Protect (41 page)

“I’m getting there, baby. Let me work here,”
he said with a smile, hands smoothing over her breasts, cupping
their weight so his thumbs could play at her hard nipples.

“God,” she gasped.

“Baby, you are hot tonight.”

“Fritter, please.”

He pressed his lips to the skin between her
breasts, breathing deep as he did so. She smelled so good, and his
erection surged again. Then he licked at one nipple slowly,
teasing.

“God! Fritter! Stop fucking around.”

“I like doing this, honey.” He moved to her
other nipple and her hands clutched at his hair, back bowing so her
breasts were thrust upwards.

“You have to get on with it. Honest to
Christ, I’m dying here.”

“You aren’t dying, baby. You’re very alive. I
can tell.”

“Quit fucking around!” she growled, and he
chuckled before closing his mouth around one peaked nipple and
sucking hard. “Oh! Fuck.”

Her hips pushed to his leg again, moving her
hot core on his skin and he could feel the wet through her panties.
Fuck, that did it.

He shoved off of her and yanked at her
panties as she made a moan of frustration. Then he curled forward
over his own lap, parting her legs, fingers digging into the backs
of her thighs as he forced her knees up to her chest. Then he ate
her fast, rough, with teeth nipping and lips sucking until she
cried out. Not a squeak or a deep tremble during complete silence.
She made the most fantastic sound as she came and his cock nearly
followed.

It was sheer willpower that stopped him, and
when he sat up, wiping his chin, the sight that greeted him was
amazing, even if it was in the half-light of the street standard in
front of her house, softened by her curtains. Her legs splayed
wide, hands over her head to clutch at the pillow behind her head,
face to the side with her eyes closed. She was panting, sounding
exactly like she was trying to catch her breath.

He moved up over her, hands planted on each
side of her hips, eyes on her shining sex. He could feel his cock
weeping, wanting in so badly.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured. “I’m not going to
last.”

She gave a light laugh, still breathless.

“You still want me?”

In answer she wrapped one leg around his
lower back, and the other hit the back of his thigh nearly
immediately after. With her hips tilting up he fell forward, the
tip of him brushing against where she was so very, very wet.

“Wait,” he grunted, eyes crossing just from
that. “I should wrap up.”

“Are you ... are you clean?”

He swallowed, but forced himself to be
honest. “Had my last tests over ten months ago, baby. I was clean
then, but...”

“You better wrap up,” she whispered, and he
nodded. Quick as he’d ever moved while not under fire he darted to
his jeans, rooted around in the pockets and finally found what he
was looking for. He was sheathed by the time he scurried back into
bed.

“We both get tested soon as possible,” she
whispered as he got into position.

“Yeah?”

He could just make out that she was nodding.
“I want to feel you.”

Fritter eased into her slowly, her head going
back, making room for him to nuzzle at the gentle column of her
neck. “I want to feel you too, Sharon. Fuck, I
need
to feel
it.”

“You will. Now fuck me, Fritter.”

So he did. Then he fell asleep holding her,
not waking up once.

She had fucking
nerves
, and it had
nothing to do with her career in law enforcement. No, it was
meeting Fritter’s
mother
and sharing the news that she was
going to make him a father that had Sharon inside out and
sideways.

The stupid part was that she knew Fritter’s
mother. They were acquainted well enough that if they saw each
other in the street or in a shop they could chat comfortably for a
few minutes. Obviously she’d heard about the video, and now they
were heading to his mother’s for supper and to share the happy
news.

Many times Sharon had asked Fritter what she
should bring, and he’d given her a blank look and only said “Ma’s
cooking. We don’t need to bring anything.”

So, absolutely no help there.

But clearly something needed to be made and
brought along to contribute. Sharon liked cooking and baking,
hadn’t done it in a while, but nonetheless she had the time now so
she wanted to make more of an effort than just bringing a bottle of
wine. Plus, she was pregnant. She didn’t want his mom thinking she
was drinking while carrying his child.

