Barbed Wire Bandages, page 6
As Bridget threaded her fingers together with his, he examined them briefly, easily seeing them for what they were: The hands of a hard worker. Like his, her hands were firm, strong, and worn. Life no longer came to her easily. She had to work for what she wanted, and she did so without question.
No longer fearing the attraction that had simmered to life in less than twenty-four hours, Garrison let go of his inhibitions and allowed himself to squeeze her fingers and caress her palm with his thumb. When he did, he felt what was just beneath the surface of her tanned skin.
Grief. Repentance. And peace.
When his eyes met hers again, he saw so clearly what she was trying to convey, what she was pleading for him to give her. All she wanted was for Garrison to drop it. To forgive her and move on. To let her move on.
Done.
“It's forgotten,” he said. “All of it.”
There was a hard certainty to her eyes, but also a shadow of doubt. Garrison knew she wasn't doubting his words, only the consequences of her actions. But he knew she'd come around. Eventually.
She just needed someone to be there for her. A friend to show her that she wasn't the same girl she was in high school. Show her that she'd grown, changed, and transformed into a kind, gentle creature with just enough sass to make things interesting.
And Garrison wanted to be that friend.
“Thank you.”
Garrison had thought long and hard about where he was, where he'd been, and what choices had led him down those paths. But it wasn't until right then that he realized that without Bridget's cajoling, all of that might not have happened. He owed Bridget a lot. He owed her his strength, his determination, his courage, and his ability to see what was right in front of him... and take it.
“No. Thank you, Bridget.”
CHAPTER SIX
After Garrison left to pack up his tools and test the fence, Bridget quickly washed the dishes from lunch and stepped into her work boots, unable to spend another second indoors. She ventured outside to check on her furry friends and dole out some well-deserved lovings.
Charlie, Bug the Pug, and Han, a graying mutt, all met her at the door, vying for her attention. She filled food bowls, scratched bellies, and headed across the yard and out the gate that led to the pasture.
Carl and Fiona, her bovine duo, greeted her as she made her way through the tall grass. She told herself that she just wanted to check and make sure the rest of the fence hadn't suffered any damage, but that was a lie. She wanted to see Garrison, even though she knew she was treading dangerously close to a line that shouldn't be crossed. But she couldn't deny the draw.
As she inched up next to where Garrison was finishing up, he turned his head and smiled. He looked truly pleased to see her. Bridget would have smiled back, but she found herself completely enamored by the way Garrison's sweat-soaked shirt clung to his torso.
All those ridges...
All that muscle...
Dear God, I need to get out more...
“All finished here.” He plucked the top strand of shiny new barbed wire. “Good as new.”
“I see that,” she said, taking in his work. He was right. By looking at it, you'd never be able to tell someone had just plowed into the nearest post and snapped the wire. “You didn't have to do that, Garrison, but thank you.”
Garrison smiled politely as he wiped his hands on an old rag and closed the trunk. “If I break something, I fix it. Simple as that.”
Bridget nodded as she wrung her hands and stared at the wire still vibrating from his touch. Being in his presence unnerved her. He was the whole package, and she was an empty canister.
For a long moment, she chewed on her bottom lip, wracking her brain for a safe topic of discussion. However, the words that left her mouth stunned her. They were far from safe.
“Would you want to hang out tonight?”
She stiffened, wondering where she'd summoned the gall to ask him something like that. Lunch was one thing, but spending that much time with him was pushing it. She didn't know the first thing about him.
He could be in a relationship. Hell, he could be married or gay for all she knew. But still, she held out hope that someone like him would want to spend time with someone like her. Even if she didn't deserve his company.
“Sure.”
She did a double take at his easy answer.
“Sure?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I don't have anything else planned. Why not?”
Garrison's strong hand lifted over the fence, and she tentatively placed hers in his, noting just how greatly his large palm dwarfed hers. Her chest tightened as his fingers curled around hers. Then, she laughed.
“What? You expect me to hop the fence?” She asked. “You might be that agile, but I assure you I'm not.”
He pulled Bridget along until the post he'd righted was stationed between them.
“Jump.”
She eyed the four-foot-tall post, turned her eyes to Garrison's handsome face, and shook her head. “You're crazy if you think I can jump over that.”
Grinning, he gestured to a notch halfway up the post and instructed her to wedge the toe of her boot in. But she hesitated.
“If you're some kind of sadist that enjoys seeing young women strung up in barbed wire, my invitation to hang out is officially off the table.”
“Just trust me,” he drawled.
Trust was a hard thing to come by in Bridget's life, so she handed it out sparingly. But Garrison... something about the kind softness of his eyes made him easy to trust, even if his playful smirk spelled trouble.
After sticking her boot into the notch and lifting her free hand, she sucked in a shaky breath and locked eyes with Garrison. “Now what?”
“On the count of three, I want you to jump.”
“I'm not a kangaroo, Garrison. Where am I jumping?”
“Just up. In the air.”
Sighing, she went ahead and accepted the fact that she was about to make a complete ass out of herself and her inability to do such an athletic feat.
