Gwen’s beautiful face blanches when she opens the envelope—and I don’t blame her.

I didn’t open the envelope when I found it the other day; it would have been an invasion of privacy. Back in middle school, I remember Mark bitching about his ex-wife sending back every letter he wrote to his daughter. I wish I knew why he didn’t just put down his foot and make shit happen, but you can’t ask questions to the dead.

All I know is that when I finally noticed the thick envelope in the box Mark’s brother had given to me, I suspected what they were, and that perhaps they’d unintentionally ended up in my box. Mark didn’t know about my relationship with Gwen in college, and so it makes little sense that he would have given them to me with some ulterior motive. Call it a stroke of good luck or not, but I knew Gwen had to have them.

I watch her now, the way she’s trying so hard to hold back the tears. Her shoulders shake with the smallest movements. She flips through the envelopes, not opening a single one but seemingly counting each and every time her father tried to reach out to her . . . and every time her mother stood in the way.

“You look like you need a hug.” My voice sounds as though I’ve swallowed a bucketful of nails. If she recognizes that I said the same words on the day of her father’s funeral, she doesn’t mention it.

But she does set the envelopes on the counter, along with the hockey gloves.

And then she’s throwing herself into my arms.

I lock her close, binding her to me as I whisper into her hair. “I’ve got you, honey. I’ve got you.”

Her sobs are quiet, her pain wrapped up so tight within her walls that the only way to tell she’s crying is by the way her shoulders shake with each indrawn breath. For the next few minutes, I only hold her. I cradle her to me like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held; I wrap her tight in my embrace, giving her every ounce of strength that I have, letting her know without words that I will keep us upright, that I won’t let us fall.

Baring my childhood to her wasn’t easy—particularly because I didn’t tell her the one event that changed the course of my life forever. It’s the reason that I ended up in foster care, the reason Dave went to jail, the reason he continues to blackmail me as though something that I did at eight years old should be counted against me for the rest of my days.

The honest truth is that I can’t bear to see the affection in her eyes be replaced with disappointment—or worse, disgust.

I’ll tell her soon.

I make the vow to myself, repeat it over and over again as she remains curled up against my chest.

When she pulls back, I run my thumb beneath her eyes, catching moisture and dashing it away. “You okay?” It’s a moronic question but it nevertheless needs to be asked.

“My fantasy kiss.”

Traitorous bastard that he is, my cock rises to attention at the thought of kissing Gwen. Be a decent human being and get your mind out of the gutter. “Later,” I mutter, even though my body is screaming hell-fucking-yeah. “I gave you a bit of a shock just now—”

Gwen pulls away from me just far enough to shove her red hair behind her ears. “I’ve always . . . how do I even say this?” Her hands curl into fists that she rests on my thighs. “You said once that you wanted something from me that no one else has ever had, my heart.”

Heart thundering with nerves, I think back to that moment in Faneuil Hall. It feels like ages ago, years even, and yet it’s only been a few weeks. With hesitance dogging my heels, I gently frame Gwen’s face with my hand. “I did say that.”

Her blue eyes burn bright, and I know without her admitting it directly, that I already have her heart. Licking her lips, she says, “I’ve always dreamt of kissing someone who loves me. T-that’s my fantasy. Kissing someone who cares for me, who can see beyond—oh! Marshall, what are you doing?”

“I’m going to collect on that fantasy kiss,” I tell her as I resettle her weight in my arms. And, yeah, maybe I’m a bit of a caveman because there’s nothing I like more than holding Gwen, bridal-style.

“Oh.”

This time, her voice is full of wonder when she speaks and it sets off every bit of fire inside me.

I take the stairs to my bedroom two at a time. And I sure as hell don’t stop until we’re both naked and on my bed. My hands wander everywhere, over the slope of her breast as I suck her nipple into my mouth. Over the lengths of her smooth legs, massaging the muscles there until her legs are pushed wide. She’s a sight for sore eyes.

I don’t actually kiss her, not yet.

But I play—with my lips on her clit, my tongue in her pussy, my fingers tweaking her nipples into hard little peaks. I work her over and over again until she’s shuddering against my mouth and demanding more than just my fingers and my tongue.

“Get on your knees,” I tell her, “and then face the mirror.”

She does as she’s told, moving to the edge of the bed and lifting onto her knees. Her skin is blotchy with lust, a rainbow of peaches and pinks and reds. She’s utterly gorgeous, and she’s all mine.

“Two fingers, Gwen.” I move behind her on the bed, my arms wrapping around her lean frame so that I can cup her breasts. Then I brush her hair back, so that I can kiss her neck. “Two fingers, just the way you like it.”

With my free hand, I tug on her nipple, then roll it between my fingers. Her gasp is audible, and I feel the way her shoulders jerk under my mouth. I flick my gaze to the mirror just as she sinks two fingers inside her pussy. My cock twitches against her back, and I give it one single stroke to tide me off.

Not yet.

This moment, this fantasy, is for Gwen.

My voice rumbles throughout the room, dark and demanding. “Run your thumb over your clit.”

Her hips spasm as she does, jerking forward as though chasing that elusive orgasm that I plan to give her. I watch as the pumps of her fingers turn frantic.

“Marshall,” she whimpers, her blue eyes wide and on me as she watches us in the mirror. “I need you.”

Fuck me, but I’ll never get tired of hearing her say that.

My hand latches onto her wrist, stilling her motions. “My turn.”

I shift her slightly, so that my feet are planted wide on the floor and she’s straddling my hips, her pussy brushing the tip of my cock. I keep her facing the mirror because I want her to see everything—the way I’ll rub her clit and tease her nipple, how I look behind her, how we look together.

“Take what you want, honey,” I whisper against the smooth expanse of her back. “Everything that I am is yours.”

When she sinks down onto my cock a second later, she is hands-down the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Through the mirror, I watch her neck elongate as she throws her head back. Her tits bounce with each upward drag and downward thrust. Her flat belly tightens, her core working to keep herself moving in a hypnotic rhythm. And her pussy . . . Jesus Christ, but watching her take me, seeing the slip and slide of my cock moving in and out of her, is almost enough to send me over the edge.

I fist her hair in one hand, pulling her back just slightly, so that she’s cradled against my chest.

And then I take over.

My hands grip her hips as I lift her up and bring her back down.

“Yes,” she whimpers, “oh my God, yes.”

It’s the only encouragement I need. Her hands lock down on my forearms, using me as leverage to move even faster.

She cries out my name when I touch her clit and press down on the sensitive nub.

It’s all she needs to tip over the edge. She comes, whispering my name, begging me to never stop.

Three more hard thrusts, and I follow her into the abyss. I roar out her name, and spill everything that I am within her.

A no-good kid from Southie with a dirty-talking mouth and an obsession with hockey.

“My legs,” she whispers after a moment, “my legs are going to die.”

“Was it worth it?” I change our positions, rolling her over onto her back so my body covers hers.

Her smile is beautiful. “So worth it.”

I grin back down at her. “I saved the best for last.”

“What’s that?”

“This,” I tell her, and then I lower my face to hers. Gwen meets me in the middle for a kiss that steals my soul. It’s soft and languid, and nothing like the sex we just had—and it’s just another reason to love this woman.

She sighs against my mouth. “Best fantasy kiss I’ve ever had.”

“I know.”

Her hands drift up my back. “You know the only thing that would make this better? Pie.”

Laughter clogs my throat as I stare down at her. “I’m done with the pie. Hell, my ass is done with all things pie too.”

Beautiful blue eyes meet mine. “I guess I’d be willing to trade the pie for another kiss.”

I sink down into her, grazing my lips over hers. “Now, that I can do . . .”