Chapter 29
“Please!Stop or let me come, you son of a bitch!” I cry out, tugging at chunks of Garrison’s hair as he sucks hard on my clit, leaving the dildo inside of me buried deep, stretching me.
I’m shaking, my ass flaming in a way it never has before. Every brush of it over the mattress as I squirm beneath his mouth ignites the burn, and I hate the way I love it. I lost track of the number of times he spanked me, but each one led me further and further to nirvana.
He knows it too. If he wasn’t using that to his advantage, there would be something fundamentally wrong with him.
His teeth tease my clit just enough for the threat to register. It’s empty, though. He’d never hurt me like that. Maybe I shouldn’t be so sure of that already, but I am, and I’m not upset about it.
The pressure of his hand on my belly grows as he uses his other to drag the dildo from my pussy. I tighten around the thickness on instinct, the drag of it against my inner walls sparking another wave of intense pleasure that I have to focus on ignoring again. It’s nearly impossible, the orgasm denial having lasted for too long not to ache to give in and explode.
The moment we got back to my place, we were kissing, and Garrison was bending me over the back of the couch and fucking me until I was sure there was an imprint of his cock in my gut. I nearly came at the first brush of him inside of me, and that’s when it started. I’ve been teased and brought to the edge too many times to count since, and now I’m delirious.
It wasn’t until after the first few teased orgasms that the toys appeared. I’ve never been one to turn down the use of a toy, and now I’m regretting not hiding them from him beneath lock and key. There’s only one cock I want inside of me, and it isn’t made of silicone.
I’m left empty and aching when the dildo slips free and, a beat later, drops on the mattress beside us. Garrison abandons my clit and dips his tongue over my hole, licking and kissing almost in apology. I hum, hips jerking up, still desperate for it despite the exhaustion creeping in.
He strokes my belly and thigh before draping my leg over his shoulder and delving his tongue through my slit, drifting lower until he brushes the tight ring of my asshole.
“Do you deserve to come, Poppy? Have you suffered enough?” he asks, spreading my cheeks to circle my ass with his tongue.
I jerk at the sensation, my arms shooting out to grab at the bed. “Yes, and you know it.”
His eyes lift, snaring mine in a predatory gaze. “I’ll always give you what you need. Me. No one else. For as long as I get to eat this gorgeous cunt and fuck you until you’re sated, you’re mine. I won’t share you,” he growls into my wet skin.
We’re both naked, but I feel a million times more exposed. He’s used to being obeyed, but I won’t make it easy on him. I’m not one of his employees, and the playing field needs to be evened out.
“Is that what this is? Fucking? Friends with benefits officially?”
His fingernails prick my flesh as he wiggles his tongue inside my ass the smallest amount, just enough to have me gasping on my next inhale.
I slap a hand to the mattress, greedily taking my questions even further. “Answer me. Do you get this possessive over all of your fuck buddies? Is it a habit of yours to lay claim to them in public?”
“Enough,” he grits out.
I gasp when he leans back on his knees and loops an arm around my middle before forcing me over onto my stomach. He uses the same hold to tug me back until I’m on my knees, ass in his face, and then he’s driving his thick cock right into my gaping, dripping pussy.
“Fuck!” I scream, throwing my head back toward the ceiling as relief crashes into me.
My heart lags, my body glitching as I drown in pleasure. A hand presses down on my shoulder, and my cheek hits the mattress. I don’t fight against the position. Not when I’m so close to coming, all of the buildup leading to one blowout that’s going to render me limp.
“Jesus, you’re squeezing me tight. Come on this cock, Poppy. Soak my balls with it. Fucking give me everything,” he growls, and shit, I give him what he wants.
It’s unfair, but his demand is the last thing I need.
His sounds of pleasure follow me into the madness of my orgasm. I shake, my legs failing and growing too weak to keep my ass in the air as my belly hits the bed, and he somehow glides even deeper inside of me. Savage thrusts rock me forward, drawing my pleasure out for seconds longer, minutes, maybe.
He comes just as hard as I do, and warmth explodes inside of me a beat later. I moan at the sensation, so overstimulated that every jerk of his hips has my clit scraping along the bedding, the aftershocks leaving me boneless.
My eyelids are heavy, thoughts drifting as Garrison falls over me, his skin so hot it would be unbearable if I didn’t want the contact so badly. I release a shuddered sigh and rub my cheek on the blankets beneath me. He runs his fingers through my hair and scratches at my scalp, ruining me completely.
