Chapter 22 #2
The second his name leaves my lips, his eyes heat.
Garrett drops to his knees, grips the hem of my tee, then pauses, waiting for permission.
Without hesitation, I raise my arms. His gaze rakes over my bare breasts before making its way down and settling on my small bump.
Garrett’s palms briefly move gently over our growing baby before he swiftly tugs at the waistband of my shorts.
The move is so quick, I’m forced onto my back.
Garrett stands and stares down at my naked body, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as if he’s forcing himself to hold back.
A long moment stretches between us, causing the ache between my thighs to intensify.
“Garrett,” I snap with frustration. His eyes lock on mine.
“Stop treating me like I’m going to break and just fuck me.
” Something about my bossy plea and tone seems to do the trick because the second the words leave my mouth, he lunges.
The next thing I know, two large hands grab hold of my legs, and I’m suddenly flipped over and positioned on my hands and knees.
Breathing heavily, I peer over my shoulder to find Garrett tugging off his jeans.
I gasp in anticipation when his cock springs free. “Hurry,” I beg, letting my hormones take over.
Giving me what I need, Garrett clutches my hips, lines his cock up at my entrance, and without losing eye contact, drives himself inside me. “Yes!” I throw my head back and cry out. “Please don’t stop.”
“Not fuckin’ happenin’.” He continues to fuck me hard, and with each thrust, the headboard bangs against the wall.
Just when I feel as if my arms are going to give out, Garrett grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls, causing my back to arch.
His other arm wraps around my chest and holds me upright.
My nails dig into the flesh of his forearm as my orgasm starts to build.
“Nothin’ sweeter than havin’ your sweet, tight pussy wrapped around my cock, babe,” he says against the shell of my ear, and just like that, his words are my undoing. My release crashes through me, causing me to scream his name.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Garrett growls, then suddenly pulls out.
Breathing heavy, I ask. “What are you doing?”
Garrett drops to his back and pulls me on top of him.
“Ride me. I want to look at your face when I come inside you.” He gives my butt a sharp slap.
Doing as I’m told, I line his cock up at my entrance and sink on it.
I watch the chords on his neck flex and his nostrils flare. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”
With my hands braced against his chest, I begin to move. It doesn’t take long for another orgasm to build.
“That’s it, baby.” Garrett presses the pad of his thumb against my clit.
“Give me another one.” My body has no choice but to give in to his command as I come for a second time.
Only this time, Garrett cups the back of my neck and pulls me in for a kiss.
I can still smell the scent of fresh-cut grass on his skin, and his mouth tastes like beer and sin.
A moment later, both of his arms wrap around my back, bringing our bodies flush against each other as we come in unison.
There is something so monumental about this moment. Never in my life have I felt this connected to another person, mind, body, and soul. And when Garrett breaks our kiss to rest his forehead against mine, the look in his eyes tells me he feels it too. No words are needed.
Later that night, we’re out on the back porch, the old swing creaking in a lazy rhythm as it sways over worn boards.
Garrett has a beer hooked between two fingers, the bottle sweating in the heat, and I’m nursing a glass of juice.
I’m curled up on his lap with a sheet wrapped around me, the cotton tucked under my thighs to keep it in place.
He’s in nothing but boxers, warm skin, and solid muscle under my palms. Comfortable silence settles between us, the kind that doesn’t need filling.
Crickets sing in the grass. Somewhere out on the water, a fish breaks the surface with a quiet slap.
I rest my cheek against Garrett’s shoulder and stare past the railing, past the shimmer of moonlight, to the opposite side of the lake. The house I’ve dreamed of for months sits there, half hidden by cypress trees and curtains of moss, lights off, windows reflecting the night like black glass.
Garrett tips his head, mouth brushing the top of mine when he speaks, “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I don’t answer right away. I lift my chin and nod across the water, toward the house.
“That house,” I say softly. “I used to…” I swallow and let the swing carry us forward and back.
“I used to dream about buying it. When the previous owner put it on the market, I swear I couldn’t think about anything else for weeks.
It’s ridiculous. I’ve loved it since the first time I saw it in the daylight.
