A Wish A Kiss All Amiss Ch 07 Final

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This is the final chapter of the story.

There's some sex in the beginning of the chapter. The rest is just the story.

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Chapter 7 - FINAL

Of course Rosaline loved him. She was not sure when; perhaps from the very start, when their eyes met for the first time, when she saw him across the coffee table, or when they kissed for the first time, when she saw the same crippling emotion lurking behind those beautiful dark eyes. She saw it because she understood.

She knew what it felt like to think of oneself as a mistake, like an unwanted, abandoned, unworthy accident that was let fester. She knew the action that the feeling could drive one to commit, the lies that he had to feed himself to sustain his being.

But she had him now, heading towards his bedroom, in her hand. They had each other. He would soon be in her arms, naked, with absolutely no room for anything else in between them.

Except, "How did you pull it off?"

"What?" He looked up from a couple of steps below.

"How did you manage to keep running into me?"

He chuckled. "Believe it or not, I didn't plan most of it."

Grunting, she narrowed her eyes on him. It could not have just been her bad luck.

Shrugging a shoulder, he cocked his head in resignation. "Some parts of it were planned. The Order owns several media groups, and once they—we learned that you might be working for the publisher, they bought the mother company. But I was not supposed to see you before our scheduled meeting at the office."

"Then why did you?"

He came up a few steps of the stair, and for once she came eye to eye with him. She looked at him, seeing him, without artifice. "I was reading the emails that day and I guess I got curious, so I went to the office and the receptionist told me you'd just left for the café. Then I thought I could just observe you—"

"But because I was reading your book—"

"No." He shook his head as the corners of his mouth lifted. "Because you smiled. Well, chuckled sarcastically. I thought that was cute. You were cute."

She raised an eyebrow. "I

was

cute?"

"Careful, fishing for compliments is my thing." He laughed, bringing out the wrinkles around his eyes. His arms came around her waist, and she leaned into the heat.

"Why did you send me the text if you were already going to see me?" she asked against his lips, her own hands smoothing on his chest, feeling the contour underneath.

He suddenly pulled away. "I didn't."

Her frown weighed down her smile. "Then who else?"

"That's what I've been telling you. I don't know," he said, his voice darker and lower.

She looked into his dark eyes, then chills ran through her as realization dawned. "You really don't know."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "I deserved that."

He did not deserve to be doubted. She shook her head, guilt threading through her. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's OK," he said softly, squeezing her hand.

And then silence followed them up the stairs and into the master bedroom as the pearly moonlight streaked through the windows. She sat down on the edge of the bed, watching him lean against the door jamb, arms crossed, his nose and jaw made more angular by the subtle highlight.

"I asked my parents. If it's indeed The Order, they would know."

"And do they?"

The muscles around the corner of his mouth twisted. "I don't think so."

"So what does that mean?"

They looked into each other's eyes, and suddenly she understood the implication of this and his intention.

Before she let him convince her otherwise, she stood up, determined to change his mind. Rosaline crossed the small distance between them when he said in his low voice, wrought with frustration, "It means I don't know how to protect you. I don't know how to keep you safe."

Rosaline took his hand and brought it up to her lips, kissing the knuckles. "But you don't have to."

Then she sat him down on the bed and settled next to him. Holding her gaze, he tucked the defiant curl behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. "I want you to use your powers because you want to, not because you have to."

She covered his large hand with hers. "But I chose to."

Shaking his head, he said softly, "I saw your face, Rosaline, when you realized the wish had gone awry, and I couldn't help you."

Then the smile he gave her broke her heart. It was unmasked sadness forced into a smile. "All I want is for you to be happy."

She knew his intention. She knew it earlier in the library. She had seen it in his eyes, and she saw it again. He wanted her to leave.

Her voice was uneven when she said, shaking her head, "I am happy with you. Being here. You don't have to protect me. We still have our plan. I will text that number back and we will meet with them."

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "And then what?"

"Then I will stop them. Put an end to everything. My powers are not working perfectly, but they work. You said so yourself."

"Even if you do, even if we somehow figure out who was behind the text and the break-in, do you think The Order will just let you off the hook?"

But The Order would not let

him

off the hook so easily, either.

