Taming Georgia (The Flawed Heart Series)

by Ellie Wade

  25

  “I truly see Georgia now—not just her perfections, but her flaws, too. And I love her even more.”

  —Wyatt Gates

  Georgia’s moan as I slide into her wetness is the hottest sound I’ve ever heard. It drives me to the bridge of insanity, like everything about her does. Every. Fucking. Thing.

  She’s turned away from me. Her long blonde hair, still wet from the shower, falls to cover her face as I continue my assault. My fingers splay across the toned skin of her shoulders, and every time her ass pushes back to hit me, I want to explode.

  We’re frantic now, our bodies pounding against each other, chasing another orgasm that we’re desperate for. Georgia slides a hand between her legs, and the image of her touching herself makes me growl loudly into the dark room. She whimpers and cries out as her body starts to shake.

  Fuck yes.

  I thrust into her hard, sending her body forward, and she throws her free hand out against the headboard to stop from hitting it. Our skin slaps together.

  More moans.

  Labored breaths.

  Slapping skin.

  Desperate whimpers.

  Guttural sighs.

  Sobs of pleasure.

  It’s the best symphony I’ve ever heard, and it’s ours. Only ours.

  Georgia collapses to the bed, facedown, after we both reach our climax. I fall atop her, my chest expanding, desperate for air.

  I roll off her, throwing my forearm over my eyes, my body still humming from pleasure. Georgia scoots toward me and kisses my chest, slick with sweat.

  “That was amazing,” she sighs.

  “Fourth time’s the charm,” I respond, thinking about all the other ways we’ve pleased each other since getting back to my house.

  We’ve worshipped each other’s bodies. We’ve reunited. We’ve made love, slow and sweet. We’ve fucked, hard and desperate. Each time amazing. Each time perfect because it is with her.

  “All equally incredible,” she says. “Make-up sex is the best. We should do it more often.”

  “Agreed, but can we have it without doing the shit that comes before it?”

  We’re both quiet after my reference to the drama of this week.

  “Do you really forgive me for leaving you?” she asks softly, laying her cheek against my chest.

  “I told you that I did, and I do. I’m not perfect, Peaches…nowhere close. I’m sure I’m going to make lots of mistakes in this. You hurt me, but I forgive you. Of course I do. I love you.”

  She gasps and sits up. “You said it.”

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  “You said you love me.”

  “You know that I do.”

  “But you’ve never said it out loud. Sometimes, I need to hear it.”

  I sit up and place my mouth over her exposed breast, pulling her nipple between my teeth. When it releases, I say, “I love you.” I kiss the smooth skin above her collarbone. “I love you.” I place small kisses up her neck. “I love you.” I pull her earlobe between my lips and whisper in her ear, “I love you.”

  I lean back, my face inches from hers. Her eyes well with tears.

  “I love you, Peaches. I think I’ve loved you for a long time.”

  I wrap my arms around her back and pull her down to the bed with me. She lays atop me and glides her fingers up and down my arm.

  It feels so good, lying here with Georgia.

  When she first showed up at the hospital room, my walls—the ones that had protected me my entire life—shot up, and I just wanted her gone. I didn’t want to feel the pain that she would inevitably bring me. I wanted to protect myself and shield my heart from more hurt. She had left me once, and I knew she could do it again. But then she started explaining, and I heard so much of myself in her words.

  I know what it’s like to be afraid of losing someone you love. I know what it’s like to let fear and insecurity dictate life choices. Despite the vast differences in our upbringing, Georgia and I are more alike than I ever realized.

  The second I started really internalizing her words, I knew the night would end with my lips on hers.

  I truly see Georgia now—not just her perfections, but her flaws, too. And I love her even more.

  When I’m scared, I put up walls and push people away. When she’s scared, she runs. Neither coping mechanism is better than the other, but they’re both forgivable.

  I saw her standing there, her heart wide open as she told me everything, and I fell more in love with her. Now that I know that these worries fester within her, it’s my job to make sure that she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’ll never leave her. She might not be perfect, but she is one hundred percent perfect for me. I could never love anyone as much as I love her.

