4. Garrett
Garrett
C laire is lying on my chest, her breath evening out, her body soft and warm against mine. I can feel her heartbeat where her breasts press against my ribs, slower now, matching mine.
I just had sex with my assistant in a honeymoon suite on Christmas morning.
And I meant every word I said to her.
"I can hear you thinking," Claire murmurs against my skin.
"I'm always thinking."
"Well, stop." She props herself up on one elbow to look at me. Her hair is a disaster, my fault, and her lips are swollen, also my fault. She looks thoroughly satisfied and completely beautiful. "Whatever you're about to say about work or HR or why this is complicated, just don't. Not right now."
"Claire, we do need to talk about—"
"No, we don't." She's giving me that stubborn look I've seen when she's negotiating with difficult clients. "Not today. We just had sex for the first time after an eternity of mutual pining. Can we just... exist in that for a while? Please?"
She's right. For once in my life, I should stop overthinking and just be.
"Okay," I hear myself say.
She smiles and kisses me. It starts soft but quickly turns heated, and I'm pulling her on top of me, my hands sliding down to grip her hips.
She straddles me, and I can feel myself already getting hard again. At forty-two, I should probably need more recovery time, but apparently Claire Abbott defies all logic.
She feels it too, pressing against her, and she grins. "Again already?"
"You have no idea what you do to me."
"Show me."
I flip us so she's underneath me, her gasp turning into a laugh, and I kiss that smile off her face. This time is different—less desperate, more thorough. I take my time exploring her body.
When I kiss my way down her stomach, she tenses slightly.
"Garth—"
"Relax." I settle between her thighs, hooking her legs over my shoulders. "I want to taste you properly this time."
Before she can protest, I put my mouth on her. She's still wet from before, from us, and the taste is intoxicating. I work her with my tongue, finding the rhythm that makes her hips lift off the bed.
"Oh God," she gasps, her hands fisting in my hair.
I slide two fingers inside her while my tongue circles her clit, and she practically comes off the bed. She's sensitive, responsive, making these sounds that go straight to my cock.
"Garth, I'm going to—"
I double down, curling my fingers, and she comes with my name on her lips. I work her through it until she's pulling me up, breathless.
"Inside me," she demands. "Need you inside me again."
I kiss my way back up her body, taking my time despite her impatience. When I finally push into her, I shudder as her heat envelops me. She's still tight, still perfect, but this time there's no hesitation, no uncertainty.
I start slowly, savoring every stroke, watching her face. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, lips parted, and she's looking at me like I'm everything.
"Garth." Her nails drag down my back. "Harder."
"Patience," I tell her, keeping the pace deliberate.
She whimpers in frustration, trying to move her hips faster, but I pin them down. "You've made me wait long enough. I think you can wait a few more minutes."
"That's mean."
"That's payback." But I kiss her to soften it, slow and deep. "Besides, I want this to last. Want to memorize every second of being inside you."
She softens at that, her hands coming up to cup my face. "You're going to ruin me for anyone else, you know that?"
"Good." The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me.
I pick up the pace slightly, angling my hips to hit that spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back. Her legs wrap tighter around me, pulling me deeper, and fuck, this is—
"Get on top," I tell her, pulling out.
She doesn't need to be told twice. I roll onto my back and she straddles me, sinking down in one smooth motion. From this angle, I can see everything—the way her breasts bounce as she starts to move, the soft curve of her stomach, her thighs spread wide over my hips.
She's gorgeous , and she's mine.
She sets a pace that's faster than what I was doing, her hands braced on my chest for leverage. I grip her hips, helping her move, watching her take what she needs.
Without hesitation, her hand drops between her legs. The sight of her riding my cock while touching herself might be the hottest thing I've ever witnessed.
"That's it," I encourage, thrusting up to meet her. "Take what you want, Claire."
She's getting close—I can tell by the way she's clenching around me, the way her rhythm is getting erratic. I sit up, changing the angle, and capture one of her nipples in my mouth.
"Oh fuck! Garth!"
She comes hard, her whole body shaking, and I hold her through it, still buried deep inside her. When she collapses against me, I flip us again so I'm on top.
"My turn," I murmur against her ear.
I fuck her through the aftershocks of her orgasm, chasing my own release now. She wraps her legs around my waist, her nails digging into my shoulders, and when I finally come it's with my face buried in her neck, filling her with every last drop.
"I don't think I can move," she finally says.
"Don't need to. We have nowhere to be."
She laughs softly. "True. Although I'm starving."
As if on cue, my stomach growls. We both laugh.
"Room service?" I suggest.
"Please."
I force myself to get up and find the menu. I order enough food for an army—burgers, fries, salad, some kind of decadent chocolate dessert—because apparently great sex makes me ravenous.
While we wait, I climb back into bed and pull her against me.
"Can I ask you something?" she says quietly.
"Anything."
"Last night, when you were talking about Lena... are you okay with this? With us? I don't want to be—" She stops, struggling for words. "I don't want to be something you regret."
