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Moving my hips, I try to guide Garrison’s tongue to the place I want it. The place I need it.
“His lips pressed against mine. So soft that I almost couldn’t feel them.” His tongue grazes my clit and I struggle for a moment. “It wasn’t enough, and I shoved my tongue into his mouth as he carried me to the bed.”
Garrison’s tongue licks fervently between my thighs, repeatedly narrowly missing the mark. Unintentionally edging the fuck out of me.
“Climbing over me onto the bed, he settles himself between my thighs.” I lace my fingers into Garrison’s hair. Fisting it tightly, I hold him in place as I work my clit against his tongue.
Hell…
My fiancé’s face is buried between my thighs, and I’m moments from coming while he unknowingly listens to me tell him all about my fantasy of his father.
Going straight to fucking hell
“Fuck,” I groan breathlessly as I grind my hips against his face.
With my eyes closed, I imagine the salt and pepper hair between my fingers. Grant devouring my pussy before sliding inside of me.
“Laying on top of me, he kissed and sucked across my chest.” I struggle to get out each word as I creep toward my impending orgasm, “grinding every inch of his massive—”
My thighs tremble against the sides of Garrison’s face as the orgasm wracks through my body. Holding him in place, my hips writhe against his tongue, practically forcing him to make me come again.
“Fuck, Angel,” Garrison growls as I release my tight grip on his hair. His face is coated in my arousal when he sits back on his feet. “What’s gotten into you?”
Your father…
“I’m fucking covered in you, hard as fucking hell.” His hand rubs over the bulge in his pants. “And I don’t have time to do anything about it.”
“Are you coming?” Grant’s voice carries through the door as he knocks gently.
“She was,” Garrison whispers with a smirk as he stands between my thighs before shouting at the door. “I’ll be down in a minute. I just need to change my shirt.”
“Shit,” I slap my hand over my mouth, “Do you think he heard me?”
CHAPTER
SIX
GRANT
Standing at the guest bedroom door, my hand is on the knob. Every fiber of my being wanting to turn it and give Abigail more of what she obviously so desperately needs.
Releasing the doorknob, I slide my palm over the length of my hardened cock fighting for room in the confines of my pants. Not being able to put my cock inside her is only going to add to my frustrations this morning.
I’ve been up since dawn, dealing with the situation Edmund reached out about last night. Delving through digital files at the Adelaide Cove Police Department from the comforts of my home office, I found the woman from The Rusty Anchor. She’s a twenty-six-year-old waitress living in a shit trailer in a questionable area of town, and from what I can gather, she has zero ties to Adelaide Cove. She lives with her five-year-old son, and I can’t find a shred of information regarding his father. If it weren’t for the kid, this could be a cheap as hell fix.
“Grab the bag.” I tip my head to the floor as Garrison reaches the bottom of the steps. He grunts lifting the duffel bag as I walk out the front door and toward the awaiting SUV at the bottom of the steps.
“Where are we going?” Garrison questions as he climbs into the passenger seat.
“To take care of a problem.” I slip the Tahoe into drive and begin to make my way across town. We ride in silence; his eyes fixated out the window at a part of town he has probably never seen before.
Pulling down a gravel road, I come to a stop before a rusted, single-wide trailer that probably should have been condemned ten years ago. Garrison turns toward me with an inquisitive look on his face when I put the SUV in park.
“Take the bag. Ring the bell and tell her the following: Nothing happened at The Anchor. You inherited some money, and you’re going to start a new life for you and Tyler.” I give him the instructions. “Don’t give your name, and don’t fuck this up.”
He swallows hard and nods before retrieving the bag from the backseat. I watch as he tentatively walks up the rickety steps to the front door. A pretty, yet grossly underweight, brunette answers the door and she hesitantly takes the bag from Garrison. Placing the heavy duffle at her feet, she bends down to unzip it and pulls out of the stacks of bound hundred-dollar bills. She nervously gives a few quick shakes of her head before pulling the bag inside and shutting the door.
Garrison climbs back into the car, and from the look on his face, it is apparent he has questions. He also knows his place and will not ask a single one of them.
