Protect Read online

  So that was tomorrow. Tonight he was spending the entire night with her.

  The ease of walking into her home with a key—a key she’d given him—was something that made his chest expand. The way her mutt of a dog ambled to him, having heard him on the stoop supposedly, tail wagging, was like being hugged by her entire world all at once.

  After stooping to give Earp a little affection he straightened and moved to the kitchen, where the lights were all on. No one was in there so he shut them off and turned to the living room. A lamp was on next to the sofa, and Sharon was curled up on the end closest to it, a book open and resting on her chest. Her legs and feet were covered by a throw blanket, and she was fast asleep.

  He smiled down on her, then gingerly plucked the book from her light hold, placing it opened flat on the coffee table. He headed to the bedroom, pulled her blankets back on what was obviously her side of the bed, then returned to the sofa. When he stooped to gather her up in his arms she woke, like he expected, but she nestled into his chest, head on his shoulder, not saying a word.

  That felt good, too.

  It was no strain to place her in bed and tuck her in, then he turned off the lights in the living room and made sure all doors and windows were closed up tight before returning to her. He slid into bed next to her in his shorts, smiling as the smell of Sharon and fresh laundry surrounded him.

  “Fritter?”

  “Yeah?”

  There was shifting on the bed and then she was close, arm sliding over his stomach. He lifted his arm out of the way and she tucked herself under it, head on his chest, leg hitching over his. Jesus, she was so warm from sleeping.

  “You okay?” he asked, since she hadn’t replied yet.

  “I’m good. Glad you’re here.”

  He grinned up at the ceiling in the dark. “Me too, baby.”

  She shivered at that, nuzzling closer, her hand starting to move back and forth on his stomach. “Really glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah?”

  Instead of answering, her hand moved lower, thumb sliding under the waistband of his boxers. Then she spoke. “Really glad.”

  “Baby, aren’t you tired?”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “You need sleep.”

  “I’ll sleep better.”

  He was hard, painfully so, had been since he crawled into this Sharon-scented refuge. Her moving against him, her hips rubbing at his, breasts pushing into his side, hand teasing him ...

  He moved so fast she made a squeak of surprise. She was pinned under him, his thigh parting her legs and his knee riding up close enough to rub against her. With a soft gasp she went pliant and it was her that slid her tongue into his mouth when he kissed her.

  His hands were slow as they slid under the huge T-shirt she had on, and he made a note to give her one of his shirts to sleep in. He liked the idea of her wearing something of his to bed. When he was pushing the shirt up she began squirming, letting go of him and tugging at the neck of it as well. He made it go away as fast as he could, then her chest met his, bare and warm, and his erection kicked.

  “Fritter,” she whimpered, her legs wrapping around his and her hips moving to rub on his leg.

  “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.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  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 issu
e 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.

  She fired off one round then ran for the bedroom again, Earp on her heels now. She slammed the door shut then cried out and ducked low as the shotgun issued a booming report, tearing into her door.

  That wrecked any calm she had. She wasn’t hit, her door was in tatters, and Earp was hiding on the far side of the bed now, but she was stunned to the point of inactivity. All she heard was her own breathing and the sound of the next shell being chambered in that twelve gauge in the hall.

  She backed up, too slowly, as the man with the shotgun kicked her bedroom door in. He stalked right to her, grabbing her arm and reaching for her Pony.

  The machine came off pause. She resisted, kicking his knee and pulling back on her right arm while shoving his arm holding the shotgun with her left. He pulled the trigger again and it fired uselessly into the floor.

  Now he’d need to pump it to use it again.

  She squeezed off a round on the Pony as her grip tightened to keep him from getting it from her. Her back was to the front of the dresser, and he had her forced all the way back so her spine was arching severely. Her shoulders actually reached the mirrored back. With all this struggling she hadn’t noticed much, but when he gave a marrow-chilling chuckle she felt his erection against her stomach.