Hold On (The 'Burg Series Book 6)

by Kristen Ashley

  Her brows shot up. “Is this a complaint?”

  “Fuck no,” he answered. “But it is me tellin’ you to get off my dick. I need to go to the john and get rid of this fuckin’ condom so I can bang you again.”

  She grinned and took her time sliding off of him, which meant she took her time sliding him out of her.

  Fuck.

  Cher.

  Spectacular.

  He touched his mouth to hers, rolled off the bed, and headed to the bathroom.

  When he hit his bedroom again, he saw she’d tangled herself in his sheets, leg and hip on display, most of her tits too, her hand up to her chest with the sheet barely covering them. All this on her side, body curved, head resting in her other hand, elbow in the pillow, eyes to him.

  Or to his cock.

  With his age and experience, it wasn’t lost on him that women appreciated what God and genetics had endowed him with.

  It was just that Cher didn’t try to hide or be coy about the fact she particularly appreciated it.

  He liked the confidence that showed. She was who she was. She liked what she liked. She didn’t fuck around communicating that.

  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 dick 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.

  Fuck…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.”

  Fuck.

  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 fuckin’ shit outta me.”

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

  “I’m holdin’ on.”

  He felt his mouth quirk. “Yeah. To my ass.”

  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 ass 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 ass, 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 Saturday 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 shit 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 shit 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.”

  “Bullshit,” 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 shit.”

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

  “Y
ou 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 fucking good, when she copped a feel at the same time he copped a feel when they passed 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.

  But now she was giving him that.

  He liked it.

  “I take it you like it,” he noted.

  “I…are…” She lifted her gaze to his. “Are you seriously thinking about gettin’ this place?”

  “Yeah. Though I haven’t viewed it yet, it’s still a front-runner.”

  She looked down, reached out, and he heard her clicking.

  He turned to the toaster.

  He put a bagel in, and turned back to her, leaning his hips against the counter and seeing she was now bent, her face closer to the screen, her finger still clicking.

  “So what do you think?” he asked.

  She lifted slightly up, again giving him her gaze.

  “This price can’t be right,” she told him.

  “You saw the bathrooms,” he told her.

  Her eyes flicked down then back to him.

  “Yeah, they suck. But Merry, that price? This is a lake house.” She straightened entirely. “Okay, so maybe it’s a really big pond, but that pond is big and it’s still waterfront property. The kitchen is amazing. The floors are incredible. And it’s a lake house. The views are…” she trailed off.

  “Needs a new roof,” he shared when she said no more. “A new furnace. New windows. It’s got no air conditioning, so the summer is gonna suck if that isn’t put in with the heating. And, babe, everything they did was cosmetic—that kitchen, the floors, paint. They didn’t get to the bathrooms. There’re two and a half of them, they’re fuckin’ ugly, and gotta go and those’ll cost a whack. They’ve had four offers fall through after inspection. In the shape it’s in, it’s been on the market nine months and they’ve dumped the price twice. Now they’re gettin’ smart with a new price. But still, they gotta dump it even more for me to be able to cover the mortgage and do the work needs to be done.”

  “It’d be worth it,” she stated immediately.

  He again grinned. “You’re that sure?”

  She looked at him, looked to his laptop, reached out, clicked, picked up his laptop, and turned it to him.

  On the screen was a picture of the property, a view from the porch that pointed lakeside. In the shot, there were the edges of the arms and seats of two Adirondack chairs, the white wood planks of the porch floor, the vibrant green of healthy grass, and the calm, deep blue of a small lake.

  Listing pictures usually sucked, but that one could be on a postcard.

  “I’m that sure,” Cher confirmed.

  He looked from the laptop to her and grinned again.

  “It has three bedrooms,” she told him something he knew. “And a study. And I can see you with a kickass grill on that porch. You got a kickass grill and you wanna fry a burger, you don’t need a skillet.”

  She shut up, turned the laptop her way, and again started clicking.

  After a couple of seconds, she muttered, “I like thinking of you here.”

  Garrett stopped grinning.

  “This place isn’t home,” she went on, attention still to the computer. “It isn’t you. This…” She lifted her eyes to him, turning the computer back his way. “This is you, baby.”

  On the screen now was the living room. It was huge. Beamed ceilings. Big TV mounted over a gray stone fireplace. Wood floors. Thick rugs. Leather furniture.

