“Your mom wants me back, I’ll eat at her table. But you tell her that shit—no flowers.”
I nodded.
He said no more.
“Why no flowers, baby?” I asked quietly.
“Cecelia liked flowers.”
I shook my head.
His baby niece liked flowers?
“I—”
“My mother, Cher.”
I shut my mouth.
Shit.
Shit.
Fucking shit.
“We Merricks aren’t real good at sittin’ down with family.”
“Your mom liked doin’ that,” I whispered.
“Every night. No fail. And either Dad bought ’em or she got ’em herself, but in our house, there were lots of flowers.”
God.
God, Merry.
“Weak,” he grunted, that one word sounding torn from him in a way so extreme, it also ripped through me.
“What?” I asked, knowing we were now somewhere else. I wasn’t keeping up, but it was essential that I did.
“This shit. I’m fuckin’ forty-two and still not over it. It’s weak.”
Was he crazy?
“I dread it,” I told him.
“Bet you do,” he said like he knew what he was talking about.
Maybe he did.
I told him anyway.
“The day I lose her…I dread it. She’s been there. Always been there. I fucked up, Merry. You know I did. But it was worse when I was a kid. Christ, when I was a teenager, I fucked up, but she was always there. She held my hand when I pushed out Ethan. She looks after him just as much as me. She’s always there and I love that. I love her. But I know she’s gonna go. It’s the way it is. And I dread it. I know I’ll never get over it. It’ll be like a piece was torn from my heart and it’ll never beat the same way again. I know that. And I also know feelin’ that feeling is so far from weak it isn’t funny.”
Merry didn’t move, not even his mouth.
“Lord forbid it happens anything like the way you lost yours. Won’t be in my power however it goes down. But the way you lost your momma, Merry…God.” I shook my head, feeling moist in my eyes. “The beauty you are, standin’ right there? I don’t know how that could be. I’m breakin’ my back to give Ethan good and I’m doin’ it with fingers crossed, hopin’ he grows up half the man you are. You lost your momma and you’re all that.” I swung a hand to him. “You’re fuckin’ straight up crazy if you think any of that is weak. Love is not weak. Grief is not weak. Lovin’ her so much you’re givin’ that to her decades after she’s been gone and you’re still standing? Baby, seriously, how the fuck can you think that’s weak?”
“Come here, Cher,” he ordered.
“No,” I denied, thinking I needed to sort his shit out. “Answer me.”
“Come…” he drew in a breath that didn’t work and I knew it when the next was growled, “here, Cher.”
I looked into his eyes.
Then I walked there.
Four feet away, he lunged at me, hooked my waist with his arm, and I was flying through the air. My surprised cry stuck in my throat when my back hit the dining room table with Merry bent over me.
He kissed me, hard and wet and brutal, his hands tearing at my clothes.
I tried to get to his.
He broke the kiss and ordered, “Arms over your head, Cherie.”
“Baby,” I whispered.
“Do it,” he grunted.
I lifted my arms over my head, staring into his blue eyes, panting.
He dropped his mouth to mine and took it in another savage kiss.
Then I kept my arms over my head as he pulled off my top.
I kept them over my head as he yanked off my boots.
I kept them over my head as he tore my jeans and panties down my legs.
I kept them over my head as he tugged the cup of my bra down my tit and went at me, tonguing, sucking, biting.
I kept them over my head (but did it squirming) as he went after the other tit.
And I kept them over my head when he lifted his head and watched me as his hand dove between my legs.
“Bein’ good,” he muttered thickly.
“Give you what you need,” I panted back.
Emotion rolled over his face, God, so much of it, it was a wonder it didn’t drown me.
He drove two fingers inside and found my clit with his thumb.
“Give that back,” he growled.
Fuck, he did. He gave that back. So good. So hot. I forgot what was going on in my need for him and I shifted my arms so I could touch him.
“Baby.”
My eyes had closed, and when he said that, his fingers stilled, so I opened them.
I settled my arms over my head again.
He went back at me.
I arched, driving down into his hand, begging for more.
He gave it.
I rode it.
“Don’t you come, Cherie,” he ordered.
I tried to focus. “Merry.”
“You come when I got my dick in you.”
He kept at me and I whimpered.
He was asking the impossible.
But I was going to do my all to give it to him.
He dipped in and his mouth brushed mine. “Give me what I need.”
“Okay, honey.”
He stayed close but tipped his chin down to watch what he was doing to me.
God.
Hot.
“Need your cock, baby,” I begged.
“Give me more.”
I gave him more, writhing on his dining room table as he toyed with me.
“Need you, Merry,” I gasped. “And wanna hold on when you fuck me.”
He looked from his hand between my legs into my eyes.