shouldn’t; I know this. I’ve seen how toxic we are together, but I can’t stop wanting him. More importantly, I can’t stop hoping that he’ll want me.

  His blue-eyed gaze is gentle as it roams over me, taking me in. His eyes examine my face, making my breath falter. He’s looking at me like he used to back when we were both so young. I’ve dreamed of this stare—deep, beautiful, and all Wyatt.

  He doesn’t have his guard up or his jerky persona. Right now, I’m staring at the boy who stole my heart years ago. At this moment, I have the Wyatt I’ve always held a vacancy for in my heart regardless of how many times I tried to fill it.

  He swallows hard. “I think about you all of the time.” He sighs, “I fucking dream about you almost every night. Even when I thought I hated you, you consumed my thoughts.”

  “Thought? As in past tense?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t hate you. God, probably the opposite. I don’t know. You have to realize that people have let me down my entire life. So, when those assholes told me all of that shit about you, I believed them. I was wrong to; I know. But the fact that a beautiful, kind, popular girl liked me didn’t fit into the narrative of my life. What those jerks said about you did. The fact that I liked you so much and was so hurt jaded me—against people, against you. I’ve held so much anger toward you for so long, and it’s been hard to admit that I was wrong.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “I’m kind of stubborn.”

  “Yeah, I see that. You know, what you said to me hurt, too. I’ve resented you for a long time.”

  “I’m sorry,” he tells me, and I know that he is.

  “But when I see you and how kind you are to others when you think no one’s looking, the things you do for so many, the way you help those who can’t help themselves, I know that you’re the same person you were. Actually, no, you’re better.”

  He kisses me lightly on the forehead before lying back down. “I’m not good at this stuff. I don’t let people in.” His voice is full of defeat. “I have a really hard time trusting people, and because of that, I’ll probably always be alone.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re too good of a person. You’re impossible not to love. Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. Ethel does. Others, too.”

  I scoot up next to him and wrap my arm around his middle, leaning my head on his chest. “No one can promise forever. Stuff happens. But don’t you think there’s something between us worth exploring?” He doesn’t answer, so I continue, “I feel this pull toward you. Even when you were a total grump, I wanted to be by you. Do you feel it, too—this connection? Or is it just me?”

  He scoffs, and if I were looking at his face, I know he’d be wearing a smile. “It’s not just you.”

  “So then, what?” I ask.

  “Will you come back to work?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what else you’re offering.”

  “What do you want me to say? Do you want to, like, hang out and stuff?”

  I laugh and sit up, pulling the sheet up around me. “You’re really bad at this, aren’t you?”

  “I told you I was.”

  “Will we be exclusively hanging out?”

  He nods. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I can do that.” A cheesy grin spreads across my face, followed by one from Wyatt. His smile gets me every time.

  Realization dawns on me as an image of the scantily dressed blonde woman flashes in my brain.

  Oh crap!

  “Wait. Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  Wyatt looks confused. “No.”

  “What about that blonde chick from the club?”

  His lips purse as he thinks for a second before realization dawns. “She’s just a friend.”

&nb
sp; “With benefits?”

  “No, Peaches. Just a friend.”

  “So, you just pick up your drunk, barely dressed female friends from the club often?”

  “If they need me to.”

  “To what? Take them home to play Scrabble?”

  “Not usually. We’re more into Monopoly.” He smirks.

  I hit his arm. “Wyatt, I’m serious.”

  “She’s one of my childhood friends. She needed help, and I helped her. That’s all. I’m many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You can trust me to be honest with you.”

  “Okay.”

  He grins. “But I’m kind of liking this jealousy thing. It’s pretty hot.” He grabs my waist and pulls me onto him.

  I shake my head. “It is not.”

  “With you, it is. Though you’re pretty gorgeous regardless.”

  “You’re pretty gorgeous, too. I’ve always thought so.”

