Hold On

by Kristen Ashley

  I saw his grin even in the dark.

  “Not yet.”

  My legs hit bed, then Merry and me hit bed, him on top.

  His mouth went to my neck.

  “You tired?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  His hand slid up my side, taking my shirt with it. “How tired?”

  I shivered the good kind of shiver. “Not that tired.”

  His hand slid over my ribs and started going up.

  “Can you fuck quiet?” he asked.

  My hands slid down his bare back until they encountered pajama bottoms.

  Soft.

  Flannel.

  Nice.

  “Absolutely,” I answered.

  His mouth came to mine and I felt his smile before he kissed me.

  We fucked hard. We fucked quick. It was great.

  And we managed to do it quiet.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hoping I Was Wrong

  Cher

  Thursday, Early Morning

  Merry’s bathroom door was closed.

  I was at the sink, hands to the basin, eyes to the mirror.

  Merry was at the sink too, hands to my hips, eyes to mine in the mirror.

  And I was taking his cock.

  Watching him, his muscles straining, his gaze burning into mine, his fingers digging into my flesh, his body moving with his thrusts in time with feeling his cock drive hard and deep, in order to stifle a whimper, I dropped my head.

  One of his hands slid up my spine, caught my hair, and pulled my head back.

  He wanted me to watch.

  And when he was banging me, Merry always found a way to get what he wanted.

  Fuck.

  Hot.

  “Don’t turn me on too much, baby,” I warned on a whisper.

  In answer to that, he dipped his knees and drove up so deep, he had to have hit my womb.

  Amazing.

  “That isn’t helping,” I moaned.

  And to that, he gave a gentle tug on my hair that felt like he was driving me down on his dick.

  My head back, my neck bowed, Merry kept thrusting as he grunted, “Arch your back for me.”

  I did and watched his eyes drop to my tits.

  “More,” he growled.

  I gave him more.

  At that, he growled again, eyes glued to me in the mirror, and he fucked me harder.

  Shit, I could see that being a turn on for a guy because it was a turn on for me.

  I braced my hands on the basin and started rearing back into his dick.

  “Fuck yeah,” he groaned, moving his hand from my hair to my shoulder and driving me back even harder.

  “Merry,” I breathed.

  He curled his torso over me, his cock still pounding, his other hand moving from my hip up my belly. He caught one of my breasts and watched himself tug hard at my nipple.

  But I watched the raw hunger on Merry’s face as he did it and I felt what he did, and it shot from my nipple to my pussy, detonating. My head flew back and I clenched my teeth, driving my moan back down my throat where it felt like it was vibrating along with my orgasm against my man’s plunging cock.

  I wasn’t done yet when he pulled out, turned me, lifted me, planted my ass on the edge of the vanity, then tipped and lifted it. His mouth to mine, he thrust back inside.

  “Close,” he grunted.

  I knew what he was saying.

  I raised my knees, pressed them to his sides, and took his cock as I slid my hands into his hair and panted into his mouth while he grunted quietly into mine.

  “Now,” he groaned, planting himself deep, and I yanked his head down, his open mouth to mine.

  I slid my tongue inside so I could fully experience the orgasm he was growling down my throat.

  I kissed him through it and I kissed him as he came down.

  He took over the kiss when it left him.

  Mine had been hot.

  Merry’s was sweet and soft and long.

  Both were fantastic.

  But it had to end, so he ended it, lifting his head as he slid a hand up to cup one side of my face.

  His eyes roamed my features for a long time.

  “Fuck, it’s like you’re at your prettiest first thing in the morning,” he muttered.

  God, I liked that.

  “You’re just saying that because I let you wake me up at a God-awful hour and fuck me,” I teased.

  He looked into my eyes. “Beat me to the punch, Cherie. That was my next compliment. You’re the best fuck I’ve had first thing in the morning…or ever. But I’m not bullshitting you when I say a good part of that is first thing in the mornin’ fuckin’ someone as pretty as you.”