My mind starts to return when he freezes above me, fingers stalled, still buried in my hair. The rush of panic I feel is a jolt to my blissed-out system.
“I didn’t use a condom,” he whispers, as if he’s scared saying it any louder will make it worse.
My blood runs cold before warming again as I remember I’m always on time with my birth control. “Okay. Worried I’ll try to baby trap you?”
His silence isn’t entirely surprising, but it pisses me off regardless, chafing against my obvious feelings for him. Damn me.
I scoff, turning on my side and slapping at his chest in an effort to push him off me. He doesn’t hesitate to give me the space as he gets off the bed, but I don’t think that’s for my benefit as much as it is his.
“Alright, well, first off, I’m on birth control, and even if I wasn’t, I’m not interested in having children with a man who only wants me for my body, so don’t worry about it. And second, since you’re so concerned about safe sex, I haven’t slept with anyone in a long time before you. My tests came back negative after my last boyfriend,” I tell him rigidly, suddenly uncomfortable with my lack of clothing.
He’s right to be concerned about safe sex. We’ve always made use of condoms, but we were both so out of our heads that I’m not all that surprised we forgot. It was careless on both of our parts.
“I’m negative, as well. But that’s not my concern. We shouldn’t be having sex without double protection. It’s messy.”
At the first feel of his cum leaking from me, I grow even more upset. Messy, yeah, that’s one word for it. I hop off the bed and reach for a nightshirt from my dresser before dropping it over my body, grateful for the length of it as it reaches my knees.
He runs a hand over his messy hair and stares at the shirt with poison in his eyes. When I glance down, I find the cause of his anger.
I straighten my spine and point behind him to the door. “Get out. You do not get to be pissed at me for letting another man touch me or for wearing a guy’s shirt when you won’t even answer the simplest of questions regarding our relationship.”
With a huff, I collect his jeans and shirt from the floor and throw them at him. His jaw grinds as he catches the clothes and backs into the doorway.
“You only want me to tell you what you want to hear, Poppy,” he says.
My brows fly to my hairline. “No, I don’t. I want the truth. Something to keep my mind from running circles over you. It’s called knowing how to communicate like a grown adult. How are we supposed to know boundaries if we don’t talk about these things?”
“I know how to communicate,” he argues, beginning to pull his clothes on.
The sight upsets me. I don’t want him to leave. Or I didn’t before . . . all of this. I may be more frustrated than angry. Hurt, even. We’re adults—communication shouldn’t be an issue. Especially not when all I need is one second of honesty.
“No, you don’t. The only time you know how to communicate is when you’re giving me shit for something you should have no say over. If you want to have a say, Garrison, then ask for it. Be honest with me. But until then, you can go away,” I say, my tone steely, final.
“I don’t respond well to ultimatums, Poppy.”
“This isn’t an ultimatum. It’s me taking care of myself. I want one thing from you, and that’s honesty. I don’t care who you are. It doesn’t matter at all to me. I’ve never cared about any of that shit. Get jealous and possessive, I fucking like it! But you have to be able to be honest about why you’re being that way. If you only feel that way about me because we’re sleeping together, then say that. But don’t lie to me either.”
He flinches, his stupidly sexy throat working with a thick swallow. I ignore the nip of guilt and nudge my head to the door, waiting for him to either continue arguing with me or, if I’m lucky, to tell me the truth.
Instead, I get nothing.
My stomach fills with lead as I watch him toss his shirt over his head and leave the room. I stand in place, staring at the empty doorway until I hear the front door close. The sound is soft, and I don’t know if that’s worse than if he had slammed it. Each step I take down the hall feels weighed down, but I don’t stop until I’m in front of the living room window.
The blinds are shut, so I peel them open just enough to stare out at the dark street. Garrison is already in the truck, but he hasn’t turned it on. The cab is dark enough to hide his expression but not the outline of his body. I’d have to be half-blind not to tell how tense he is. But then again, maybe I’m just so desperate to see him struggling even a bit as much as I am that I’m making things up.
This wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. Yeah, we didn’t have an official FWB agreement, but that’s still all we were. I shouldn’t be expecting things from him outside of that. It’s unfair, but I can’t help it. Not now that my stupid feelings are involved.
I have a ridiculous crush on Garrison Beckett, and he’s run at the first touch of conflict. It’s a sign from the universe that I’m not about to ignore.