  Wyatt’s eyes darken, and I feel the familiar pull deep within my gut. I toss the bedsheet to the side and throw my leg over his pelvis to straddle him. Leaning down, I kiss…my boyfriend? My Wyatt? It doesn’t matter what I call him; he’s mine. This kiss is different than any others we’ve shared. There’s no underlying insecurity. I’m utterly certain that this is where I’m meant to be—with my lips on his.

  Wyatt kisses my neck, and I release a sigh of pleasure.

  “Full disclosure,” he says between kisses, “that puppy is probably shitting all over the house.”

  I giggle. “I don’t care. I’ll clean it up.”

  His lips kiss across my collarbone. “She’s also probably chewing a hole in the couch and destroying your phone charger.”

  “All replaceable.” I moan as his mouth covers my nipple.

  When I slide down onto Wyatt’s shaft, we both vocalize our pleasure.

  “Fuck, Peaches. You’re perfection. Where have you been all my life?” Wyatt’s voice is all gruff and husky as he grabs my hips to control the pace.

  I know his question is rhetorical, but I answer anyway, “Trying to make my way back to you.”

  16

  “If God wants to make up for all the shit I’ve been forced to live through, Georgia would be a fucking amazing apology.” —Wyatt Gates

  “Don’t forget that Daisy, LuLu, and Santa Baby need their meds before you leave. The log is on the filing cabinet,” I tell Xavier as I fuss with a lock on one of the kennels that’s been sticking.

  “Seriously, dude, go,” he huffs out.

  “I know,” I snap. “I’m just making sure that—”

  Xavier cuts me off, “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. I’ve been here a long time. I know how this all goes. You’re just being your control-freak self. Give it a rest for one night. You have a pretty girl waiting to take you on a date. Go. Stop being a pansy ass.”

  “Hey, I said I was taking the night off. I never said anything about a date.” My need to keep my private life private is strong. I’ve never shared much of anything with anyone, except for Ethel, but that’s only because she’s too nosy for her own good…and I love her.

  Georgia’s been back at the rescue a week now, and I thought we’d been discreet about our relationship. Whatever is going on between Georgia and me is still new to us. I’m not ready to have the opinions of all the guys here regarding it.

  It’s been good though. It’s different for me, being in a relationship. I’m still hesitant, afraid that the ball is going to drop any day. Georgia reassures me that it won’t. She’s turned down her friend’s offer to go dig wells in Africa. She says she’s content right here with me and the rescue.

  “I’m not blind, man. It’s like you think you’re all suave, like James Bond. You’re not James Bond.”

  “Who said anything about James Bond?” I ask with a glare. “I’m just going out. That’s all.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Xavier shrugs and places the clip on the kennel I was just fussing with.

  I walk toward the exit before turning back. “Make sure everyone knows to remember the clips.”

  “Go away already!” he yells back.

  “This floor could use another mopping, too,” I suggest.

  He pretends to ignore my instruction. A sly smile crosses his face. “Remember, no glove, no love,” Xavier orders.

  “Stop.”

  “Sock that wang before you bang.”

  “What is wrong with you?” I stare.

  “Cover your stump before you hump.” His voice is singsongy, and he wears an obnoxious grin.

  “I’m leaving.” I turn the knob.

  Right before the door closes behind me, I hear, “You can’t go wrong if you shield your dong.”

  “Asshole,” I mutter to myself, my lips turning up.

  “Hey, that’s quite the greeting.” Georgia is standing in front of me on the small cement patio at the entrance of the shelter.

  She places a hand on either side of my shoulders and stands on her tiptoes, planting a peck on my lips. It’s still uncomfortable to kiss her like this. Not that I don’t enjoy her lips on mine—of course, I do. I just have to remind myself that this is real. I’m dating—I guess one would call it—Georgia Wright. I recognize that she was never the person that those boys made her out to be back in high school. She never deserved all the hatred I threw her way. Yet it’s still odd, and I have to constantly remind myself of the current situation.

  “Sorry, that was directed toward Xavier,” I tell her. “So, what do you have planned for this secret date?”

  “I just want to take you out to have some fun. You’re always so serious.”