  His mind’s eye conjured visions of her curled in the couch and Ethan with a controller in hand, sitting in the armchair.

  And his gut got warm just as it went sour.

  He liked the vision.

  But it activated and he saw Ethan’s head turning to the door. Cher getting up from the couch and walking that way.

  There were uniforms outside, waiting to give the news, create the hole that’d never be filled, lay down the hurt that’d never go away.

  The vision blurred and focused.

  The door opened and uniforms were outside.

  But it was Garrett getting the news. Garrett and Ethan.

  “Merry?”

  He focused on her.

  The bagels popped up.

  He turned to the toaster, grabbed a plate, opened a drawer, and looked inside.

  None of his silverware matched. He didn’t even remember where he got it. He left everything they’d had in the home he’d shared with Mia. When he rebuilt his life after Mia, he’d picked up whatever to make-do.

  It didn’t matter. He didn’t cook. He didn’t hang out at his place unless it was to watch TV, and all he needed was beer and chips to do that.

  He had his Harley.

  He had his boat.

  He had his truck and a life with no strings, so if he wanted out, a break to take off, to live life, he did it.

  And came home feeling empty.

  Hell, he was already empty.

  The fuck of it was, he had no clue if it was better to stay empty or get filled up, get used to that feeling and endure losing it. Losing it to a fight that leads to a breakup. To stupid shit that leads to a breakup. To something tragic that leads to heartbreak…and more empty.

  He knew the answer to that getting shot of Mia.

  It felt worse being empty. Having no one to be with. No one to share with.

  Nothing to live for.

  Still, the thought of the loss paralyzed him because he’d felt it before.

  He put these thoughts aside, nabbed a knife, and was about to turn to the fridge to get the cream cheese when he saw Cher’s hand setting it on the counter by the plate.

  Then she fit her front to his back, wrapped her arms around his stomach, and pressed her cheek to his lat.

  She said nothing.

  She just held on.

  He opened the cream cheese, dug in with the knife, and started spreading.

  “This place sucks,” he muttered.

  “Yeah,” she whispered, holding on.

  “A mortgage might suck more,” he told her.

  “Don’t know, never had one,” she replied and pressed closer, held on tighter. “Just know you’re too good of a guy and you work too hard to live in a place like this. You deserve more, Merry. You deserve to go home to a place that kicks ass. That’s all I know. It might not be that house. It might be another condo but a better one. It might be somewhere else. It’s just not here.”

>   He made the decision to lighten the mood, stopped smearing, put the knife on the plate, and turned in her arms.

  He took her in his.

  “I’m gettin’ from this you don’t like my pad,” he teased.

  She grinned up at him, rolled up on her toes, and slid her arms from around him to his front, gliding them up his chest to hold on to his shoulders as she leaned her weight into him and he leaned his to the counter.

  But even through her grin, her eyes were serious.

  So were her words.

  “You deserve better.”

  Her words aimed true, like an antidote to fight the poison congealing in his gut.

  It was fast-acting.

  Instant.

  And losing that sick just because she gave him three words, Garrett decided the bagels could wait.

  He was making love to her now.

  Which was what he did, dipping his head and taking her mouth before he took her back to his bed.

  He didn’t bang her.

  He took his time. He concentrated solely on giving it to Cher, building it for her, stopping her when she tried to give back, giving her more to turn her attention, only going along for the ride.

  It was lazy. It was slow. It was tender.

  And when they were done, everything she had wrapped tight around him, she gave him that look she’d given him the night before—soft, sweet, warm, cute…loving.

  He locked it inside again.

  They got dressed and had to hurry to go pick up Ethan on time.

  So they ate their bagels in his truck.

  * * * * *

  Sunday Afternoon

  Garrett stood at the window by Raquel and Tanner’s dining room table.

  His eyes were aimed outside.

  Tanner was standing out there on their porch. The underground pool that took up most of the yard he’d put in for his wife was covered for the winter. His daughter was at his hip. His yellow lab, Blondie, was bouncing around three feet away from his legs, her eyes glued to CeeCee.

  This was because CeeCee had Blondie’s tennis ball.

  She threw it, which meant she mostly dropped it. It bounced on the cement a couple of inches from Tanner’s feet.

  But Blondie, being a great dog, bounded toward it and made a show of grabbing it like CeeCee threw it thirty feet.