Gwen has no idea how much she’s playing with fire right now.

Without giving her warning, I set my pie on the seat next to me and then tug her legs over mine so that she’s curled up against me. The hem of her perfectly respectable dress rides up, exposing lush skin from her knees to just below her pussy.

And then I clamp my hands down on her thighs where I begin to knead her muscles.

I keep my eyes on the shitty movie the whole time, unwilling to give away how much she’s affecting me right now.

Because she is.

My cock is pounding at my zipper, demanding to put on a performance, and that’s a surprise all on its own because my head is pounding so loudly I’m surprised I’ve got enough blood to gravitate to two different hemispheres in my body.

“I think we skipped the awkward, do-you-hold-me stage,” Gwen squeaks. Her moan when I rub a particular knot in her leg proves that she doesn’t give a shit how many stages we skip.

She wants this.

I want this.

It’s only a matter of time before we give in.

“We’re playing the adult version.” I slip my hand up high on her leg, teasing her with the possibility of making contact with ground zero, before I trail back down to her knee. At her little growl of displeasure, I laugh. “Don’t tell me you don’t got any patience, Gwenny.” I press my head to the back of the seat and look her way. “What’s the fun if there’s not a little anticipation?”

If she wants to stab me with my fork, she’s going to have to crawl across my lap—and she won’t hear a complaint from me.

With a little huff, she turns back to the TV and pretends to ignore me.

I could never ignore her.

For the next twenty minutes, I set out to make Gwen pant.

Yes, pant. It’s all part of the fantasy—the one where she realizes I’m the one for her, the one where she’ll do anything just to have the chance to strip off my clothes and crash her mouth down onto mine.

After years of working for her, I still want her to come to me—in the best way possible.

I massage her calves, her legs. I trace the lines of her stiletto until she’s flexing her foot and turning it inward, giving me more space to play. When the movie turns particularly gory, I make a point of playing with Gwen’s hair and pressing small kisses along the length of her neck.

And with each minute that passes, her control falters and then cracks and then disappears completely.

She clutches my forearm as though she’s determined to get my hand where she wants it most—right between her legs. She rubs her legs alongside mine, until her dress is around her hips and I’ve got the most fantastic view of her white panties. She presses her hand to my lower abdomen and then flicks open the brass button of my jeans.

I like it when my Gwen is bold.

And I’ll reward her for it.

“C’mere.” My voice sounds like it’s been scraped raw, but she doesn’t question it. She leans in as somebody gets the axe on the screen in front of us, and I grip her chin between my thumb and index finger. One swipe of her tongue along her bottom lip and I almost come in my pants. Jesus. Shaking my head to get back into the game, I allow my thumb to catch the moisture left behind.

Her breath shudders over my thumb, and then she surprises me by sinking her teeth into my flesh—a sexy nip that cracks my own control.

“Oops,” she murmurs. Her blue eyes flash with humor as she soothes the sting with her tongue. “Got ahead of myself there.”

Everything in me stills. This is the Gwen I’ve always wanted at my side—snarky and kind and funny. I drop my eyes to her lips. We’ve played enough.

Does it matter if she kisses me first when it’s clear she wants me with every fiber of her being? In my arms, she’s an open book whose pages are begging to be loved.

I move my hand to her thigh. Higher, until my thumb is playing with the waistband of her underwear and I’m hearing the sweetest sounds spill from her mouth.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

Her eyes go wide and she licks her lips. “Yes.”

That’s all she says but the one word captures everything we’re both experiencing.

Finally, after six fucking years, yes.