Barbed Wire Bandages, page 7
He needed her to come. And he needed it really fucking fast.
“Come for me,” he whispered before biting into the soft skin at her shoulder. “Come for me, Bridget.”
Garrison grabbed her ass, needing something to anchor him as her walls began clenching around his dick. He couldn't hold back any longer, but he didn't need to. He buried his face in her neck and cried out as his own orgasm pulsed through him and he emptied himself into the woman shuddering and moaning in his arms.
Their chests heaved together, sweaty and trembling as they came down from the high. His forehead continued to rest on her shoulder as their breathing regulated. But the second his actions dawned on him, his entire body stiffened.
He'd just taken Bridget Warner. On a counter. In her kitchen.
Hard.
Without protection.
Mere hours after returning to the place where she'd made his life a living hell.
Fuck!
He lost himself in the moment.
He lost his head.
What the fuck was I thinking?!
Slowly, he leaned his head back and braced himself for the fallout. He expected to see regret, shame, or even anger reflected at him through Bridget's eyes.
What he didn't expect to see was a smile and more warmth than he'd ever seen radiating from her bright eyes. All directed at him.
“That was...” She searched his face as her tongue flicked out to wet her dry lips. “Really fucking hot.”
His relieved breath puffed out with a laugh.
“Yeah. That's exactly what that was.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
That evening found Garrison and Bridget sitting on the couch with three dogs and two cats stretched across their laps. Bridget was perfectly at ease since that arrangement was her everyday life, but Garrison seemed content as well. That surprised her, seeing as how he was a big, bad, hardass Marine, but she didn't dare question it.
With Garrison's warm body next to her, she didn't want to jinx it. Since her furbabies were holding them captive, they passed the time by catching up on all that had happened in the last decade.
Bridget snuggled into the couch and scratched Charlie's muzzle as she listened to stories of Garrison's Marine exploits, laughing along when he talked about Owen and all the trouble they found themselves in, and cringing at parts that were obviously difficult for Garrison to talk about.
When the conversation turned to Bridget, Garrison wanted to know more about her life, and she was all too happy to have someone to talk to that didn't walk on four legs. For the first time in years, she shared her grief over her parents' death, and the newfound happiness she'd stumbled across when she decided to open Till Park Animal Sanctuary.
“Mom and dad left me everything. Their life savings and the land,” she said explaining how she kept the place afloat. “So, we do pretty well. The hardest part is seeing all the animals come and go. It's supposed to be a happy day, adoption day, but sometimes it's hard letting go, you know?”
“I bet,” he agreed. “But on the business side of things, couldn't the state fund something like this, that way you wouldn't have to use your personal savings?”
She nodded quickly. “They can and they do, but I have the money so why take funding away from those that don't?”
Garrison shifted Bug the Pug off his stomach and onto his lap, even though he whined in protest. “Well, what happens when the money runs out? You can't live and run this place solely off your savings and donations, can you?”
“I could, actually,” she said, “but I don't.”
“So where's the extra money come from?”
She looked up to meet Garrison's eyes as she felt a heavy blush streak across her cheeks. She'd shared a lot with him in the last few hours (more than she intended to) but she wasn't quite sure she was ready to share everything.
“Bridget...” he said, drawing her name out jokingly. “Are you hooking?”
“What!?” She slung a throw pillow at his face as he rolled with laughter.
“No, I'm not selling my body, you ass!”
He winked and reconsidered. “Selling organs on the black market?”
“Again, no... ass.”
“Okay, okay,” he chuckled before growing serious. “Then what's the side action?”
“I run an online art store,” she said, embarrassment tinging her voice.
“An online art- oooh, that's right. You were pretty artsy back in school, weren't you?”
She shrugged. “Not really, but I'm better now. I'm no Vincent van Gogh, but I'm decent.”
He reached forward and clutched her hand, running his thumb across her knuckles as she melted into his touch. “I don't know why you're trying to seem indifferent about something you're clearly passionate about. I mean, I don't know much about art, but it must be pretty good if it's selling, right?”
“I guess.”
Again, she shrugged it off like it wasn't a big deal. In her mind, it wasn't. No one in her family had ever taken an interest in her art, and her friends all thought it was a waste of time.
“I'm curious as to where you picked up such an ample amount of humility.”
Bridget cocked her head and watched as Garrison moved his beer to the end table and shooed all the sleeping animals away. When it was just the two of them, he stood and held out his hand, but she eyed him warily.
“What?”
A charming smile framed his straight, white teeth and she tried not to swoon.
“Show me.”
Laughter erupted from her plain lips as her head shook vigorously. “No. No way in hell.”
“Stop being modest,” he urged, lightly kicking the side of her foot with his. “C'mon.”
“Maybe some other time, Garrison.”
Bridget snuggled into the arm of the couch and refused to budge. It was clear he could read the insecurity dancing behind her closed lids, but she just didn't care. At least, she didn't want to.
“Look at me.”
Bridget looked up, not because of his command, but because of the soft way his mouth caressed the words.