  “So, what happened when you were in Mexico?” I ask.

  “Well, I made it to Colima and checked in with Kylie. She told me that the human trafficking ring that had been working with them under the pretense of selling them children got wind that something might be off. So, the human traffickers broke off communication with Kylie and her group. They’re going to try to pose as different people and set up another exchange down the road, but it will take time. And I didn’t have time. I realized what I’d left behind, and I had to get back to it.”

  “And you’re okay with that? Just leaving before everything was resolved? You’re not going to have regrets?” I ask. A small part inside me is still afraid she’s going to choose to leave again.

  “The truth is, it might never be completely resolved. It’s a huge problem all over the world. I called my dad, and he gave me the name and number of one of his Mexican business associates who is very invested in stopping human trafficking in Mexico. Kylie spoke to him, and they’re going to work together. He has more money and connections than Kylie and her team do, so I think, together, they can make a real change. And you’re right; I can’t fix the whole world. I’m only one person. But I regretted leaving you, and losing you would’ve haunted me forever.”

  She props herself up on her elbows and runs her fingers through my hair, her gentle blues gazing into my eyes. “This is all new territory for me, Wyatt, and I’m not promising that I won’t mess up again. But please try to love me anyway.”

  I chuckle at her request. “Same. We’re like the blind leading the blind here.”

  “That seems to be a pattern with us.” She smiles. “I promise to love you even if you royally screw up,” she tells me before kissing my lips.

  “And I promise to love you even if you royally screw up,” I tell her, and she kisses me again. When her lips leave mine, I say, “Those are some crazy-ass vows.”

  Georgia’s eyes open wide. “Vows? Slow down there, buddy,” she says with a shake of her head, and I laugh. “We’ve been good for, what?” She pretends to look at a nonexistent watch on her wrist. “Four hours. Let’s get out of the fast lane, shall we?”

  “We need time, of course, but I’m letting you know that I’m going to marry you someday, Peaches. You’ve always been the only girl for me. You don’t have to fear me leaving you because it won’t happen. I saw what it was like without you in my life this past week, and I hated it. I will never leave you. Ever.” I put emphasis on the last word so that she hears me, down to her soul. I don’t want her to live in fear that she’ll lose me because she won’t.

  “Okay,” she says softly.

  “Okay.” I nod.

  “When did we do a one-eighty?” She laughs. “I used to be the confident, lovey one, and now, you’re reassuring me.”

  “I felt what it’d be like to lose two people I loved this week, and it made me realize that only an idiot would keep someone they loved at arm’s length. Real love is rare, and it’s not something everyone gets. So, when someone is fortunate enough to be loved, they need to cherish it because it could be gone tomorrow.” I run my fingers up her back. Pulling her down to me, I kiss her. “I cherish you. And I promise that I will always cherish you.”
<
br />   She sighs contently. “And I promise that I’m done running, Wyatt. I don’t need to search the world for happiness. I already have it right here with you.”

  I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Georgia Wright, have I tamed your free-spirited, world-traveling ways?” My lips tilt up in a smile.

  She grins back, so much love radiating from her face. “Wyatt Gates, your love freed me, and for the first time in my life, I’m home.”

  26

  “Family are those people who fill your life with joy, have your back, and love you unconditionally.”

  —Georgia Wright

  “Do we really need all of this? She’s just one person,” Wyatt says of the plethora of groceries spread across the countertop. He’s right. It’s enough to feed a large family for at least two weeks.

  “We just got what the recipes called for.” I shrug. “We can always freeze them in portions, so she can use them later.”

  “I just had surgery. I’m not dead. I’m capable of making my own food,” Ethel calls from her recliner in the living room.

  “Hush it!” Wyatt calls back. “Watch your Wheel of Fortune and pet your cats. We’re making you meals.”

  Ethel grumbles something in retort, but I can’t make it out over the clicking sound of the wheel coming from the television.

  Wyatt and I sat down last night and planned out a week of meals for Ethel. It was his first experience with Pinterest, and it was hilarious. We laughed hard and had a ball, planning these dishes. Scanning this mess of food, I have a feeling that making them all isn’t going to be quite as fun.