  To beat back the warm and squishy all that made me feel, I pressed myself tighter to him, my hands roaming his hair, his neck, his shoulders, murmuring, “And I thought it was my excellent lovemaking skills.”

  He grinned. “I make love to you, honey. My girl fucks. And she does it…day or night…lookin’ pretty.”

  I straightened in his arms. “I can make love too. You just won’t let me.”

  I wasn’t sure this was true. I’d never tried it.

  “We’ll test that when we got time in my bed where we don’t have to be quiet ’cause your boy is on my couch.”

  Shit.

  My eyes shot to the closed door.

  “I should check on him,” I muttered.

  “He didn’t hear.”

  I looked back to Merry. “You sure?”

  “I can’t see through walls and don’t got a dog’s hearing, but I’ve been a ten-year-old boy. It’s not even six in the morning. He’s out of it. He didn’t hear a thing.”

  “He’s in unfamiliar surroundings.”

  “He’s with his mom and a guy he trusts. He’s fine.”

  That was true.

  “I should still check on him.”

  One side of Merry’s lips tipped up. “Can I slide my dick outta you before you do that?”

  I gave him a look.

  Then I said, “Yeah.”

  He gave me a very different look before he dropped his head and kissed me as he slid out of me.

  When he was done, he pulled my ass off the vanity and put me on my feet. Merry went to the toilet. I went to my discarded panties and pajamas.

  I tugged them on and moved out of Merry’s bathroom and bedroom, closing the door behind me.

  Slowly, quietly, I walked down the hall.

  I barely reached the living room when I saw my kid, arm flung over his head, blanket tangled in his legs, pajama top having ridden up his belly, totally out.

  I smiled.

  Then I slowly, quietly made my way back down the hall and into Merry’s room to find him naked and in his walk-in closet.

  I hit the door and leaned against the jamb.

  “He’s out,” I shared.

  “Told you,” he muttered to a suit on a hanger he was jerking across the rung.

  “Shower time,” I said.

  Merry looked to me.

  I pushed away from the jamb and walked to the bathroom, discarding my pajamas and panties as I did it.

  I made it to the bathroom first.

  But it was Merry who turned on the shower.

  * * * * *

  I was at the sink in Merry’s kitchen.

  “Is this your culinary brilliance?”

  Merry asked that question and I turned in order to answer him.

  But when I turned, I didn’t even open my mouth.

  I stopped dead.

  Because on one side of the kitchen was Merry, leaning against the counter in suit pants, a nice shirt, bare feet crossed at the ankles, a plate held up in front of him holding the eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast I’d made him and my kid. And on the other side, my boy was leaning against the counter in jeans, a long-sleeved tee, bare feet crossed at the ankles, hair wet, his own plate held up in front of him.

  “No, her culinary brilliance is her egg crac
kers,” Ethan answered for me.

  “Egg crackers?” Merry asked my kid.

  “She’ll make it for you tomorrow,” Ethan offered my breakfast services on a mutter, shoving hash browns in his face. Still chewing, he finished, “It’s her specialty.”

  I pulled myself together and announced, “It’s gross.”

  My kid looked at me. “You’d think that way. You’re a chick. It’s dude food.”

  Dude food.

  My son was funny.

  I grinned at his funny.

  But I said, “Whatever.”

  Ethan looked to Merry. “Since Mom’s on lates, so she can go back to bed and crash, can you take me to school?”

  Oh shit.

  Even if it was his choice (or more aptly, demand), we were up in Merry’s space and in his face.

  We didn’t need to be crashing in on his life too.

  “Yeah,” Merry answered unhesitatingly, and looked at me. “Days off tomorrow and Sunday?”

  I nodded.

  Merry nodded back and turned his attention to his food.

  “We gonna have my birthday party here, or we gonna move it to Gram’s?” Ethan asked.

  Shit. His birthday was next week. And the party invites had gone to school with Ethan three weeks ago. They stated the party was at my pad.

  But we weren’t at my pad.

  Fuck.

  “You can have it here,” Merry said.