“I'm quickly learning that everything about you is genuine and beautiful, and I doubt this part of you is any different.”
She sucked in a quick, surprised breath. No one had ever spoken to her like that. Ever. But as swayed by his words as she was, she still wasn't budging. There were very few things she was self-conscious about, but her art was at the very top of her list.
“Nope.”
His shoulders fell. “Well that sucks,” he muttered. “I'm a bit disappointed.”
“Why is that?” She turned her head to face him, sure he was going to spout off some crap about being an art lover or wanting to know about all the different aspects of her life; something cheesy.
But he fell silent as he glanced around the room, rocking back and forth on his heels with hands stuffed in his pockets. The very picture of nonchalance.
When his eyes stopped roaming and landed back on her face, he stopped moving.
“Just... disappointed in you.”
Bridget's molars ached as she clenched her teeth. Hard. “What about me?”
His green eyes narrowed as he leaned over her, one hand on the back of the couch, the other pressing down on the cushion at her side.
“I didn't take you for a coward.”
Her shoulders hit the back of the couch as she scoffed. “That- no. I know what you're doing. That reverse psychology crap doesn't work on me.”
He leaned in closer, grinning as she grew flustered.
“Well, the gun, the new career, the independent thing you've got going on here.” He waved up and down her body, his eyes following. “You just seemed so... fearless.”
“It has nothing to do with fear,” she bit back.
“It's okay,” he soothed, moving one hand to her cheek. “I understand if you've grown a little meek over the years, but-”
“Meek?!” She roared. “I am not meek!”
“It's okay, babe. It's not a character flaw.”
In a flash, Bridget shot off the couch, grabbed Garrison's hand, and began dragging him through the house.
“The hell it isn't,” she spat.
At the end of the hallway, Bridget swung open a door, flipped on the light, and ushered Garrison inside. The small office was filled corner to corner with canvases and Garrison took a moment to beam at her while she fumed quietly in the threshold.
“Yes, I'm well aware of what just happened there, but I'll be damned if I let someone get away with calling me meek.”
“Twice in one day.” He chuckled before catching her glare and sobering his smile. “Ah, sorry.”
When Garrison turned back around and actually began inspecting the various sized canvases, his shoulders fell slack. Bright colors and dark contrasts stared back at him. Animals made of small dots or long brush strokes. Faces composed of a combination of paint and newspaper print. Sunsets and waterfalls and wide open pastures filled with remarkable detail. Bridget followed him closely, trying to see her work through his eyes.
“You did all these?” He asked, quietly inspecting a painting of a stallion chasing down a twister.
She grinned, overjoyed by the gleam in his eyes. “I did.”
“Wow.”
Garrison slowly took it all in, even revisiting some pieces more than once. When he'd eaten up every bit of the visual buffet she offered, he stopped in front of an easel covered with a white sheet.
“What's this?”
As he reached for the corner, Bridget grabbed hold of his hand and stepped in front of the mystery piece.
“That one's not finished yet. I just started it.”
He nodded, and she was thankful he didn't pry. After they killed the lights and shut the door, they made their way into the kitchen.
“An animal savior and an artist.” Garrison leaned in close, pinning her hips against the granite island. “Not gonna lie, I'm impressed.”
Shyly, she thanked him as he brushed his lips across her temple and down her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat, overwhelmed by how close she was letting him, and she took a second to remind herself that this was only temporary. A fling. He'd be gone soon and she wouldn't have to worry about the dangers of venturing into parts of her life she'd never revealed to anyone.
“Any other hidden talents I should know about?”
She reached up and scratched her nails through his five o'clock shadow.
“There might be... one or two things I could show you.”
Squeezing his hand in hers, Bridget excitedly led him to the bedroom, making sure to close the door behind them so no uninvited guests decided to nose their way under the covers. When they were plunged into darkness, they reached for each other, both closing their eyes, relying on touch alone to get them where they wanted to be.
Strong fingers wove their way into Bridget's hair as she was pulled against an unyielding chest.
“Sorry about before.” He said, laying a hot, breathy kiss to her forehead. “It was spur of the moment and I was kind of careless.”
With nothing but devious intentions spinning through her mind, Bridget pushed Garrison toward the bed. When his knees hit and the mattress sunk beneath his weight, she untucked his shirt and let her fingers trace the ridges of his abdomen.
“That's what IUDs are for.”
After unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his jeans, and working down his zipper, Bridget sank to her knees in front of him. When hard fingers gripped her shoulder, she stalled.
“Do you feel like we're going really fucking fast here?” Garrison asked, slowly growing breathless.
Bridget tugged on his jeans until his erection sprung free. “Does that bother you?”
“A little bit. You?”
“Yeah. A little.”
“Do you want me to slow down?”
“Hell no.”
“Thank God.”
All conversation ceased as Bridget took his length into her mouth. She concentrated on breathing through her nose as the rounded tip of his shaft pounded against the back of her throat. All the moans and curses that whispered through his lips spurred her on, and she hummed against him as he thrust both hands into her hair.