  “We just need to start. Let’s pick one of the meals,” Wyatt suggests. “You want to go with the pasta?”

  “Yeah, pasta is always easy, and she loves it.”

  Opening my Pinterest app on my phone, I pull up the recipe for the eggplant penne with fresh mozzarella, basil, and a garnish of gremolata.

  “Okay, you take the eggplant and slice it in one-fourth-inch cubes,” I instruct Wyatt.

  “Like exactly?” He furrows his brow.

  “I’m sure close is fine.”

  He picks up the slice of eggplant. “Do I peel it? This skin is really thick.”

  “It doesn’t say. Google it.” I look down to the recipe. “Do you know what a microplane is?”

  “No clue.”

  “We need a microplane for the lemon rind.”

  My hands wet from washing the parsley, I ask Wyatt to Google what a microplane looks like, too. After I dry my hands, we spend the next fifteen minutes looking through every drawer and cupboard, trying to find the lemon peel device. When I’m certain Ethel doesn’t own one, I search online for what we can use instead.

  “It says a small grater. Did we see one of those?”

  “Do you all need help in there?” Ethel yells over the TV.

  “Buy a vowel, E. We got this.” Wyatt opens a drawer and pulls out a metal object with holes. “Is this a grater?”

  I bite my lip. “I think so, but aren’t the holes supposed to be smaller?”

  “It’s going to have to do.”

  We spend an abnormally long time on every part of the recipe. I pull open the top of the mozzarella balls, and some of the liquid they’re in splashes out, causing me to drop the entire container on the floor. White balls bounce everywhere.

  “Shit!” I cry, staring down at the floor of wet balls. “I’m going to cry,” I say with a sigh.

  “Five-second rule?” Wyatt questions as he hastily tries to retrieve the balls of cheese.

  “Should we? What if cat hair gets on them?”

  “We’ll wash them. They were in water to begin with. It will be fine.” He tosses the cheese into a strainer and begins running them under water.

  I grab the mop and clean up the mess I made on the floor.

  Wyatt looks back at me with his sexy grin. “We should’ve ordered pizza,” he teases.

  “Totally,” I agree.

  What feels like eighty hours later, our first meal is finished.

  “This should be tonight’s dish. I’m starving after all of that work.”

  “O-M-G. Me, too.” I laugh. “I can’t believe we have six more to do. We’re never going to finish. I thought you could cook,” I tell him.

  “I never said I could cook. I figured you could. You’re a girl.”

  “Sexist,” I huff in mock offense. “I am proficient at many things, but cooking is not one of them.”

  “Noted. So, takeout for life?”

  “Definitely. Or we practice and get better at it?”

  “Takeout it is.” Wyatt reaches into the cupboard and grabs three plates.

  We dish up the food. Ethel’s too sore to sit at the kitchen table, so he sets her meal on a tray and carries it out to her. I grab both of our plates and follow him.

  “Dinner is served.” He sets the tray down on her lap and kisses the top of her head.

  “Looks and smells delicious.” Ethel grins.

  Wyatt and I sit with our plates on the sofa next to her, and the three of us start eating. I almost gag on my first bite. The lemon flavor is so strong that I feel the tart fumes shoot through my nostrils. I place the back of my hand to my mouth and swallow hard, reaching for my glass of water to wash it down. I turn to look at Wyatt and Ethel and gauge their reactions. They’re both silent. Their lips are pressed in a line, and their faces are scrunched up.

  “It’s so bad,” I say with a chuckle.

  “Horrible. God-awful,” Wyatt agrees.

  “It could be better,” Ethel says in a kind voice.

  I throw my head back in laughter, and Wyatt and Ethel laugh hard along with me. I can’t believe we just spent hours making something that tastes so horrible.

  “Did we zest the lemon peel or just chop up the whole thing and throw it in there? The aftertaste of the rind is vile,” I say, raising my eyebrows and looking to the others.

  “I don’t know, but we shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen anymore,” Wyatt states.