She decided on making a salad. You could
never have too many vegetable options, and salads weren’t pushy and
didn’t scream for attention or praise. However, she wanted a salad
complicated enough to show she’d made an effort.

Fuck, this was all so stressful.

That morning she’d decided that as long as he
wanted to, she’d love to wake up with Fritter every morning. He’d
explained he had “club shit” to do so he had to go in early, but
apparently he suffered horribly from morning wood. It’d taken one
round in bed and another in the shower before he’d been able to go
about his day.

Poor thing.

After they’d had a breakfast of oatmeal and
fruit together he went off to do his club shit, and she headed into
the supermarket to get all the things her salad would require.
She’d have to slice up a fuck load of cucumbers, but there was a
hot pepper component that would make it all very interesting. And
she had
none
of the ingredients in the house.

It did occur to her that she was stupidly
happy as she pushed her little shopping cart down the store aisle.
She was likely grinning like a moron, too. As much as she worried
over meeting Fritter’s mom, she was also skimming along the tide of
great morning sex and the way that Fritter’s calm always seemed to
fill a room and convince her that everything was going to be
okay.

And all it had taken was him carrying her to
bed the night before. In all her life that had never once happened.
Her ex-husband would shake her foot and say “If you’re falling
asleep you should just go to bed,” while he watched some stupid
thing on TV she had zero interest in.

Carrying her to bed wasn’t daring or brave,
but it told her Fritter would take care of her. No matter if she
needed help big or small. And as fucked up and vulnerable as she
felt, she was clinging to that with everything she had. And smiling
while she did it.

At the grocery store, after picking up the
basics of milk, eggs and juice, she headed to the produce section
for all the fresh salad ingredients. She rounded the corner and her
wire cart clipped the corner of someone coming the opposite
way.

With a startled, “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” she
yanked her cart back, and the other person circled the corner wider
to miss her. Sharon felt her stomach drop the second she recognized
Jolene Grainger, then she felt confused as she saw the baby-faced
Red Rebel, Spaz, following Mickey’s widow, looking like there were
a million other places he’d rather be.

“Jolene,” Sharon greeted her, trying her best
not to smile awkwardly. The last time she’d seen this curvy
brunette she’d been about to tackle or punch Sharon; she’d never
found out which because someone had intervened. Sharon’s eyes
darted to Spaz, who nodded politely, then settled on Jolene again.
She tried to smile, keeping her voice soft as she said, “It’s good
to see you.”

The woman leaned over the handle of her
shopping cart, eyes narrowing as she spat out, “Fuck. You.”

Sharon reared back as Spaz tried to take
Jolene’s arm, but she pulled it away and swayed against her cart
slightly. “Don’t fucking touch me, shithead.”

It didn’t take a genius to tell that Jolene
was wasted. Sharon looked around to see that people had already
taken notice of what was happening, and she was drawing just as
much interest as a shouting intoxicated person.

Shit.

“I think you should probably get her home,”
Sharon suggested softly to Spaz, and he stared back at her like she
was nuts.

“You think this was
my
idea?” he
asked.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not right
fucking
here
!” Her words were slurring, but the last two
were plenty loud and shrill. It seemed the whole store had fallen
silent. Weren’t they playing music before?

“Jolene—” She didn’t get further than
that.

“You must be so fucking happy. You’re not
only getting laid, now you get to have a baby, too.” Jolene gave a
ridiculous laugh, the worst acting of her life. “A baby for Gertie.
A baby for Rose. Even a baby for
you
with your fucking old
uterus and eggs. Even
you
get a baby.” Spaz was trying to
push her now, but Jolene’s eyes were locked on Sharon and her heels
dug in. “Babies for everyone, but not me! Nope, not me! I don’t
even get to keep my husband!”

Sharon was frozen in place, hearing the gasps
as people watched Jolene being hustled out of the store, her
shopping cart abandoned. When the yelling stopped, Sharon cast her
eyes around the produce department, a lump rising in her throat.
Everyone was staring at her. Every single fucking person. And the
groups of people started whispering behind their hands, and her
face was burning before she even realized she was humiliated.