Spinning from the window, I head straight for the bathroom to run a shower hot enough to burn the lingering touch of him from my body.
I pourmyself a cup of coffee and wince at my first taste of it. Burnt. No surprise. The machine is older than I am. It was a hand-me-down from my parents.
The house is empty as I stand in the kitchen, the fluffy robe wrapped around me feeling itchy for the first time ever. My scowl hasn’t left since I went to bed last night, and I don’t see it leaving for a while longer.
I’m moping. Well and truly moping over a man. Bryce will be up in arms when she hears about this. I haven’t even brushed my hair or my teeth, which is both gross and pathetic. Still, I stand at the kitchen counter and stare out the window at my pathetic excuse for a backyard.
Unless you live in the country, you don’t get much of a yard anywhere in Cherry Peak. The only time I truly enjoy staring outside is when I’m at the ranch. Mountain peaks and endless fields always settle me. This town certainly doesn’t. It hasn’t for a long time now.
Maybe I’ve outgrown it, my dreams and goals too big for Cherry Peak. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m emotional and going to extremes in my fit of self-pity.
I take another sip of my coffee and fight past a gag. The clock on the stove says it’s just past 8:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Drinking a cup of burnt coffee while staring out the window like I’m the star in a pathetically sad music video isn’t how I imagined spending my morning.
Fuck it. After setting my cup in the sink, I fling my ratted hair behind my shoulders and leave the kitchen. My bedroom comes into view at the same time there’s a knock on my front door. I glance down at my robe to make sure I’m covered up before dragging my feet down the hallway.
When I pull the door open to reveal a tall guy with a pair of blue overalls on and a baseball cap with a logo for some delivery company I’ve never heard of, I grow annoyed.
“You’ve got the wrong house. I haven’t ordered anything,” I tell him, hands gripping my hips.
The guy just stares at me with a bored expression, a fancy little machine in his hand with a lit screen. “This is 17 Cherry Street, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I drawl. Glancing over his shoulder, I see a white delivery van parked on the street, blocking most of it. “You’re lucky nobody is up and driving through here with how you’ve parked.”
“Your street is ridiculously slim.”
“That’s true. Well, would you mind telling me what you’ve come to deliver to my address, at least?” I ask.
Another door shuts on the street before a second guy scurries around the van. He unhooks a lock at the back, and then the door flies up, rattling loud enough to wake the entire neighbourhood.
The delivery man in front of me checks the machine in his hand. “A washer and dryer. I have it noted that you need help with install as well, so if you just sign here, we’ll get them brought in and set up as quickly as possible.”
“Is there a name on the order? No offense, but I’m not about to let you into my house without knowing for sure you’re legit.”
Annoyance flashes across his features before he tightens his expression. “Nathan Beaumont. You know the guy?”
“No, I don’t know a Nat—” I cut myself off, realization punching through me. My chest warms despite my best efforts not to make a big deal out of this. “Yeah, I do. I’ll sign, and you can get started.”
He hands over what looks like a cordless debit machine but thicker, and I sign the screen with my nail before handing it back.
“Where do you want them?” he asks, tucking the machine into a pocket lining the leg of his overalls.
“The basement. You can come in and I’ll show you.”
He doesn’t say a word as I lead him inside and show him around, not even to thank me for giving him a warning not to smack his head on the low basement ceiling. I don’t let it bother me, though. It doesn’t matter to me whether he’s happy to be here or not.
It’s the second delivery guy that asks if I want to keep the old machines or if I’d prefer they take and dispose of them.
“Take them. Please get them out of my house,” I beg.
He grins and agrees before they start getting to work. I’m half in a daze as I step into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. The mess of hair on my head is terrifying, and my mouth tastes like bad coffee, but I make no move to fix either of those things.
Instead, I grab my phone from the pocket of my robe and pull up Garrison’s number. The dial tone rings in my ear five times before his voice sounds.
“This is Garrison Beckett. If you need urgent assistance, contact my assistant. Thank you.”
The loud beep that follows makes me flinch. I try again and get greeted by the same recording. In theory, I know that he’s probably sleeping on his day off work, but after last night, I’m on edge, overthinking every damn thing there is to overthink.
It’s not a coincidence that Garrison knew all about my shitty washing machine and also happens to have a friend named Nathan. That much I know. But why wouldn’t he just tell me he got me a new one? What’s with the surprise? I probably would have turned him down at first just to be polite, but I’d fold quickly after that.