  “Agreed, but we still have to feed her,” I say.

  “I’m not dead. I can feed myself,” Ethel snaps.

  Wyatt waves his hand. “Hush. Pet your cat.”

  As if angels ascended from heaven, there’s a knock at the door, followed by Xavier’s loud voice and the smell of pure bliss.

  “Hey! Hey! We come bearing gifts.” He walks into the living room with metal trays stacked in his arms.

  Luciana follows behind him with big bags in hand.

  “Oh my God…I love you,” I tell them both, almost squealing with happiness. Nothing is better than a friend whose family owns a restaurant, especially a Mexican one.

  “Thank you so much,” Ethel tells them. “Thank your parents, Lucy. They are too kind.”

  “It’s our pleasure,” Luciana replies with a tilt of her lips.

  “We can’t possibly eat all of this ourselves. Wyatt, text the rest of the guys and see if any of them can make it over. Georgia, why don’t you invite your roommate to eat?”

  Wyatt furrows his brow. “You just had surgery, E. I don’t think hosting a party is wise.”

  Ethel scoffs, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “I’m not hosting anything. I’m going to sit here and eat. It won’t bother me a bit. I don’t want any of that food going to waste. Invite them over.”

  Wyatt and I grab our phones and send our texts. Then, I take each of our plates of uneaten crap and carry them to the kitchen.

  “What happened here?” Luciana asks.

  “Wyatt and I attempted to make dinner.” I snicker as I dump the contents of our plates into the garbage disposal. “It didn’t go well.”

  “What’s all of this?” She motions toward the piles of food on the counter.

  “Ingredients to meals that will never be made.” I shake my head with a grin.

  “I can make them,” she offers.

  “No, we wouldn’t make you do that.”

  “You wouldn’t be making me. I’d lo
ve to. I enjoy cooking. I’ve been preparing dinner for my family since I was very young. It would be my pleasure, really.”

  I quirk up an eyebrow. “Only if you’re absolutely sure.”

  She giggles and shakes her head. “Help me put everything away, and I’ll come over tomorrow and prepare it all.”

  The two of us put away the food that Wyatt and I purchased and set up a Mexican buffet with the items she and Xavier brought.

  She opens the lid to the pan on the stove. “Is this your dish?” she asks, curious.

  “Yes, but don’t try it unless you want to vomit,” I warn.

  She grabs a wooden spoon and gets a mouthful. “You’re silly. I’m sure it’s not that bad.” She closes her mouth around the pasta, and her eyes immediately bug out before she spits her mouthful into the sink. She waves her hand toward me. “No more cooking for you.” She holds back a gag.

  “I told you!” I laugh.

  Wyatt and Xavier pull the table and chairs from the kitchen into the living room so that we can all eat together with Ethel. Workers from the rescue and Paige show up, and we all dish up our food, filling the living room.

  “I promise to only feed you takeout or Lucy’s cooking from now on,” Wyatt says across the table to Ethel, to which she smiles.

  “Yeah, we’re sorry. We weren’t trying to kill you earlier. We really do love you.” I shoot her a wink.

  She chuckles. “And I love you. I appreciate the sentiment. It’s the thought that counts.”

  “Yeah, but our thoughts are no good. Our attempt would have you starving to death, so we need to let that go,” Wyatt says before tossing a freshly made corn chip topped with salsa into his mouth.

  Luciana’s parents make the best tortilla chips and salsa in the world. I could live off them.

  The room is filled with noise—laughter, voices, dishes clanging, and forks scraping against plates. There’s so much commotion, and yet it’s oddly peaceful because it’s incredibly joyous. I look to Ethel and notice the content smile across her face as she takes in the craziness in front of her, and I know she’s happy.

  I’m happy. I love these people. I love this place. No one here is related by blood, and yet every single one of them feels like family. Family are those people who fill your life with joy, have your back, and love you unconditionally. Wyatt’s wrong when he says that he only has Ethel. He’s created a beautiful family with these people, one that’s stronger than most conventional ones. He’s very fortunate, and so am I because they love me, too.