She sighed. She was thirty-eight and a sex therapist that hadn’t had sex in a couple years. Okay, maybe three years. Four? Ugh.
She was beginning to feel like a fraud. She knew that was ridiculous. Not having sex didn’t make her unqualified to do her job, but still...
Anyway, every time she met up with her girlfriends, they pestered her to get back out there, to get back on the market. Hell, just pick up some random guy, do him all night long until her thighs quivered and she could no longer walk, then kick him out the door afterward.
Get some guy to “knock the bottom out” of her and clear out the cobwebs.
She’d had no desire to do that. One reason was, she’d watched too many shows on the Investigation Discovery channel late at night.
Which meant she didn’t want to pick up some random stranger. Or join a dating website since she liked her body all in one piece. Not hacked into hundreds of bite-sized bits.
Also, most of Michael’s closest friends were gay. So, they were out (literally).
All that didn’t matter at the moment, anyway.
What mattered, and what they probably wouldn’t discuss, was she just let a man, who she was sure had a few deep-seated issues, a man she didn’t even know his real name, fuck her in the kitchen in a house outside of Pittsburgh. And the only reason she was there was due to her life being in danger.
But he didn’t only fuck her. He fucked her on the counter and against the wall, from the front and back. And it was the best damn sex she’d ever had. Not to mention, the most spontaneous, too.
He spoke no bullshit words, told her no lies to try to get her into bed. He didn’t have to, he just took what he wanted.
Thinking back on that, her toes curled once more.
The two orgasms she had were so freaking intense, they made her see spots.
Now she wanted more.
Oh, yes, please. Many, many more.
It wasn’t like they had anything else to do while they waited in the house for word from Michael. They would be bored, right?
She had no access to the Internet, her phone, her laptop, nothing. Something needed to keep her occupied, besides her steamy romance novels (that gave women unrealistic relationship expectations, but she still devoured them anyway).
However, there was a slight problem. He hadn’t worn a condom.
Not that she stopped him.
She wasn’t worried about getting pregnant. She had that covered. But she worried about... other obvious things when it came to unprotected sex.
Including the fact that she was stuck in this house with the man for who knew how long. Were they just supposed to ignore the massive elephant in the room?
Even though she took a shower earlier that morning, she now needed a second one. Her inner thighs were slick with his DNA, as well as her own.
What they did was stupid and reckless.
But... And it was a big but, those men who were searching for her could find them tomorrow and put a bullet in the back of her head, too. She mentally shrugged. So, she might as well live dangerously, right?
Make the best of her situation?
Sure.
Her eyes slid toward the closed bathroom door. She wondered if he now regretted their spontaneous combustion.
She was probably not his typical sex partner. He probably preferred women who were fitness freaks like him. She dropped her hands to her belly and pressed on her pooch.
Women who had six-packs and walnut-cracking muscular thighs. Not soft and doughy like her. Breasts that were perky and hardly shifted when they went for a five-mile long run in their short shorts.
She had booty, she had boobs, she’d never be petite. If she went for a run, she’d need to wear three layers of sports bras so she wouldn’t cause an earthquake. If she wanted a flat stomach, she’d need to squeeze into a pair of Spanx. A very tight pair.
She accepted her body a long time ago. It was what it was and unless she was willing to spend hours at the gym, it wasn’t going to change.
She loved to swim in her pool, walk around her gated community, and sometimes dance late at night while music blared through her whole-house speaker system as she cleaned.
She ate healthy for the most part, but she didn’t deny that she liked to eat. She also appreciated a good glass or two—or, apparently, a whole bottle—of wine.
She also loved to eat in Michael’s casinos because he had the best restaurants and top chefs, who he hand-picked himself. Plus, Michael spoiled her. She could enjoy a gourmet meal on the house in any of his restaurants any time she wanted. One of his high-profile chefs often texted, asking her to stop in and try a new dish before presenting it to his boss.
So, yes, she liked to eat. She enjoyed good food. And she wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
Mercy hadn’t closed his eyes once while he fucked her. Not once. Because of that, she assumed he wasn’t imagining anyone else. He had actually looked at her, really looked at her while she was naked. He wasn’t fantasizing he had some hot chick on the counter beneath him. He was fucking her. Parris.
But that’s what it was... fucking. Nothing more, nothing less. Two people finding sexual satisfaction with each other. Even if only momentarily.
Nobody had to be a runway model for that. She wouldn’t be on his arm, nor would she be introduced to his friends.
While they were hidden away in this house, he merely took advantage of an available female to get his rocks off.
Simple.
Just like she had taken advantage of his impressive cock wrapped up deliciously in little olive green “Ranger panties.”
So... whatever.
It was done. They both were satisfied with the results.
Their pancakes were left forgotten after he’d pulled out, stared at her silently for a few moments (which kind of freaked her out), then yanked his shorts up with a jerk and left the kitchen.
When she followed his path a few minutes later, she heard the shower running in the master bathroom and figured she should clean up before going back downstairs to reheat his breakfast.
Maybe they’d just act like what happened hadn’t.