I’m not one to turn down free things, especially if they’re offered to me by hot men, no matter how much they cost. Garrison can spoil me all he wants. Maybe I’d even call him Daddy once or twice as payment.
I hang up the call, opting out of leaving a voicemail, and open our text chain instead. It’s barren, only a handful of messages exchanged between us.
Me: Thank you for the washer and dryer.
It’s short, sweet, and to the point without making me appear unbothered by what happened last night.
And with that reassurance, I put my phone away and pluck my toothbrush out of its holder before starting to clean myself up. I’m not about to let Garrison drive me into a depressive state. He hasn’t earned that power over me.
“He just left? Like that?”Bryce asks, balancing an entire jug of pink lemonade on her lap. She’s been swigging from it like a complete neanderthal since the girls got here for lunch, but if it makes her happy . . .
Anna tuts her tongue. “Obviously, he’s not ready to admit his feelings to himself.”
“What a surprise, another man who’s incapable of dealing with his emotions,” Bryce mutters in mock surprise.
I stretch my neck and lean against the back of the couch, feeling weighed down. “Every day, I feel like you hate men more and more.”
She shrugs and pops an all-dressed chip in her mouth. “If the shoe fits.”
“When’s the last time you dated a man, Ice?” Anna asks.
“High school. If I wasn’t so attracted to corded forearms and beard burn, I would have no use for them at all, but alas, we all have our weaknesses.”
Anna hums in understanding. “Are women that much better? I know that sounds silly to ask, but I’m curious.”
“You’ve got a man that puts both men and women to shame, Anna,” Bryce answers. Anna waves her off, blushing slightly.
Bryce is open with her bisexuality, and I’ve asked her similar questions from the moment she came out to me in eleventh grade. You can’t help but be curious, especially when there aren’t many other openly bisexual people in a town this size.
She cocks her head, expression turning serious. “There’s no right answer to that question. It’s all dependant on what you like. Me, personally, I prefer dating women because they’re easier to talk to. We can build a deeper relationship—a friendship—before feeling like we have to move further. I like going at my own pace, whether that’s one date and then we’re going home together or if it takes me ten dates to kiss them.
“My experience dating men has been nothing short of terrible. Some of the time, I simply prefer the respect I get from women. My ex turned out to be a wicked bitch, though, so maybe I’m not the person to give proper answers. I don’t think two bisexual women would share the exact same preferences or experience if you went up to them and asked.”
Once she’s finished, she turns her sharp blue eyes on me, narrowing them. I gulp.
“Garrison doesn’t even have facial hair, so beard burn clearly isn’t an option for you. What is it that has you so tangled up about this guy? Other than his inability to communicate, of course.”
“He’s sickeningly good-looking,” Anna offers, flashing me a sympathetic smile.
Bryce rolls her eyes. “Of course he is. I think that counts as a negative more so than a positive.”
I hold up a hand. “It doesn’t matter how many negatives or positives he has. I’m into him, and I’ve known from the first time we met that he wasn’t going to be perfect. It’s completely my fault that I’m in this mess, but that doesn’t change the truth.” Fidgeting, I reach for Bryce’s lemonade and twist off the cap before lifting it to my mouth, desperate for something to soothe my dry throat. Three gulps later, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You have to rip the Band-Aid off. Give him one more chance to be honest with you about what he truly feels and wants, and if he still can’t, then kick his ass to the curb,” Anna says, reaching across the couch to lay a supportive hand on my knee. “Sometimes a man needs a bit of encouragement to admit what he’s too afraid to.”
“I think I’ve already given him that chance,” I admit, thinking back on the text message that came in seconds before Bryce and Anna arrived.
My gut churns at the reminder.
They were nothing. Don’t search for a meaning that isn’t there.
“And he fucked it up,” Bryce mutters, putting two and two together without me needing to explain further.
Anna sighs, frowning deeply. “I’m sorry, Pops. Is there anything we can do to help?”
I reach for her hand and then pry Bryce’s out of her lap, squeezing them both. “You’re both already helping. I love you.”
“Love you too, Poppy,” Anna says.
Bryce stares at me for a moment longer, not as believing as Anna is. My friend since childhood, she knows me like the back of her hand, and as I slip on a brave face for my own benefit, it’s obvious she doesn’t buy it one bit. I’m grateful when she doesn’t call me on it and instead squeezes my hand back.
“We love you, P. Forever.”
For right now, that’s more than enough.