The 'Burg: Hold On Part 64

He also liked the look of her tangled in his sheets in his bed.

He memorized that vision instead of standing there and savoring it, because he knew he'd like the feel of her tangled in his sheets and him even better. So Garrett's d.i.c.k lost her attention when he slid into bed and pulled her to him, tangling himself up in sheets and Cher.

When he captured her gaze, he asked, "Where we gotta be for me to ditch the condoms?"

She looked confused but answered readily, "Uh...right here, right now."

"You on birth control?"

She nodded.

"Babe," he started. "You had a dry spell. I didn't. You sure you're good with that?"

"You been careful?"

That was when he nodded.

"So, right here, right now," she decreed.

She trusted him.

Completely.

f.u.c.k...his girl.

"Sweetheart..." He gathered her closer. "How 'bout I have my annual physical a coupla months early and add a test?"

She made no response.

"Cher-"

She interrupted him with a whisper, her eyes dropping to his lips then his throat.

"Take care of me."

Garrett didn't know if that was an observation or a demand.

He again cupped her jaw and put light pressure there so she'd lift her gaze to his.

When she did, he felt no unease. No sour. No tightness.

Nothing but awe at what he saw in her eyes.

So much awe, his body went solid experiencing it, like he was locking it in so he'd never lose it.

"Thank you."

She was still whispering.

"For what, Cherie?" he whispered back.

"For making me happy."

f.u.c.k.

His brown-eyed girl.

He slid his fingers back into her hair, grunting, "You're killin' me, baby."

"I'll stop," she returned instantly. "If I kill you, you can't bang me again."

He smiled as he rolled into her, giving her his weight, moving his hands on her, and gave it to her straight. "Makes me happy to make you happy."

"Good."

Since she deserved it and he needed to let it loose, he kept giving it to her straight. "And it scares the f.u.c.kin' s.h.i.t outta me."

She slid her hands along his sides, to his back and down to curl her fingers in his a.s.s, all as she held his eyes.

"I'm holdin' on."

He felt his mouth quirk. "Yeah. To my a.s.s."

He watched her eyes heat even as her lips curved up, and she did both as she opened her legs, his hips fell through, and she wound her calves around his thighs.

"Better?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," he murmured, his attention shifting to her mouth.

She dug the fingers of one hand in his a.s.s as she moved the other, gliding it up his spine, asking, "You gonna do me or what?"

Garrett dropped his head, trailing his lips from the corner of hers across her cheek to her ear.

"Yeah, I'm gonna do you," he whispered there.

"Well, get on with it, boss."

He slid a hand over her hip, along her thigh, and hitched her leg up so it was curled around his a.s.s, instructing, "You better hold on tighter, Cherie."

"Goodie," she breathed, running her nose along his jaw.

Garrett grinned.

Then he commenced in giving his girl reason to hold on.

And do it tight.

Very Late Sat.u.r.day Night Cher was up against the wall, her face filled with fear, the gun pointed an inch from her nose.

The blast made everything go black.

There wasn't even a scream.

Garrett opened his eyes to the dark. The length of his body stretched taut, he could feel the sheen of sweat on his chest, the wet gathering in his groin.

He blinked at the ceiling.

It was then he felt Cher curled into him, calf thrown over his thigh, cheek to his chest, arm around his gut.

He drew in a deep breath and concentrated on relaxing his muscles on the exhale.

It took him four breaths.

Then he moved and he moved his woman as he did. Shifting her around so he had her back to his front, he curled into her and wrapped his arm around her belly, drawing her close.

"Merry," she mumbled.

"Here, Cherie."

She said no more.

She was out.

Garrett stared into the dark.

Terrified.

Sunday Morning Garrett sat at a stool at his bar, watching Cher shuffle around his kitchen in one of his tees, opening and closing cupboards, having announced she was making him breakfast. As he did this, he was also sifting through the Sunday paper and clicking through his laptop.

"Most of my kitchen is garage sale, and still, my s.h.i.t is better than yours," she grumbled, straightening from a base cupboard while closing its door.

He looked from the listing his real estate agent had sent to him that he'd been considering to her. "I'm a bachelor. I don't need good s.h.i.t in my kitchen."

She turned to him, skillet up and pointing his way. "Half the Teflon is scratched off this."

"So use oil," he returned.

"Merry, this is actually a health hazard," she informed him.

He burst out laughing.

As he did, he heard the skillet hit the stove and she said, "No. Seriously."

"Bulls.h.i.t," he replied. When her face screwed up with mild irritation, he gave her a white lie. "Been usin' that skillet awhile, and as you can see, I'm fine."

She pointed to the skillet. "You use that skillet?"

"Yep."

"How often do you cook?"

He grinned.

She had him.

"You got me."

She turned to the stove. "Gonna hit some garage sales next weekend. Get you a decent skillet. And if it's Teflon, get you some plastic utensils so you don't scratch it to s.h.i.t."

"Cherie, waste of time and effort. That skillet is just for show in order to get Rocky off my a.s.s after she gave me this same lecture about havin' s.h.i.t in my kitchen seein' as then, I didn't have anything in my kitchen. But it was a waste of money, even if the s.h.i.t I got is s.h.i.t. I don't cook."

She turned back to him. "You get a wild hair to fry a burger, you're covered, and it'll only cost a dollar or two."

"Babe, I don't cook," he repeated.

"Then, right now, you gonna take me to Frank's for breakfast?" She pointed to the stove. "Because I'm not cookin' eggs in that skillet."

"You want eggs, then yeah, I'm takin' you to Frank's," he returned. "Seein' as you don't like my skillet, not mention the fact I don't actually have eggs since I don't cook."

She put her hands on her hips, the mild irritation no longer mild.

"We go to Frank's, I gotta get dressed. Then we gotta head out, drive there, park, order, wait, and eat, and I'll have to pick up Ethan right after. And that would mean I can't make breakfast for you, amazing you with my culinary brilliance, which you have yet to experience, after which you'll have plenty of time to bang my brains out again and then I can go get my kid."

Garrett grinned at her. "Okay, then I'll toast you a bagel since I got those, cream cheese, and a toaster that works. We make a deal that our next sleepover happens at your place and you can amaze me with your culinary brilliance then. But now, while I'm toasting, you look at this listing I got up on my computer. After we eat, I'll bang your brains out, then we'll go get your kid. That a plan?"

Her eyes dropped to his laptop and she didn't confirm she was down with his plan.

She asked, "Listing?"

He slid off the stool, ordering, "Come here. Look. I'll toast bagels."

She headed his way as he headed hers.

And he knew he had better, even if it was not lost on him that he already had seriously f.u.c.king good, when she copped a feel at the same time he copped a feel when they pa.s.sed each other.

He grabbed the bagels right when he heard her soft gasp.

He turned to her.

She was staring at the computer, eyes wide, a look of wonder on her face the likes he'd never seen anything close to before from Cher.

That was also cute.

Cher Rivers had never been cute.