That sounded like a challenge.
Then it hit him.
Just like the poker game, she played him. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted.
She was a natural-born hustler. She was skilled with manipulation.
And he, fucking fool that he was, fell for it.
But if she thought she had the upper-hand, she was so dead wrong.
He was onto her.
He could turn this around in his favor. He was used to making himself impenetrable. He’d been an expert at it for so long, it came naturally.
So she could scratch at his barriers with those long painted nails of hers, but she wasn’t getting farther than the outer edge. He would only give her what he wanted her to see. Which wasn’t much.
But she might give up if he tricked her into thinking that she was successful.
Fuck yeah, that would be the plan.
Give her what she thought he “owed” her. Also let her think she was getting a peek inside. Then shut her the fuck out.
Once this job was over, her ass was getting back on a plane back to Vegas and her Michael.
She’d be none the wiser.
Plus, he’d end up with a nice bump in his bank account.
He needed to pay attention to what he was doing if he was giving her at least four orgasms. Though, he must be doing what he was doing good enough for her. If his hair was any longer, she’d be ripping it out of his head. Instead, she had a hold of his ears and was holding them like handles.
Fuck. His ears needed to stay attached to his head.
He knocked her hands off, then lifted it just enough to order, “Top off. Now.”
He went back to sucking on her clit and flicking it with his tongue as she scrambled to raise her upper body enough to peel off that camisole. He lifted his eyes and met hers once she was naked. Then he grinned against her pussy at how she had obeyed.
Luckily, she’d never see that grin since he kept his lips busy on hers.
Sliding two fingers inside her, he was not surprised how wet she was. There was no doubt she liked sex... good sex... and wasn’t ashamed about it one bit.
He groaned silently as her fingers slid to both of her nipples and she began to tweak and twist.
Oh... fuck... yeah...
There was not an uptight bone in her body. She oozed sex. She exuded confidence.
This woman enjoyed a good fuck and an even better orgasm.
And he was going to give her both.
Two when he was eating her, two when he was fucking her.
Finding her G-spot, he stroked it until she clenched around his fingers, and her core began to convulse. Peering up her body, he noticed her head was thrown back, her mouth open, her fingers twisting her peaked nipples at a feverish pace. She bucked and wailed his name.
His name.
The name no one who knew it used.
And before the ripples of her muscles ceased, he slipped his fingers free. Making sure that they were slick with her wetness, he trailed them down her pussy and before she could stop him, if she even wanted to stop him, he took her ass with his long middle finger.
She gasped and then groaned as he worked his finger in and out of her. Feeling how tight she was. Feeling how hot. His mind spun as he imagined his dick replacing his finger instead.
She didn’t think he could make her come like this. He was about to prove her wrong.
With one hand continuing its sensual assault on her ass, his mouth busy on her sweet, sweet pussy, he blindly reached up and knocked one of her hands off her tit. He snagged her tightly beaded nipple between his fingers and twisted.
Since she wasn’t gagged, she was capable of telling him when, and if, it was too much. Until then, this was his time to show her how wrong she was.
He had been played, she was getting what she wanted.
But right now, he didn’t give a shit.
All he wanted to do at that moment was to sink into her wet heat and forget everything that swirled in his brain.
Forget she was a job.
Forget that he would regret this afterward.
Forget that he was fucking a woman more than once.
Forget that he was taking that dangerous step into the quicksand.
But one thing he’d never forget, was the sound she made as she tightened around his finger, ground her pussy into his face and slammed her hand on the couch so hard that it startled him enough that his heart stopped for a second.
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to slow his racing pulse.
He was safe. She was safe.
Even better, she was going to orgasm for the second time.
Her hips shot up again as she did just that.
Before she could recover, before she could catch her breath, before the last wave of that orgasm, he surged up off the couch, stripped himself of his clothes in record time and settled in between her soft thighs.
When he drove hard and deep inside her, a shudder went through him, not just because her pussy felt tight, and wet, and searing hot.
Fuck no. Because as his mind cleared, his senses all focused on her. The scent of her multiple orgasms, her face twisted with ecstasy, the sounds that rose deep from within her throat.
He curled over her, one palm planted in the couch cushion and his hips driving forcefully, using his knees to power deep.
He dropped his head because he needed to suck the nipple he had twisted so hard it was now puckered and swollen, deep into his mouth.
Fuck. She tasted so fucking good.
Too good.
She wasn’t fast food, she was a gourmet meal.
She wasn’t a quick fuck, she was a woman to savor.
She wasn’t someone he’d want to kick out of bed the second he came, she was one he’d have a hard time letting go of.
She wasn’t a nameless, faceless snatch; he knew her name and Rissa was someone who was complex and a challenge.
She wasn’t a woman overwrought and afraid of her circumstances, she was facing it head-on.
She hadn’t fallen apart, she remained brave.
And, for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t ask for anything more from a woman.