She worried her lower lips between her teeth instead, and Gabriel's gaze dropped to them. Drawing her nearer, he dipped his head to capture her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair, moaning softly into his mouth, pouring her desire into him.

Nibbling the soft flesh of his lips, Rosaline did not want it to end; she wanted the kiss to last forever, but he broke it, pulling away to see her face. He said, his voice low and calm and forthright, "The first day, I didn't plan to kiss you."

"But you didn't believe me when I said I made the wish," she complained, but less about him not believing her, and more about the fact that they were talking about kissing instead of doing it right now.

As if he read her thoughts, he laughed. "No, Goddess, as powerful as you might be, you didn't make me kiss you with your wish. I wanted to kiss you the moment I saw you across the café"—his lips dropped on to hers, soft and full of longing, his tongue warm against hers—"and when you lied about your name"—a swipe of the tongue—"you pursed your lips. And those were all I could think of. Your lips. I wondered if they tasted like the jasmine tea you were drinking."

"Now you know," she said against his lips.

Returning his lips to where they belonged, he stroked her tongue with his rough one. "And then that Tinder joke."

"I was not on Tinder." She smiled, registering the possessiveness in his tone.

"I know. Perversely it would've made my job a lot easier if you were on any of these things."

She laughed. "We can't have that."

Then her laugh rolled into a series of giggles and gasps when his hands strayed to the sides of her, dancing, brushing and teasing the sensitive skin. "No."

She leaned into the mattress, and to her delight and relief, he followed her down, holding himself above her. His curly dark hair dropped to his forehead. She brushed it away. "You stalked me to the bookshop."

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean Mike's bookshop? Well. Not his, he doesn't read. His uncle's."

Then he shook his head; more curls tumbled down. "I think you were the one stalking me. I used to go there before I left the country."

Her hand lingered to stroke the lines of his jaw. "Where were you?"

"Some island, soaking in the ocean, bathing in sunshine and surrounded by girls."

She glared up at him and he laughed, trailing wet kisses down the column of her neck, tickling, tantalizing, making her squirm. "That was my plan, but it turned out I spent most the time on the Internet, looking for one girl."

"You're not funny."

He caught her earlobe in between his teeth, whispering with warm breaths, "I beg to differ. You're laughing right now."

Gasping and turning her head, she brought his lips to hers, playing the soft hair on his nape with her finger. He took her lips without protest, his hand caressing the curves on her side.

And again, he pulled away. "Why haven't you dated?"

"I have."

He pushed himself up, reaching to turn on the bedside lamp before reclining on his side, resting on his elbow. Soft yellow glow filled the space. "You have?"

"You don't need to sound so shocked," she said, rolling her eyes at him.

"I am, in fact, truly shocked. How did they manage to keep their hands off this?" He trailed his finger along the underside of her breast, drawing a pattern of a smile, then he let it drift lower to her soft belly, conjuring the goosebumps on her skin. "And this."

She stilled his hand before it could distract her more. "We were fifteen. We held hands during the summer."

"You held hands," he repeated her words dryly with a lopsided smile, amusement brimming in the bottom of his eyes. "You have got to tell me more."

"Are you going to let me tell my story?"

"Sorry," he murmured. "I just don't like where this is going."

She shot him a sideways glance. "You know how it ends."

"Doesn't make him less of a dickhead."

"Are you jealous of a fifteen-year-old kid?" She sat up.

"No," he replied immediately, making her chuckle. She tucked her legs underneath her, humor in her eyes. He mirrored her movements, straitening up. "I just don't like the idea of anyone hurting you."

"Fifteen years ago."

"So he did hurt you."

She shrugged. "He was a kid in French class. We were hanging out all summer. We went to museums, concerts, the library"—she added when Gabriel's eyebrow went up—"to do French, and then we would get ice cream together."

"I will buy you an ice cream parlor."

She tried to ignore his silly comment, but she could not ignore the warmth that filled her heart. "I thought it was going well; we never said anything to each other, never made it official—whatever that means. I liked those stolen moments when we held hands. And I thought that must be it. How it felt to be in love." How wrong she had been.

Gabriel smiled, a tender, understanding smile.