She was fine with that, too, but the truth was, she would be a bit disappointed.
Again, there wasn’t much to do in the house while they waited, so why not just have copious amounts of gratuitous sex? She was all for it. If she had enough in the next couple days, it might keep her satisfied for a while once she got back home.
Maybe she’d suggest it.
She snorted, then sobered quickly as her fingers traced the bite once more.
She had to admit, that shit was hot.
While the sex was great, she had a feeling the man himself was a ticking time-bomb.
But as long as she didn’t snip the wrong wire and accidentally make it detonate, she’d be fine.
Chapter Six
He’d been quiet since coming back downstairs with his dark hair damp, wearing another sinfully tight black T-shirt over muscles she’d now seen up close and personal. He was also wearing soft, worn jeans. She mourned a little about the loss of the “panties,” but he was just as drool-worthy wearing jeans and going barefoot. He had nicely shaped feet and long toes. No cloven hooves like a couple of the men she had dated in the past.
“I thought about getting a breast reduction,” she stated after swallowing a mouthful of reheated pancakes.
He lifted his gray eyes from his plate and they landed on her breasts. Not that he could see much since she now wore a bra, a cotton top with a modest V-neck and a pair of yoga pants. Since she wasn’t leaving the house, there was no point of dressing up, putting on jewelry or makeup or even spending a half hour on her hair. Instead, she had pulled it back into a ponytail after her second shower.
After their late breakfast, she planned on grabbing her e-reader and curling up on the couch to catch up on her TBR pile, anyway.
If it wasn’t for the scar marring his face, Mercy could be the perfect alpha hero in some of the s
teamy, toe-curling romances she enjoyed reading. Or the villain in some of her favorite romantic suspense.
He’d probably prefer to be the villain.
She certainly couldn’t imagine him desperately running through an airport chasing down a woman who he’d fell deeply in love with and dropping to his knees in a crowd of hundreds to declare just that.
She rolled her lips inward.
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
What? Oh, right. “They’re heavy.”
He still stared at her breasts but said nothing. Was he trying to imagine them smaller?
She added, “Too much to deal with.”
He let his gaze drop to his plate and stabbed a piece of pancake, then shoved it into his mouth. “You do that, every man in the world will weep.”
“I probably won’t do it because I’ve been told they’re my best asset,” she murmured, watching him carefully.
He grunted and forked another piece of pancake into his mouth.
This man kept himself detached and distant for a reason. But deep down, something burned hot. Like the scorching depths of the earth’s core. While she’d told herself not to provoke him, she couldn’t resist scratching at the surface a little to feel some of that heat.
She took a sip of the fresh coffee she had brewed and stared at him over the rim of the mug. “What do you think?”
He sat back in his chair, his brows furrowed deep. “Why the fuck do you care what I think?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I was just curious, since you saw them.” And it had been a while since anyone else beside her gynecologist had seen them.
He dropped his fork to his empty plate and shoved it away, shaking his head. “Don’t take you as a woman who’d give a shit about what other people think.”
She didn’t normally, she only cared about what he thought since it might give her an idea of how he’d respond to her proposal. “I was thinking—”
He sighed loudly.
“That maybe we could... you know...” She tilted her head in silent invitation.
He lifted the dark eyebrow with the scar running through it. “What?”
Apparently he didn’t understand the head gesture. So much for being coy. Since the man liked direct, she was going to be direct. “Have sex again.”
He shook his head. “No. Fucked up. Lost my shit. Not doing that again.”
She made him lose his “shit?”
That was promising.
“Mercy...” Frowning, she plunked her coffee mug onto the table. “For goodness’ sake, do I have to call you that? Can you tell me your actual name since we’ll be roomies for a couple days?” And they actually had intercourse? Official introductions were probably in order.
“Told you what my name is.”
It was her turn to release an exaggerated sigh. She pushed up from her seat, snagged her plate and his, stacking them on top of each other, and moved over to the sink to rinse them.
She turned on the water, began to rinse off the remaining syrup, lifted her head to say something else to him and jumped.
Out of nowhere he was pressed to her back. His chest was hot and broad and so very solid.
“How the hell do you move so quietly?” she asked in a shaky whisper.
“Practice.” His deep voice rolled through her and made a few things on her quiver. “Don’t have any condoms. Used the last one in my wallet the night before coming to Vegas."
Oh sweet. That’s what every woman wanted to hear. That the man she wanted to do on every surface and against every wall throughout the house they were standing in, just had sex with another woman a couple days earlier.
Wonderful.
“Well, I have my vibrator, then. I’ll be fine,” she forced out because she was suddenly having a bit of difficulty breathing. Maybe because it wasn’t only his chest against her, his hips were also jammed against the top of her ass.
And even through his jeans, she could feel how hard he was. Hmm.
“Do you wear a condom every time you have sex?”
“Apparently not.”
Heat swirled through her and landed in her belly, after taking a few turns like a tornado in Kansas. “Besides earlier.”
“Yeah.”