It’s painted blue with chipped siding, broken shutters, and that wide porch that wraps around the front of the house.
The roofline angles just right, and there’s a little balcony off the upstairs bedroom with large French doors.
Out back there’s a dock that cuts into the lake.
I always imagined string lights hung along the railing, a hammock on the side porch, wind chimes singing in the warm summer breeze.
The house needs a ton of work and might not look like much to others, but I see the potential. My vision for it is clear.”
Garrett is quiet for a beat, as if he’s building the picture with me. His hand slides up my arm under the sheet, thumb stroking slowly. “Then why don’t you buy it, Ruby?”
The question lands gently, but it still knocks something loose in my chest. My gaze stays on the dark outline across the lake as my smile fades.
“I tried,” I admit. My voice comes out smaller than I want it to.
“I went to the bank, did all the paperwork. I picked out paint colors in my head like an idiot.” I let out a breath.
“The bank ran my credit.” I don’t look at him when I say it because the shame isn’t even mine, and somehow it still feels as though it is.
“Robby ruined it,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “They flat-out denied the loan.”
Garrett doesn’t say anything at first. The swing keeps moving, steady as a heartbeat, but I feel him go still beneath me and notice the way his jaw locks. He’s trying to keep his temper leashed, but it’s there, hot and sharp, aimed straight at my brother.
His hand tightens at my waist. Before either of us can say more, Garrett’s phone starts ringing. He shifts under me and brings the phone to his ear. His gaze flicks to me as he speaks. “No problem, brother. Be there in fifteen.” He cuts the call.
“You have to go?” I ask.
Garrett stands with me, still in his arms, and carries me inside before setting me on my feet. “Yeah, Prez needs me down at the clubhouse.”
There’s no hiding my disappointment. Today has been perfect, and I’m not ready for it to end.
Garrett notices my reaction and cups my face. “I won’t be long… promise.” Then he kisses me. After he breaks away, he makes a quick call while heading down the hall toward the bedroom. “Joseph, Catcher. Listen, I’ve got to run out for a few, think you can come sit with Ruby?”
I follow behind him into the bedroom.
“Put some clothes on, baby. Your dad is on his way. He’s gonna hang with you until I get back.”
By the time he disappears down the hall, I’m suddenly aware that the reason he’s needed at the clubhouse might have something to do with Robby. I tug on a pair of soft cotton shorts and an oversized tee, then twist my hair up and pad out of the bedroom barefoot.
A few minutes later, headlights sweep across my living room walls, and then there’s a knock at the front door.
When I step into the living room, Garrett is already there with my dad.
They’re standing near the kitchen entry, shoulders angled toward each other, voices low like they’re trying not to carry sound through the house.
My stomach dips when I notice the gun riding on my dad’s hip in a holster.
They both look up at the same time, as if they feel me there, and whatever they were saying cuts off mid-sentence. Garrett takes a half step back, and my dad’s expression softens.
Garrett reaches for his cut from the back of one of the chairs and shrugs it on. He crosses the space between us, cups the back of my neck, and kisses me. “I’ll be back,” he murmurs against my lips, then he’s gone, boots thudding toward the front door.
The second the door shuts, my dad’s arms open, and I’m stepping into them before I can think too hard about the gun on his hip or the low-voiced conversation I walked in on. He hugs me tightly, careful around my bump. “Hey, Button,” he says, voice rough with worry he’s trying not to show.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“You hungry?” he asks, like it’s a normal night and not the kind where men with guns whisper in my living room.
I shake my head. “No, I already ate.”
My dad studies me for a second, then tips his head toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says gently. “I’ll fix you some tea. With honey,” he adds, as if he already knows what I need.
It’s something he did when I was little, when I had trouble sleeping. ‘This’ll help you sleep,’ he’d say, and somehow it always did.
I follow him into the kitchen and slide into one of the chairs at the table while he moves around with familiar ease.
The scent of chamomile fills the small space, bringing back childhood memories.
Dad sets the mug in front of me and sits across the table.
For a minute, we don’t talk. I just wrap my hands around the warmth and take a careful sip.
The honey coats my throat, sweet and soothing.