"Then one day towards the end of the summer, he invited me over to his parents' house. I was excited, chewing mint on the way there, I thought we were going to—"

"I know. I was fifteen once," he grunted.

"—kiss. I thought we were going to kiss," she said, pursing her lips. And then she laughed, knowing he saw that, so she added, "Maybe some light touching."

Laughing, he shook his head.

"Anyway, he invited me up to his room, solemnly closed the door behind me, and then he burst into tears."

Gabriel frowned.

"He said his parents were moving him abroad, but he didn't want to. You see, he had all his friends here, like me. Friends. And he heard it from my best friend that I could fix it. So he asked me to 'use my magic.'"

"Did you?"

"No. I ran back home. Since then, I've never been sure if people want me or they want something else from me."

"And are you sure now?" His fingers threaded into her hair, and he drew her closer, pressing his forehead to hers.

She nodded. "I want this. I want you. Us."

Then before he could back away again, she kissed him, losing herself in the warmth as he gathered her into his chest and pulled her into his lap. She spread her thighs to straddle him, feeling his arms tighten on her back, his lips on her neck, the corded muscles of his shoulders under her fingertips.

"Do you? Want me?" Her question was a whisper, softer than the kisses he dropped on her collarbones, lighter than the caress of his hands on her back.

"God. Yes." His dark growl vibrated through her core as he pulled her head down for a deeper kiss, claiming her mouth.

Do you love me?

The question hung on her lips, but she could not ask it, so she asked, instead, heart pounding in her throat, "We are in this together?"

Gabriel exhaled, and it took him a split second before he closed his eyes and nodded his lie. Rosaline tilted his head up.

When he refused to meet her gaze, she asked, "Can I have tonight?" To prove him wrong. To prove to him that he did not need to protect her. To prove to him that they belonged together.

"You can have as many nights as you wish," he lied into the crook of her neck.

A pang hit the back of her nose, and she blinked the sting away. Not now. Not when he was in her arms. Not when he was about to make love to her for the first time.

Tilting his head towards her, she whispered against his lips, "I want all of them to be with you."

A smile, then he tipped her to the side, pushing her back into the mattress, trapping one of her legs in between his strong thighs, leaning on his elbows above her. "I know."

His lips glided lower down her neck as his hand skimmed higher up her leg underneath her ankle-length skirt. She arched into him and his warm palm. "This dress drives me crazy."

Her gaze flickered to his. "I'm sure it's just the dress."

Chuckling, he ran his finger along the neckline of the wrap dress and dipped lower into the lace of her bralette, stroking the swell of her breast. "And this neckline is sinful."

"Not as sinful as what you're doing," she whispered, her nipples tightening, waiting for him.

His other hand inching up the inside of her thigh, and he asked with the utmost innocence, "And what is that?"

"Stop teasing me."

"Ah. But now you understand what I've been feeling since the first day we met," he said between her breasts, huffs of warm minty breaths gliding along the skin; she twisted under his touch.

Lowering himself more, he looped one arm under her thigh, lifting it, and he said, "But this split"—parting the fabric of her skirt to reveal her upper thigh, smoothing his hand down to the juncture—"is the worst of it all. It tempts me every time you move, making me think about all the wonderful things I could be doing underneath it, and how it'll feel if I bury myself here." The skirt slid down her leg, pooling at the curve of her hips.

"Yes, please," she gasped, sucking in a sharp breath as she writhed against him. He ran a hand down her smooth leg, pulling her into him, all hardness where she was soft.

The corner of his lip kicked up. "And let's not forget about this morning, shall we?"

Shaking her head, she said, "Let's not." The memory sent a rush of warmth down her body. She loved this morning; she loved the way she made him groan like he could not help it, the way her hand fit around his length, the silken texture of the tip.

"Hurry up," she said, licking her lips and bunching his t-shirt at the shoulder in her hand. "We don't need this."

Pulling away, Gabriel arched an eyebrow, dark eyes shining with disapproval, clicking his tongue. It occurred to her that she would rather have his tongue do something else, something she dared not name, and for a second she thought she had voiced her desire, because the glorious man kissed the inside of her knee, working his lips up her thigh.

"What are you doing?" she asked, enchanted, embarrassed, enjoying; her legs widened.

God.