  “I am serious. It’s kind of a personality trait,” I say truthfully.

  “I know. You’re all work and no fun, but everyone needs some fun sometimes. Right?”

  Images of the entertainment we participated in the other night flash through my mind. I would definitely enjoy myself if we were to have that sort of fun again. I feel myself getting hard beneath my jeans, and I have to quickly think about something else. I clearly don’t date much, but that doesn’t mean I have to behave like a pubescent boy.

  “All right. Well, let’s get in the truck, and you tell me where to go.”

  Georgia directs me to drive into downtown Ann Arbor and park in one of the structures. She threads her fingers through mine as we start walking toward University Avenue.

  “We’re here!” she says excitedly as we walk through the door of Pinball Pete’s. “Have you ever been?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  I survey the space. Pinball Pete’s seems to be an old-school arcade. There are standing game machines everywhere. I spot Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, Tetris, Frogger, and Rampage. There are pinball machines lining the aisles, and rows of ball games along the back wall. The place is full of beeps, dings, and bells.

  It even smells old, reminding me of the scent of a vintage bowling alley. I remember attending a classmate’s birthday party at a bowling alley right before my dad was shot, and it smelled just like this. It’s the only time I’ve ever been bowling, and I can still remember it so clearly.

  “Isn’t this great?” Georgia asks, her voice full of enthusiasm.

  “Yeah, it’s cool.”

  “I was reading up on it. There’re very few retro arcades left. I thought you’d love it.”

  We stand in front of the quarter machine, insert money, and each get a bucket full of coins.

  “Which game is your favorite?” I ask her.

  She looks around. “I haven’t really played any of them before. London and I weren’t really into video games. Which one is your favorite?”

  My lips turn up. “Honestly? I don’t know if I’ve ever played any of these.”

  “Are you serious? You’ve never played Pac-Man or”—she scans the names of the games—“whatever other popular games are in here?”

  “No. After my dad died and my mom…well, you know…we didn’t have much money. I never played any of these or h
ad any of the old gaming stations either. I didn’t have money until I was older, and by then, I had other things to spend my money on. I guess I missed the whole gaming buzz.”

  Georgia’s shoulders slump. “I took you on the worst date ever.” She pouts out her bottom lip.

  “No, it’s very thoughtful. I love it. Just because I didn’t play when I was a kid doesn’t mean I can’t learn now, right? Come on.” I grab her hand. “Which one should we start with?”

  “I feel like Pac-Man is the most popular. At least, that’s the one I’ve heard about the most,” she says.

  “Well, we are the blind leading the blind here, aren’t we?” I let out a chuckle.

  “Look! There’s a girl Pac-Man.”

  “You try it first,” I tell Georgia as we approach Ms. Pac-Man.

  She sits down on the stool and inserts two of the quarters into the slot.

  The game starts.

  “Okay, so there are balls,” she says.

  “Move the joystick. I think she eats them.”

  Georgia moves the stick, and the yellow creature with the big mouth starts chomping on the balls.

  “There are colored ghosts,” she exclaims. “Do you think they are friends or foes?”

  “I’m guessing they’re the enemy.”

  “But what if they give me more power or something. Like a supercharge.”

  “A supercharge for what?”

  “For eating more balls.”

  I let out a loud laugh. “I don’t know, Peaches.”

  “I think they’re…” She drives Ms. Pac-Man into the blue ghost, and she dies. “Crap, they’re foes.”

  I tell her to try again, and she puts more money in. This round, she’s careful to run away from the ghosts and not toward them.

  “There’s a bunch of cherries!” She steers clear of the fruit. “Do you think they’re bombs or something?”

  “Maybe, but I kind of feel like cherries are good for you.”

  “I think they’re going to kill me, just like the ghosts.” She jerks her hand against the controller to move quickly away from a group of ghosts in pursuit. “Shoot, the only way to get past the ghosts is to go through the cherry.”

  “Well, try it.”

  She steers Ms. Pac-Man through the cherries, and points pop up.