It had been so long since she'd been with a man, and she was self conscious of every lick, every suck, every caress. But the way Garrison trembled reassured her that whatever she was doing, she was doing it right.
Just when she was sure he was about to cannonball over the edge, Garrison stopped her by lunging forward, grabbing her under the arms, and lifting her up until they sat eye-to-eye. With her arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist, he shifted both their bodies up higher on the bed before rolling her over onto her back and ridding her of every scrap of clothing she wore.
She gasped as he shot down the bed and situated himself until his breath brushed across her thighs. She silently wished for enough light to see the want painting his face, but not even a sliver of moonlight shone through her curtains.
When he sucked her clit between his lips, she screamed out in pleasure and roughly fisted her hands in his hair, urging him on. She pushed him closer to her body, hips thrusting against his mouth as his tongue swirled around her sensitive nub. He dipped down and began lapping in and out of her wet heat, and her spine arched off the bed.
“Garrison!”
Just when she was approaching the brink of ecstasy, he stopped short. She squirmed as he climbed back up the bed, silenced her wails with a kiss, and buried himself inside her. Her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him as close as possible. Breathing in tandem, they reached the peak together and tumbled back down in a sweaty, tingling tangle of limbs.
Hours later, wrapped in a cool white sheet and each others company, they indulged in something they'd both been without for years: Pillow talk.
“You ever get really bored out here by yourself?”
Bridget propped her head up on one hand and thought about his question as she traced the wrinkles in her sheets.
“Not really. I actually like the solitude. I'm able to focus and I don't have someone around all the time monitoring my every move. If I don't want to do the dishes, I don't have to. If I want to have a bowl of popcorn and a jar of peanut butter for dinner, I can. If ten dogs want to sleep in my bed, well, there's no one there to bitch about it.”
Garrison kissed her bare shoulder and pulled her in close.
“So, you never get lonely?”
“Well, yeah, but-” she stopped, realizing what her answer could possibly imply.
“This-” she gestured between their bodies, “-this wasn't about loneliness. I hope you know that. It was more about, I don't know... longing.”
“Longing, huh?” He winked.
“Yeah.” A slow smile curved across her lips. “Longing.”
Wrapping her in the strong comfort of his arms, he snuggled closer and she laughed when his scruff tickled her skin. It had been a long time since she'd enjoyed the company of a man, especially a naked man who looked so damn good wrapped in her sheets.
“Talk about coming a long way,” he laughed. “From lunchroom antics to-”
Ice water dumped into Bridget's veins as she slapped a hand to his chest. “Don't. Don't go there. Not right now, please.”
He quickly abandoned what he was going to say and kissed her temple instead, bringing a hand up to massage and tease the curve of her side. The brief reminder was out there in the open air, but she wasn't going to let it ruin her. Not tonight. And judging by the way Garrison was easing his knee between her legs, he was going to make her forget he'd ever mentioned it.
“Where would you like me to go?”
Thankful for the change, Bridget tapped her chin, pursing her lips as she pretended to think.
“I'm thinking... the shower.”
One thick brow arched as he smiled. “Are you trying to tell me that I stink?”
“No.” She kissed his stubbled chin before dipping down and running her tongue around his exposed nipple. “I'm trying to tell you that soaping you up would be really, really fun.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Although Garrison had always been one to enjoy a woman's company, he was surprised by how easily Bridget made him laugh, how her wit was sharp as a tack, and how being around her instilled a calm in him he'd never felt before. Sitting next to her, talking to her, being inside her; every move they made together was natural. Like breathing. No matter how many women he'd been with, as the hours stacked on top of one another, he was quickly realizing that none of them held a candle to Bridget.
The woman he once damned to hell on a daily basis now met every single line of criteria he deemed mandatory for his ideal woman. Smart. Check. Passionate. Check. Warm and understanding. Check and check. An unstoppable and insatiable force in bed. Triple check.
As the week passed and they grew closer, Garrison became more ensnared in the web that was Bridget Warner. When she finally asked him to stay the night, he'd thrown his bag in the car, stopped at the liquor store for a bottle of wine, and was on his way down her winding drive before she ever hung up the phone. He needed a reprieve from his hard hotel mattress for a night, and what better way to spend that time than in a beautiful woman's arms.
When Garrison stepped through the front door and called her name, he was surprised the tail-wagging welcoming committee didn't greet him with sloppy kisses and wet noses. When he strode into the kitchen, he found Bridget leaned over the counter, checking something boiling on the stove. Whatever it was, its fragrant aroma met him in the threshold and beckoned him to come steal a bite. But not before stealing a kiss from the gorgeous woman he couldn't stop thinking about.
“Dinner and a sleepover?” He wrapped his arms around Bridget's waist and pulled her in close. “I hit the jackpot.”
After placing a lid on the still-bubbling pan, she turned in his arms and gave him a proper welcome kiss, complete with an ample amount of tongue and moans to match. He tucked her in close to his body, massaging his hand up and down her back while stealing a grope or two. When she slipped her warm hands up the back of his shirt and tauntingly raked her fingernails down his skin, he pulled away a fraction of an inch.
