Then I kissed him, open mouths, sliding my tongue inside.

He let me, not taking over or anything.

He tasted like toothpaste and Merry, an awesome combination.

The last thing I’d had the night before was a Baby Ruth bar and a can of Diet 7UP, but I figured that had long since worn off and maybe I didn’t taste so good.

I didn’t care. I went for it, drawing him in, my insides contracting like they were caving in on an empty that had to be filled or I’d shrink to nothing, and the only sustenance it would accept was a healthy dose of Garrett Merrick.

So I fed from him, trailing my hand up his shirt from his abs to his chest, my fingers clenching in, pulling him closer to me and going for more.

Merry gave it and kept giving until his groan throbbed through my pussy, making it contract.

He pulled his lips away and landed a peck on the side of my mouth before he moved back minutely and looked into my eyes.

“I like how you wake up, baby, but you got shit timing. I have to get Ethan to school.”

I stared up at him and slowly let his shirt go as I just as slowly turned my head to look at the alarm clock.

Ethan had to leave for school in exactly three minutes.

My alarm didn’t go off.

What the fuck?

I looked back to Merry. “Ethan’s ready for school?”

“Got up, got him up, got him doin’ his thing. I made him breakfast. He’s ready to roll. Just didn’t want you to wake up and freak, so I woke you to let you know he’s all good, I got him, and you can sleep in.”

I could sleep in?

Merry made my son breakfast?

Merry had him?

A fog filled my head as this knowledge processed through me.

Since he was born, mornings with Ethan were mine. With my work history, they were the only times that were guaranteed, him and me. For breakfast. When he was a baby, a toddler, a little kid, for cuddles. On the weekend, for hanging together and watching cartoons. Before school, shooting the shit and making sure he was good to face the day.

That was mine.

No one got that.

Not even my mom.

When I worked late, she stayed at my place and either slept on the couch if she was tired or went home when I got home. If I had to count on Feb, Vi, anyone, I went to go get my kid, shuffling him out half asleep to my car, helping him drop into his own bed.

It might not be right, making a kid switch beds in the middle of the night, but my kid woke up in his bed with his mom there to take care of him.

And he did not wake up with some guy in the house that he knew but he did not know what that man was to his mother.