With a last lick at her nipple, he took her mouth, which was open, her breath hitched, but he wanted to capture the sounds she made when she came for the third time.
Once he did that, once she began to melt into the couch once more, he slowed his pace. Told himself to take his time.
Savor that gourmet meal.
Enjoy the sensuality she exuded.
Appreciate everything about the woman beneath him, the one whose little moans and mews made his chest ache. The one whose pussy fit him perfectly.
The one who responded to his touch like he wasn’t simply a check box on her bucket list.
The one who kept whispering his name against his lips.
The one who wrapped her legs tightly around his hips like she never wanted to let go.
The one who saw past his outer scars to his inner ones.
The one who was the most dangerous woman of all.
He needed to fight the pull of that quicksand.
Otherwise, he was fucked.
Chapter Ten
He was spooked and trying desperately not to show it. But she could feel it in the tension of his body as they laid on the couch together. Sticking around with a woman after having sex most likely went against the very fiber of his being. He probably itched from it.
She wanted to turn within his arms to face him, but every time she tried, he tightened his arm around her and forced her to remain where she was. Which was him lying on his side wedged between her and the back of the couch, her back pressed to his chest.
Admittedly, her ass settled nicely against his hips. Perfectly, in fact.
Even so, she was surprised he hadn’t bolted from the couch yet. After her fifth—yes, fifth—orgasm, and after he came deep inside her—again, surprising her that he hadn’t pulled out before doing so—she expected him to j
ump to his feet, give her a chin lift, an oorah, maybe a two-finger salute and then head upstairs to his bedroom, slamming the door shut, and even locking it.
He didn’t.
After he came inside her, he remained deeply seated within her, had pressed his forehead to hers, their panting the only sound in the room. In fact, he stayed that way for so long, she began to worry.
She wondered if he’d had a mental break, if something had snapped inside him during the sex that, she had to admit, was freaking awesome.
Of course it was awesome, she had orgasmed five times.
But then, he was the type of man that when you threw the gauntlet on the table, he was hard pressed not to pick it up and accept that challenge. And, of course, exceed it just to prove a point.
So, he had added a few extra orgasms onto the two she demanded. Which made her appreciate his drive to succeed.
Normally, she’d find it amusing that she’d gotten what she wanted out of him if she wasn’t so worried about his psyche right now.
This man was not typical in any sense of the word.
She had to remind herself that he could potentially be a ticking time bomb.
Facing away from him, she couldn’t read his expression—if he even had one—or his eyes. She only could read his body language. Which was stiff.
And she wasn’t talking about his cock, either. No, that was now soft and warm against her ass. His steady breath blew across her ear, making a strand of her hair tickle her cheek.
They could be any couple in Anywhere, USA, right now who had just had spontaneous sex on their living room couch.
But they were far from that.
She’d only known him for a couple of days and she trusted him. She probably shouldn’t. He could end up being more dangerous than the individuals who shot Michael’s men in the back of the head without hesitation.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
She squeezed her eyes shut as that scene played out in her head once again.
How many times had Mercy killed someone just like that, without a thought, and simply walked away?
Did she even want to know?
Some people could take a life and it never affected them. Or at least, on the surface it seemed like it didn’t affect them. After a while that had to rot a person from the inside out.
Unless they were a psychopath. Someone who lacked any type of empathy at all.
She didn’t think he was like that. He was compensating for something by keeping himself distant and closed off.
He’d built a wall of protection.
She knew the signs to look for. She caught it when his face would change, his eyes would melt from their normally icy appearance, before he would quickly rebuild that stone divider again, shutting everyone out.
She was sure he was dedicated to his job, to his boss, to his team. He wasn’t a complete loner. Though, he most likely preferred it.
Her gaze slid to the gun on the coffee table that was out of reach. She never owned one, never shot one, was never against anyone having one until she saw the effect it had on someone’s cranium up close and personal.
Even so, she would rather die quickly with a shot to the back of the head than be tortured. Get it over quick-like, not slow and dragged out while begging to die.
That had her wondering about his scars. Had he been captured and tortured? Had he been in a fight for his life?
She couldn’t imagine him being sloppy enough to allow himself to be in a situation like that. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but she knew he wouldn’t answer.
She was probably a double threat to him.
Not only a woman—a potential noose around his neck—but a therapist. Someone he’d think would push him to tighten that noose, throw it over a tree branch and kick the stool out from underneath himself.
She had no doubt he’d be a man who would die before exposing his secrets. His failures. His weaknesses.
He might not realize it, but that didn’t make him strong, that made him vulnerable. It was better to face failures and weaknesses head-on instead of keeping them hidden where, if exposed, could be used as a weapon.
However, right now they were on a couch in a living room in the middle of somewhere called Shadow Valley, and he wasn’t on her couch in her office back in Vegas.
He didn’t want help and would resist any effort if she tried to give it to him.
She wasn’t sure how long they’d be holed up in this house. But for the time they were, she’d do what she could and try not to be too obvious about it.