“Why do I feel like this is going to end badly?”
He smiled, and aside from the handsome curve of his lips, his grin held a challenge.
“Because you're a chicken.”
She placed her boot back on the ground. She had once been a pro at the art of coercion and peer pressure, which is why it didn't work on her. Never had, and she vowed that it never would. She was her own person and if she was going to do something, she was going to do it because she damn well wanted to.
“If you're trying to get me to cooperate, you're going about it the wrong way.”
One brow drew up toward Garrison's hairline as he dropped her hand. “Okay. If you're that scared, I guess-”
Bridget kicked her boot back into the notch and tilted her chin up in defiance. Screw peer pressure. Now she was going to do it because she wanted to. Because she had something to prove.
“Fine,” she said, a hint of annoyance flashing in her eyes. “Now what?”
“Jump.”
She growled, thinking she should just walk back to the gate. “Just jump?”
“Yes, Bridget. Just jump.”
Bridget placed both hands atop the post, rolled her eyes just to show him she wasn't impressed with what was about to happen, and jumped straight into the air. However, instead of coming right back down, like she'd intended, Garrison grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her up higher.
“Bend your legs!”
She did as he said and before she knew what was happening, she was on the other side of the fence.
“See?” He grinned as he lowered her to the ground. “Easy as pie.”
Bridget let out the breath she'd been holding. “Says the person who didn't have to jump.”
Garrison laughed. “Hey, you cannot deny that I did all the work there.”
He released his hold on Bridget and she immediately missed the warmth of his fingers digging into the softness of her waist. She tried to hide the way her body swayed toward his when he stepped away, but was wildly unsuccessful judging by the intensity that clouded Garrison's face.
He slowly lifted Bridget's knuckles to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to her skin. His hot breath wrapped around her hand, sending her into a full body shudder she had to fight to contain. She didn't understand the pull she felt toward Garrison, but she couldn't ignore it any more than she could fight it.
But she didn't want to fight it.
Yes, Garrison was practically a stranger. And yes, there was ten years, hundreds of hours of grief, and countless obstacles standing between them, but nothing about his presence felt wrong. In fact, it felt like something she wanted to pursue.
It felt right... for all the wrong reasons.
“Do you want to come inside?”
Deep down, she knew she wasn't just inviting Garrison into her house. She was offering up so much more with the tremble of her voice. She was inviting him into her inner circle, inviting him to tear down her defenses. It was her greatest fear and something she wasn't quite ready to do... but Garrison squeezed her hand and stepped closer.
“Absolutely.”
Garrison followed Bridget inside, wondering if she'd always been such a flirty, brazen, yet insecure woman. Being near her might have scrambled his senses, but he knew that he was reading all her signs correctly. It was awfully hard to misinterpret the way her eyes roamed over his body, the way her hand tightened in his, and the way her breathing intensified into excited heaves as they entered her home.
She was trying to hide all those things, but Garrison knew without a shred of doubt that Bridget wanted him. Attraction wasn't something he was unfamiliar with, but he was still having a hard time processing it. Never in a billion years did he think that Bridget Warner would want him. And what's more, he never imagined he would be attracted to someone who had a leading role in all his worst high school memories.
As they stepped into the kitchen, Bridget released his hand to go to the fridge. Even with her back to him, he stayed close, just inches behind her as she searched the shelves. His hands clenched at his sides, begging to be set free. He wanted to touch her, take her, and not let go until they'd completely extinguished the sexual tension humming between their bodies that demanded to be acknowledged. What had started out as vague curiosity and amusement had turned into faint attraction, and that attraction had quickly morphed into full-on need.
Bridget took two bottles of beer from the fridge and set them on the counter, glancing up from under thick lashes and eyelids heavy with lust to peer over her shoulder.
“Thirsty?”
When he leaned in close and his eyes settled on her tongue as it flicked out to wet her lips, he couldn't take it any longer.
“You have no idea.”
Slapping both hands to her waist, Garrison twirled her around and hoisted her up onto the counter. She didn't fight him. Instead, her hands went wild. They wasted no time in taking exactly what they wanted as she explored every hard ridge of his abdomen. Her legs wrapped around his torso, pulling him in close as her fingers dove into his hair and pulled his lips to hers.
His body set fire, and Garrison groaned as their lips met. Bridget took that opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth, surprising him. She was definitely not a timid kisser. She massaged his tongue with hers, pulling moans and curses from his throat as electricity shot from his scalp to his toes. He held her tight while her hands traveled down his neck, his chest, and latched onto his belt.
His dick strained against the zipper of his jeans and soon Garrison's hips began involuntarily thrusting up to meet Bridget's warmth. His body wanted her. It wanted her more than it wanted oxygen or blood or a beating heart. They were moving at the speed of light and his brain was too foggy, too overwhelmed, to think of anything else but her.
“Garrison.”