  “We’ll talk to your gram,” I said at the same time.

  Merry looked at me. “When is it?”

  “Next Saturday.”

  Merry looked at Ethan. “Thought your birthday was Wednesday, bud.”

  Ethan beamed at Merry because he remembered his birthday.

  Since he was busy beaming, I answered for him, “Birthday’s Wednesday. Party’s Saturday.”

  Merry, eyes to me, asked, “Feb’s got you scheduled off next Wednesday, yeah?”

  I nodded.

  “Your mom?” he went on.

  I nodded again.

  “Right, then I’ll make reservations at Swank’s.”

  Ethan’s voice was pitched high when he asked, “Say what?”

  Shit.

  I hadn’t talked with Ethan about Swank’s yet.

  Then again, I hadn’t expected Merry and me to make it far enough to get to Swank’s without me fucking things up in some way.

  But here we were.

  Thankfully.

  “It’s a nice restaurant, kid,” I said quickly. “Steaks and—”

  “I know what it is!” Ethan cried excitedly. “Brendon’s parents take them there New Year’s Eve every year. He says you can cut the steaks with your fork.” My son looked to my man. “You’re takin’ us there?”

  Merry was grinning at him. “You want that, yeah.”

  “I want it!” Ethan practically yelled, and looked at me. “This is so cool. I can’t wait to tell the guys. Brendon is a good guy, but he can also have a stick up his butt ’cause his folks are loaded. He’s always talking about stuff that Teddy and Everest and me’ll never do ’cause Teddy lives in a double-wide and Everest’s dad is a douche. I’m still, like, top of the heap because my mom doesn’t make me eat broccoli. But Brendon’s breathin’ at my neck ’cause he’s got a cable premium package and Netflix and Amazon Instant Video and Hulu. This’ll put me over the top. Way over the top now since my mom’s boyfriend is a badass cop with a killer SUV who lets me hang at the station and takes us for steaks you can cut with a fork. So this…is…awesome.”

  I didn’t know whether to be thrilled to my soul my son was so happy or scared out of my mind that I would undoubtedly someday soon do something to fuck everything up with Merry and me, considering Ethan was in this deep with what Merry and me meant to his place in the middle-school-boy hierarchy.

  Before I could make up my mind, Merry got right in there and made it worse.

  “Even fearin’ spontaneous combustion, bud, you should know I got Netflix and Hulu. I also got the premium package that includes NFL Sunday Ticket.”

  Ethan’s eyes went huge and he breathed, “NFL Sunday Ticket?”

  “Yep,” Merry confirmed.

  Breakfast forgotten, slowly, my kid swung his eyes my way.

  Yeah, Merry just made it worse.

  “Eat,” I ordered. “You’ll need as much fuel as you can get to rub it in to your friends how awesome you got it. But, just warnin’ you, I’ve been reconsiderin’ your diet. That might not mean broccoli, but I see vegetables in your future.” I looked to Merry. “That means yours too.”

  “Mom!” Ethan cried.

  “I like vegetables,” Merry muttered, and went back to his plate.

  Ethan immediately stopped bitching and turned contemplative eyes to Merry.

  At least there was that. I didn’t know if Merry’s proclamation that he liked vegetables would hold sway when Ethan was actually confronted with the real article. But at least it made him think.

  “Eat,” I repeated my order. “Then you gotta wash up, get your shoes on, and get your stuff so you guys aren’t late.”

  They ate, both my boys leaning against opposite counters in the kitchen of my boyfriend-of-two-weeks’ house where we were currently living.

  Merry finished first and helped me do the dishes.

  Ethan finished next, rinsed his own plate (the plastic kind you got in those sets at Target that cost nearly nothing, looked like shit, and felt like you were only one step up from eating off paper), and put it in the dishwasher.

  Merry seriously had to learn the beauty of a yard sale.

  “I’ll be back,” Ethan declared before he dashed to the bathroom in Merry’s hallway.

  That was when I got in Merry’s space.

  “Babe, gotta get my shoes and jacket,” he muttered even as he rested a hand on my hip.