I'm quiet for a moment, thinking about how to answer honestly. "Lena and I were happy. Really happy. And when she died, I thought that was it for me. That I'd had my shot at love and I should just be grateful I got those years with her."
Claire is very still against me, listening.
"But you—" I tighten my arm around her. "You make me feel alive again. You make me want things I thought I'd given up on. And I think Lena would be happy about that. She always said I had too much life left to spend it alone."
"She sounds like she was amazing."
"She was." I kiss the top of Claire's head. "But that doesn't mean there isn't room for you. For this. I spent five years hiding, and I'm done hiding."
She turns in my arms to face me. "I'm scared too, you know."
"Of what?"
"Of not being enough. Of you realizing you made a mistake. Of—" She stops, biting her lip. "Of my mom being right about me."
"Your mother is wrong about you," I say firmly. "About all of it. You're not too anything or not enough of anything. You're exactly right."
"You have to say that. You just had sex with me."
"I'm saying it because it's true." I cup her face, make her look at me. "I've watched you for fourteen months, Claire. I know how smart you are, how capable, how strong. I know you work harder than anyone else in that office. I know you care about people even when they don't deserve it. I know—"
"Okay, okay." She's blushing now. "I get it."
"Do you? Because I don't think you do." I pull her closer. "You are extraordinary. And I'm going to spend however long it takes making sure you believe that."
She kisses me instead of answering, slow and sweet, and I let myself sink into it. Into her. Into this impossible, terrifying, wonderful thing we're building.
Room service arrives, and we eat in bed like heathens, trading fries and stealing bites of each other's burgers. It's domestic and easy, and I realize this is what I've been missing—not just sex, but this. Companionship. Laughter. Someone to share meals with.
"Tell me something I don't know about you," Claire says, stealing one of my fries.
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Something real. I know boss Garth. I want to know the actual Garth."
I think about it. "I play piano."
Her eyes widen. "What? Really?"
"My mother made me take lessons as a kid. Hated it then, but after Lena died, I started playing again. Helps me think."
"Will you play for me sometime?"
"Maybe." I steal one of her fries back. "Your turn."
"Okay." She's quiet for a moment. "I'm terrified of flying. Like, white-knuckle panic attack terrified."
"I know. I've flown with you dozens of times."
"And I spent every flight trying to hide it because I didn't want you to think I was weak." She looks down at her plate. "I once ate an entire party-size bag of M&Ms on the Singapore flight just to have something to do with my hands."
The thought of her suffering in silence, trying to maintain some image for me, makes my chest hurt. "You're not weak. You're the strongest person I know."
"I pretend to be. But inside I'm just—" She gestures vaguely. "A mess. Constantly worried I'm not doing enough, not being enough. That one day you'll realize—" She stops.
"Realize what?"
"That I'm replaceable."
"Claire." I set down my food and pull her to face me.
"You are not replaceable. You've never been replaceable.
Even when I was being an ass and treating you like just an assistant, I knew—" I stop, trying to find the right words.
"I knew I'd be lost without you. You make everything work.
Not just my schedule or my deals, but— me . You make me work."
She's crying now, and I pull her into my arms, holding her while she lets it out. All the insecurity, all the doubt, all the pain of thinking she wasn't enough.
"I've got you," I murmur into her hair. "I've got you and I'm not letting go."
When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red but she's smiling. "You're very good at this."
"At what?"
"Making me believe you." She kisses me softly. "Thank you."
We finish eating and then it's mid-afternoon, the light outside that peculiar grey-gold of winter. We should probably check out, get to the airport, but neither of us moves.
"What happens when we get back?" Claire asks quietly.
"We figure it out." I pull her closer. "I'll talk to HR after the holiday. There will be paperwork, disclosures. It won't be a secret, but we'll be smart about it."
"And if people talk?"
"Let them talk. I've spent five years not caring what people think of me. I'm not going to start now just because they have opinions about my personal life."
"What about the power dynamic?"
"We're both adults who chose this. And you're good enough at your job that no one will accuse me of playing favorites—they already know you're the best." I tilt her face up to look at me.
"But if it makes you uncomfortable, we can figure something else out.
You could transfer to another department, or? "
"No." She's firm. "I like working for you. With you. I don't want that to change."
"Then it won't." I kiss her forehead. "We'll make it work."
She's quiet for a moment, then: "I love you."
The words are soft, almost shy, and they hit me right in the chest.
"I love you too," I tell her, and it's easier than I thought it would be. "I have for a long time."
She smiles and settles back against me. Outside, snow is still falling, blanketing everything in Christmas white. Inside, we're warm and tangled together, and for the first time in five years, I feel something other than numb.
I feel whole.
"Merry Christmas, Garth," she whispers.
"Merry Christmas, Claire."
And lying here with her, I think Lena was right. I had too much life left to spend it alone.
I'm glad I finally figured that out.