She practically purred when his hands began to explore her curves and his mouth moved lower. His tongue glided along her neck, across her collarbone, and dipped down between the swell of her breasts, tasting her sweat-slicked skin, igniting her. He nipped and sucked at her satiny warmth as she writhed beneath his touch. Every pant spurred him on, every whimper was music to his ears, but he wanted more. He was done with the opening act and was ready for the main event.
He wanted to hear her scream his name.
“Garrison, please-”
The blaring of the telephone next to her head sent a jolt of surprise through both their limbs, but Garrison didn't relent. His mouth continued to travel over every exposed inch of skin he could reach. When the phone rang again, he thrust against her core and she threw her head back, tightening her legs around his waist.
“Do you need to get that?” He barely recognized the deep, husky rumble of his own voice.
“No,” she breathed.
He reached between their bodies and unfastened the button of her jeans with the flick of his fingers. Smiling in disbelief, he realized he was about to round bases with Bridget Fucking Warner. And somewhere outside, pigs were flying.
But the damn phone continued to ring.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she pleaded, arching against him, pulling him in close by his shirt. “Don't you dare stop.”
Each ring became harder and harder to ignore, and as bad as he wanted to run full steam ahead, the intrusion seemed to be growing louder. His brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate and shake it off, but...
“Bridget-”
Cursing, she spun in his arms, grabbed the receiver, picked it up, and slammed it right back down just as quickly. Panting like a bitch in heat, she turned back and quickly ripped the white t-shirt over her head and tossed it to the ground.
“Better?”
Garrison's mouth went dry at the sight of her perfect breasts swaying within the confines of a white lace bra and his hands immediately covered her. He cupped her roughly as she thrust against him and he sent up a silent thanks to God for creating such a perfect rack.
“Much.”
With renewed fervor, Garrison's mouth melted against hers, forgetting the interruption completely. He bowed his head and dug his teeth into the cup of her bra, eliciting a surprised gasp from her throat. His tongue traveled along the rough pattern of the lace, heating and wetting the skin beneath.
When she grabbed his head and urged him closer, he dipped his tongue into her bra and lathed the tip around her hard nipple, enjoying the way she tensed beneath him. Continuing his oral assault, he pinched and flicked her other nipple, but stopped when her hands pushed his away.
For a second, he froze, wondering what it was that she didn't like, but she wasn't trying to stop him. Instead, she directed his hands back to her jeans. She was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and knew just the right way to ask for it.
After ripping her zipper down, Garrison tugged her jeans to her feet before throwing them to the floor. His dick jumped at the sight of so much more skin to explore and his fingers dug deeper into her thighs as he scooted her ass to the edge of the counter.
“Touch me,” she whispered as she kissed and sucked her way up his throat.
She didn't need to tell him twice.
His calloused hands trailed up her legs until they met cotton. With a touch gentle yet eager enough to illicit another seductive growl from her throat, Garrison dipped both thumbs into the band of her panties and was met with warm, slick moisture.
“Jesus Christ.” His heart kicked and bucked as he caressed her folds. “You're so fucking wet.”
Bridget's hands fumbled with his belt, but he didn't dare stop his sweet assault to help her. She struggled, still writhing beneath his touch, but finally managed to rip his belt through the loops, pop the button on his jeans, and lower the zipper.
“You in a hurry?” He asked as he sank two fingers deep inside her.
“You have no- no idea.”
Garrison opened his mouth, ready to throw out a witty remark, but his words died in his throat as her hands wrapped around his dick and she began stroking up and down his length.
“Fuuuck!”
The curse shot from his mouth like a cry and his hands slackened. His head fell back in ecstasy as he shuddered beneath her touch and let himself go completely, letting her do whatever the hell she wanted to his body. Every nerve and cell honed in on the way she worked him, the pleasure that threatened to explode from him at any second. It had been a long damn time since he'd been with a woman who touched him like that, and he wished he could keep his dick sheathed in her expert hands forever.
“Oh, not yet,” she whispered against his chest. “Not without me.”
Panting, Garrison clenched his teeth, knowing that she needed to get on this train or it was about to leave the station without her. With some of his mental clarity returning with her words, he looked over his shoulder, spied a shorter counter, and with minimal contact lost, transferred her to the cold surface.
She gasped at the feel of cool granite pressing against her ass and Garrison took that moment to plunge his tongue into the dark recesses of her mouth. He kissed her with every ounce of passion, every fragment of doubt, and every shred of regret that made up either of their souls.
Bridget dug her fingernails into Garrison's side as she rolled her hips, rubbing against him in a way that told him she was more than ready.
“Garrison, if you don't hurry the fuck up and-”
Her words cut off into a scream as he slammed inside her. She clung to his shoulders as he held her close and let the intensity of their connection consume him. She was so wet. So hot. So tight. So... everything. And he wanted more.
“Hold onto something,” he rasped. “This is gonna be quick.”
After Bridget clamped her hands behind his neck, he grabbed onto her hips, slid out of her warm, wet cunt, and rammed right back in. She cried out, and that only spurred him to thrust harder. Over and over again, he pumped in and out of her heat, never slowing, never letting up. Sweat gathered on his brow as he fought his release.