  “You do know you can never—not ever, not ever—break up with me now, no matter how I manage to fuck this up, because you just told my kid you have NFL Sunday Ticket,” I hissed.

  First, Merry’s head jerked.

  Then he stared down at me.

  After that, both his arms closed around me so hard I slammed into his body and lost my breath as he busted out laughing.

  I liked the sound. I liked the feel.

  But I couldn’t breathe.

  “Merry, you’re squeezing the breath out of me,” I gasped.

  He instantly let me go. Then, just as instantly, both his hands framed either side of my head and his face was in mine.

  “A spectacular early-morning fuck. A long shower. Damned fine eggs and toast. The promise of dude food, whatever the hell that is. And the first time I’ve laughed before eight o’clock in the morning since I can remember. Cherie, sweetheart, if this is you fuckin’ up, keep on doin’ it.”

  Shit, he had to stop.

  “God, I’m feeling warm and squishy again,” I bitched.

  Merry started laughing again.

  “Gross! Are you two bein’ gooey?” Ethan called with disgust from the living room.

  “Yeah,” Merry answered, sliding his hands from my head to wrap his arms around me. “Your mom is funny. That deserves gooey.”

  I stood in Merry’s arms, feeling a lot of good things, most of them about what Merry’d said, coupled with his hugs and laughter.

  Then I stood and felt other things as I watched my son arrest, just standing there, his face slack, his eyes on us, but they were working.

  And then I watched him grin.

  Whatever just occurred to him, he intended to keep it to himself, and I knew this when he bounded to the couch I’d told him to fold up (and he did), plopped on it, and reached for his shoes.

  “I gotta do the same,” Merry said, and I looked to him to see he was looking down on me. “Give me more gooey before I do it.”

  I slid my eyes to my kid.

  He was yanking on his sock.

  I slid my eyes to my man.

  He was looking at my mouth.

  So I rolled up
on my toes and gave him gooey by touching my mouth to his.

  Merry’s eyes were happy and smiling when I rolled back.

  Okay, maybe I could do this without fucking it up.

  Maybe we could all do this without fucking it up.

  That thought made me smile back.

  This got me a squeeze from my man before he let me go.

  He strode out of the kitchen on bare feet, came back in shoes while shrugging on his suit jacket and looking hot, and called out to my boy to get his shit for school and say good-bye to his mom.

  Ethan already had his jacket on and was tossing his backpack over his shoulder, calling to me on his way to Merry and the door.

  They both smiled and waved at me before they went out. They did this in different ways—Merry’s wave was low and cool, his smile handsome and hot; Ethan’s wave was high and goofy, his smile warm and sweet.

  The door closed behind them.

  Honest to God, watching all that, I knew it didn’t get warmer and squishier.

  It just didn’t.

  And I couldn’t imagine it ever would.

  But for the first time in a long time, I was hoping.

  Hoping hard.

  Hoping I was wrong.

  * * * * *

  Garrett

  Garrett sat in his truck outside Ethan’s school, watching the kid bounce toward the building in that way kids walked before they learned cool. Ethan was doing this twisted back toward Garrett, hand up, waving.

  Smiling, he lifted his own hand and did a salute.

  When he lost sight of Cher’s boy as he crawled along in the line of the cars of parents who’d dropped off their kids and were waiting to exit the school, he yanked out his phone and sent her a text.

  Ethan’s good.

  Then he sent another text, this one to Mike.

  Gotta do something before I come in. Be there as soon as I can.

  He got a text back from Cher as he was sending the one to Mike.

  Thanks, baby.

  After that, she put a bunch of x’s and o’s intermingled with some flowers and ended all that, for some strange and hilarious reason, with an emoji of a ghost and one of a flashlight.

  This meant he was smiling when he made the call he had to make and put his phone to his ear.

  “Yo, son, heard you caught that homicide,” Dave Merrick said in greeting.

  His father was a retired BPD detective. In other words, with a son on the force and just because he was who he was, he kept in the know.