She abandoned her cart, tears starting to
warm her eyes, and made for the parking lot to get the fuck away.
Her happy vibe was gone, the warmness of the day that had started
to perfectly shattered and gone within the seconds it took for a
grieving woman to tear her to emotional shreds.

Once she was safely sequestered in her home
she let the tears fall, going the extra mile of insanity by calling
Fritter and leaving a mess of a voice mail on his phone since,
because of his “club shit,” he couldn’t pick up.

“Fritter? Please call your mom and excuse me
from dinner. You go without me. I can’t be around anyone. I’m
sorry.” The whole while she was weeping and sniveling and knowing
why
she was such a fucking mess, but there was nothing to be
done about it.

Instead of making the complicated salad,
Sharon went to back to bed and fell asleep after a half hour of
gut-churning embarrassment and heightened emotion.

-oOo-

Earp barking brought her awake. She sat up,
knowing at some point during her sleep he’d joined her in her room
once she’d quieted down, curling up on the floor next to the bed.
Now he was gone, and it sounded like he was by the back door.

He never barked to be let out into the yard,
he had a doggie door. He rarely
barked
.

There was a hollow
thunk
at the back
of the house and Earp lost his shit again, then Sharon’s pulse
started racing. Someone was on the back deck; those were footsteps
on the boards.

She lunged for the nightstand, yanking the
drawer open and pulling out her own personal handgun: a Colt Pony.
Small, compact, easy to carry. And she had a permit for it,
too.

She checked the barrel, confirmed she was
loaded, then got to her feet carefully, straining to hear clues as
to where people were around her house.

There was nothing other than the barking of
the dog. She crept down the hallway, noting that the doors to the
other rooms were mostly closed. She tried to see the windows
without pushing them open but there wasn’t enough of an angle.

She came to a stop at the mouth of the
hallway. The sheers were pulled closed over her front window, but
she saw a man standing right in front of it, motioning with one
hand to the front door. His arm was down, exactly like he was
holding a weapon while trying to keep it from view.

With a loud swallow she side-stepped into the
kitchen, where the blind on the window over the sink was pulled all
the way down. It was
always
down these days. But in the
crack underneath something moved, interrupting the sunshine that
was trying to get in.

Earp was still at the back door, and she went
there. The cafe curtains that were pulled taught across the small
window in the door let in light, and she could see a silhouette
there, too.

Three people, four if the guy in the front
was gesturing to someone.

Her decision was easy. She made for the
bedroom where it was dark, pulled out her cell and called the
clubhouse.

She got Tiny, which was a shock. She assumed
“club shit” meant deliveries. Tiny drove a truck. She got over that
fast as Earp continued barking.

“Tiny, it’s Sharon.”

“Is everything okay?” Alert, just from her
voice. That was a bit of a relief.

“No. There are men outside the house. My dog
is freaking out. They’re at both doors, far as I can tell. Three or
four of them.”

“We’re coming.” With that he disconnected and
she put the phone down, then waited.

It wasn’t a long wait. The back door
splintered, Earp going crazy. Someone shouted and the shot startled
her as Earp continued barking, now intercut with snarling.

They were going to shoot her dog.

Stupidly she got up and raced down the hall,
just in time to see a man all in black, including an MC kutte,
raise his arm, a Glock ready to issue a round into Earp’s unaware
head. Her dog had his jaws locked on the intruder’s arm, pulling
and yanking and trying to toss his head back and forth with his
prize.

She still hadn’t been noticed. With a
strange, cool, calm, Sharon stopped where she was, planted her feet
and brought the Pony up. He never even knew she was there until a
chunk of his skull was sent out the back of his head and he dropped
forward. Earp barely got out of the way and let go, then scurried
back to her.

“Good boy,” she was whispering, moving
forward and picking up the Glock. Earp’s whines were a high-pitched
annoyance but she kept her eyes on the back door, and sure enough
another man stepped through. He was better prepared and forewarned,
and his arms were already up with a pump action shotgun held out in
front.