He needed to be handled like an untrusting stray cat. She could put out a dish of food and stand closer to that dish every day until, maybe, the cat would let her pet him. Even just a quick stroke of a tail or a scratch behind the ears.
She glanced down to where his heavily muscled arm circled her middle and fought her grin. He’d probably hate that she compared him to a feral kitty. He undoubtedly likened himself to a mature lion who was a protective leader of a large pride, not afraid to use his deadly claws and teeth.
She started when his soft, but rumbling, words came unexpectedly, and he tightened his embrace.
“I don’t apologize for anything I do. Instead, I own it. I fucking own it. When I do wrong, I fucking admit it. I don’t coat it with bullshit like ‘I’m sorries.’”
She remained quiet, because he wasn’t done. Clearly, he needed to get out whatever he needed to say without interruption. From experience, she knew to stay silent and simply listen.
His next words surprised her, though. They were raw and an emotion existed behind them that twisted her gut.
This was not the type of guy who did “emotions.” Why now?
“I did you wrong, Rissa. Did you fucking wrong.”
He did? Why would he think that? She couldn’t remain silent anymore. He was beating himself up about something. Something she needed to correct him on. She placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed. “How?”
She thought he might not answer, because he’d be opening himself up to her. So she didn’t prod him, she simply waited patiently.
“That bruise on your shoulder. The way I took you in there,” his body jerked behind her, “on the table. It was wrong.”
Oh no, not for the reason he thought. The only thing that was wrong with what happened in the next room earlier was him pulling out and leaving her hanging. “And the way you took me here?”
“Not sorry for that, either.”
“Good. You shouldn’t be. That was freaking amazing.”
Suddenly, he relaxed against her. Or at least relaxed as much as a man like him could. But it was something. A step forward quite possibly.
Maybe she could keep him talking. She wanted to know about his scars, but she had to work up to that. Start somewhere simple.
“Don’t you agree?” she asked carefully.
“Freaking amazing,” he echoed her, almost in a Neanderthal grunt. Like he was proud of himself.
“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if you’re hurting me. You weren’t. I enjoyed it. Even when you got rough.” Especially when you got rough. “I’m not into erotic asphyxiation or anything, so just don’t choke me out. But otherwise...?” She let that hang out there between them.
“Not supposed to be fucking you.”
“Yes, well... that horse left the stable.”
“Shouldn’t be fucking you without a condom.”
That steed galloped out of the barn and kicked his heels up while doing so. “Yes, well... That’s stupid on both of our parts. But again... too late. So, it is what it is.” She winced. Ugh, she hated that saying. It was such a Band-Aid phrase.
“Your Michael didn’t stock the house with them because he didn’t plan on me fucking you.”
She sighed. “Will you please stop calling him my Michael?”
“He’d probably be pissed.”
“I doubt he would care. He doesn’t monitor my vagina. He doesn’t even like vaginas.”
Parris heard h
im make a noise which may have been a snort or a curse or a combination of the two. She smiled.
Uh huh. He had a sense of humor in there somewhere. He wasn’t as dead inside, or as cold, as he wanted people to believe.
“I like vaginas,” he stated matter-of-factly after a minute.
“I hope so, since I have one.” She twisted in his arms and this time he let her turn enough to face him. “And I have to say, you did all right with it.”
They were practically nose to nose as his gray eyes met hers. “You said the sex was ‘freaking amazing.’ Exact quote.”
Ah, he was proud of his sexual prowess. “Well, sometimes I exaggerate in the heat of the moment.”
“It wasn’t the heat of the moment.”
“In the afterglow, then. I really won’t know for sure how freaking amazing sex is with you until I get a good sampling and can average out the results.”
“How many times do I have to fuck you to get a good sampling?”
“Oh, I don’t know... a dozen?”
Did his lips twitch?
“But also, a good variety is needed. To get the complete picture.”
“I see,” he answered, his voice low and deep.
Did he actually purr? Heat rushed through her and landed in her core, making her insides clench.
Here, kitty, kitty.
Now she just needed to try for a quick scratch behind the ears.
His head jerked back when she traced her fingertip along his facial scar. Since he was wedged between her and the couch, he couldn’t escape her touch. She expected him to grab her hand and stop her again. But he didn’t. Instead, he stared at her, his nostrils flaring slightly. His gaze was so intense, she avoided it, her eyes following her finger as she moved down over his forehead, over the line of missing hair at his eyebrow, across his nose. Once she got to the bottom, she whispered, “How did you get your scars?”
This was the second time she touched him like that. If he was smart, he’d roll her out of his way, get off the couch and go upstairs. She was too close.
Way too close for his liking.
She seemed fascinated by his scar. It didn’t gross her out. It didn’t turn her off.
But it was a story he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell. Especially to a woman he’d only met a couple days ago.
Guts & Glory: Mercy (In the Shadows Security Book 1) Page 11