Things were looking up again. Before she could continue on that topic path, he continued, “Guys are coming over for poker night. Would ask one of them to bring some, but the boss said to keep my dick out of you and having them bring over a Costco-sized box of condoms might be a tip-off that I failed that order.”
There were so many things she needed to analyze in what he just said. So. Many. Things.
First, he probably had the perfect stony face for poker. And his expressionless eyes would never give away the hand of cards he was holding.
Which meant he probably cleaned up on poker night.
Second, who were these guys? He must trust them enough to invite them over when they were supposed to be keeping a low profile.
Third and most importantly, Costco-sized box of condoms.
She pursed her lips, wondering how many condoms were in that size of a box. Probably a lot. Which meant if they set a goal to use them all, she might be set with sex for life.
He also might have to pour her back onto the plane when she headed home because she doubted she'd be able to walk.
But she was okay with that.
Very okay.
“Maybe one of the neighbors? Go knock on a door and ask to borrow some, like a cup of sugar?”
“The compound’s full of Dirty Angels MC. My boss is the enforcer for the Angels. That shit gets back to him, I’m pulled from this operation and I lose that fucking bonus.”
Bonus? She wondered what that was about. She’d have to circle back to that. “This neighborhood is full of what?”
“Bikers.”
“Huh.” She blew out a breath as his hands landed on her hips and worked their way up her sides. “Well, then I guess I’m just back to using BOB.”
He jerked behind her, and she pinned her lips together when he growled, “Bob?”
“My battery-operated boyfriend.”
His body jerked again. She twisted at the waist in his arms. He couldn’t be biting back a laugh, could he? But his arms tightened, preventing her from seeing his face. She was pinned tightly between him and the sink.
“Are you over here to help me with the dishes?”
“No.”
“Then what?” She held her breath in anticipation. Were they about to have more kitchen sex? She wouldn’t be opposed to that. She’d take it wherever she could get it.
His hands now spanned her rib cage on both sides, his thumbs sliding along the outer curves of her breasts. Her breathing shallowed and her nipples pebbled painfully. He needed to shift his hands over a little more...
“Mercy,” came out on a breath.
Instantly, he had her ponytail wrapped in his fist and roughly yanked her head back. She gasped at the sting of her scalp, the over-arch of her neck. His eyes were dark, not the normal silver ice shards, instead they were like storm clouds. He dropped his head until his lips were right above hers. His warm breath, a heady combination of coffee and maple syrup, swept over her mouth and she licked her lips in preparation.
But he didn’t close that gap. That slight gap. It wouldn’t take much.
She couldn’t read anything in his eyes, his face. Did he war with himself deep down inside? She could see him having sex with a woman once and only once before moving on. Anything more than that could be dangerous for him. Or the woman.
When it came to sex, most women got attached too easily. Sex brought out the oxytocin in their body, which caused them to want to bond. Mercy wouldn’t want a woman becoming attached. Once and done was probably another of his many “M.O.’s.”
Cut ties before the strings tightened.
Be as cling-free as a dryer sheet.
“Mercy,” she whispered again. How long were they going to stand there like this? How long would
he make her wait?
“Ryan,” came out so quietly she thought she imagined it. Until his face changed. His jaw shifted, his nostrils flared and his eyes turned to ice once more. “Fuck!” he barked, making her wince.
He released her so quickly, she lost her balance and had to catch it by stepping back into the empty space where he’d been previously standing.
He was gone.
That quickly. That quietly.
Poof.
Parris shivered as she turned and stared at the doorway where he had to have disappeared. She held up her hand. It was trembling.
She didn’t know what just happened, but now she knew one more piece of him.
It was a tiny shard, but it was something.
Mercy aka Ryan Mercer.
Ryan.
She liked it. And it made him seem a little more human.
Chapter Seven
Mercy squinted as the smoke from the cigar swirled into his eyes. It wasn’t just his, though, the room was full of it. He’d crack the sliders open to vent the area where the table was if it wasn’t so goddamn ball-sweating humid outside.
He clamped his teeth down on the stogie and reached for the hand of cards that Brick just dealt to the five of them. They tried to have a poker night at least once a month, for not only down time, but to catch up on shit. Diesel sometimes joined them, but since the girls had been born, that was few and far between. Besides, they’d all told him under no circumstances were babies welcome at the poker table.
In the middle of the table sat a bottle of Jack, three cans of Iron City beer left in the plastic rings, two ashtrays, five cell phones and a few poker chips, which were the minimum buy-in for the round.
Walker held his hand of cards close to his chest, his chin pinned to his neck, peering at what he had. He slammed his cards back on the table, scratched his balls and shook his head. “I hate when you deal, asshole.”
Brick smiled big around his cigar and gave Walker the finger.
Hunter downed the rest of his beer, crushed the can in his hand, then belched so loudly, Mercy swore he saw the glass in the sliders vibrate.
Mercy snorted, and then cursed silently at his shitty hand. He threw his cards on the table and leaned back, scrubbing a hand over his hair. “You do suck at dealing, Brick.”
Guts & Glory: Mercy (In the Shadows Security Book 1) Page 7