She was enjoying spreading her legs to allow him access and wondering where else, besides her inner thigh, she would enjoy his lips more.

Then she did not need to wonder anymore because his lips were there, on the spot where she knew she should not enjoy, but loved it anyway, as warm, shallow breaths teased at the sensitive bud. Her hips pushed into him to ease the incessant throbbing, but it only made it worse. She moaned, lifting and rocking against his mouth.

"I could die with those noises you make." His voice was pure temptation when he pushed the thong aside and parted her folds. "You like this."

Yes!

A gasp escaped instead.

Rosaline was sure she should be ashamed for not feeling ashamed. He licked the core of her pleasure, chasing away all her thoughts of shame. It felt wonderful, his warm, soft tongue caressing the most intimate part of her, his hair silk between her fingers, afternoon shadow scraping the delicate skin.

His lips enveloped the pulsing core, pulling and playing at it, eliciting gasps, moans,

yes

and

more

. Her back arched, and fingers tightened, grasping, twisting, wrinkling the linen, as her pleasure crested.

No. Not now. Not yet.

Inhaling, she said on the exhale, "Gabriel, I want you in me."

He lifted his head, a wicked smile on his lips.

"Now," she demanded.

He slid a finger in, stretching her, tapping at the spot. She rocked against his finger, unable to stop her body as her inner muscles contracted once. Twice. Her body hated her when she put her hand on his to still him. She gasped through the mounting pleasure, "The other part of you."

Gabriel looked at her with eyes full of affection, but his laugh turned evil when he said, "Say it again."

She shook her head, although she did not know why she had to fight it. She loved him, and she would not tire telling him that. "You're enjoying this."

"Of course." He curled that finger, and she lifted her hips on a moan. "I'm enjoying these sexy noises." And then he placed her hand on the bulge of his jeans, teasing her of the pleasure he was denying her.

He flexed his hips into her hand. "Tell me you love me."

"Take off your clothes."

And thank god that he did; removing his torturous finger from her and holding her gaze, he drew his t-shirt over his head, and Rosaline's hand went straight for the solid plane. She liked the way his lower abdomen muscles twitched when her hand reached his waistband. "All your clothes, please."

"Not until you say it."

"But I said please." She wrapped her legs around his hips, and her hand went to untie the bow of her wrap dress at her waist. Someone had to do it, and he was taking too much time.

Laughing, he caught her hand and returned it to his length. "No, this"—his hand wandered from the side of her breasts to the bow of her dress—"is mine to unravel."

She was his, so she nodded. "Yours. Always."

Gabriel smiled, folding sadness into the wrinkles around his eyes, then he tugged at the end of the bow. Her dress loosened as he unveiled the fabric, revealing her luscious body.

He let out a long breath before taking her taut nipple in his mouth through the mauve lace. Through her own ragged breathing and moaning, she heard his voice, deep and husky and faraway. "How will I ever let you go?"

She circled her arms around his neck, holding him at her breasts. "Don't you dare."

Her gaze found his as he moved up to kiss her, making love to her lips and tongue, until she was sighing his name. Sitting up, she removed the remainder of her dress and her bralette as Gabriel watched her full breasts spill into the air and then into his hands; the tight buds strained against the pads of his fingers.

"You're wearing too many clothes." Her hands ran up and down his jean-clad thighs.

"What should we do about that?"

But then he stood up, pulling her up with him and placed her hands on the belt buckle. He bowed his head low and said, "I'm all yours, Goddess."

Satisfied, she smiled, taking in his chiseled chest and the V-lines that led to an even more delectable part, running her hands down his body. She licked her lips, reaching into the waistband, following the trail, threading her fingers in the springy hair. She traced along the ridge until his hips flexed.

Impatient, he opened the belt buckle and removed his jeans and boxer briefs.

"This is not fair," she complained, as he lowered himself to peel her thong off of her legs.

He pressed a kiss at her mound and said, "No." Then he laid her down on the bed and kneeled between her thighs.

"Tonight, you're mine"—he said, tucking the hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek and tracing the hand down to her collarbone—"tonight,"—finding the tips of her breasts, brushing them with the pads of his thumbs—"you're mine to worship"—before lowering his hand more, tapping at the tight bundle of nerves at her core.