by Jo Raven
Grabbing my stuff, I slink out of the classroom and stand outside, in the weak sunshine of the late afternoon, pulling on my jacket. Students pass me by, chatting and laughing and smoking, and I’m struck by a feeling of déjà vu.
Maybe it’s the light. It reminds me of the light in my dream, gilding the outline of a body, shimmering on dark liquid that’s pooling on the ground…
“Merc?”
I jerk. “Shit.”
A blonde girl is giving me a wide-eyed look. Fuck, I know her. She’s the blonde—Sheila? Shelly?—I hung around with two weeks ago, the one who keeps texting me.
“Miss me?” she asks and pouts.
Not really. Not one bit, and all the texts I never replied to should have been a big fucking hint, but today… today I’ll play.
Tonight feels like an empty desert stretching in front of me and she’s right here, offering me a tall glass of water.
Looks like fate to me.
“So this is where you live.” She enters the apartment, balancing perfectly on high heels, dragging a red-tipped fingernail along the wall of the hallway. “Classy.”
I grunt in reply, close the door behind us. We had a couple of drinks at a nearby bar, and then when she didn’t make a move to leave, despite my dark mood and limited conversation offers, I invited her over.
She came eagerly, all smiles and batting lashes that did nothing for me. I gripped her hand when she slid her fingers into mine, but soon let go and shoved my hands into my pockets.
What am I doing? Still not sure this is such a good idea. Yet here we are, standing inside my apartment with the lights still off, and she’s starting to undress.
If something’s wrong, she doesn’t seem to feel it. She’s a pretty girl, in a perfectly put-together, polished way. Long blond hair in a perfect shiny fall, lips painted blood red to match her nails, long legs and big tits.
Too perfect.
As she lets her coat drop to the floor, revealing her tight mini dress—red dress, red lips, red everything—all I can see is blood.
I shake my head and rub at my eyes.
Fuck.
She wiggles out of her dress, and even her lingerie is red. Lace, barely-there scraps to cover her nipples and the triangle between her legs, and this is sexy, this should get me hot and ready to go, but…
Is my dick broken? I grab my crotch and groan to myself. Come on, Merc. You never have any trouble getting it up when you think of psycho girl, when you see her, when you smell her.
And just the thought of her gets my dick swelling in my jeans. I’m going commando, and the friction of my hard-on against the rough fabric has me hissing.
What the fuck’s wrong with me? I’m hard for another girl, not the one in front of me.
Focus on the now, asshole. Stop thinking of the chick who won’t give you the time of day. Don’t be a fucking masochist.
“Want to take it off?” she asks, tugging on the straps of her bra, throwing me a come-on look under her lashes.
“Sure.” I paste on my cocky grin and swagger toward her, though I have no desire to see her tits.
Maybe it’s my brain that’s broken.
And I still can’t recall her name.
“What’s the matter?” She lets go of the bra strap and meets me halfway, still pouting. I dunno why but it annoys me. “You look tired. Let me do the work tonight, baby.”
Baby?
She takes advantage of my disbelief at the pet name to unbuckle my belt and push my jeans down. She goes down on her knees, and her hand is on my dick immediately, squeezing and tugging.
Problem is that, as I look down at her, my dick kinda loses interest. Her insistent handling keeps me semi-hard, but if the mind isn’t in it…
“What’s wrong?” she asks with that permanent pout that makes me wanna make honking noises at her.
Christ.
As for what else is wrong… fuck if I know.
“Go home,” I tell her, tired and angry at myself. “Leave.”
She grabs my legs to stand up, digging too long nails into my thighs. “You must be kidding me,” she whines. “You’re not going to throw me out. Are you crazy?”
That sounds like a trick question. Am I crazy? I have a hot, willing chick in front of me, clad in straps of lace and about to go down on me, and what I want is my music and my bed.
What I want is Sophie—the funny, sweet Sophie, the cat-T-shirt Sophie—but I can’t fucking have her. Hell, I can’t fucking find her, half the time, only her bad-tempered double.
“I changed my mind. Now go.”
“You’re an asshole,” she spits the words at me, and grabs her clothes from the floor.
That, too, it seems. Never would have pegged myself for such a douchebag, yet here I am, throwing a girl out for the sole reason that she’s not the girl I want.
This is fucking pathetic, Merc. You know it. You need to get over it.
Over her. Damn…
If I only knew how.
Chapter Eight
Cosima
A strange relief fills me just by being back in town. We grew up here, my sis and I. That was before our parents started to fight and eventually divorced, before Dad took us and started moving around, never settling down until we fled the family home.
Of course Sophie returned. She loves it here. And I… I love it, too, but Dad said he never wanted to go back, and I got a job in another town, so…
Why didn’t I ever come back to stay? I quit job after job, but never made the move back to my hometown. After all, my sister lives here. What more reason do I need? I could convince Lin to follow me. Find work here.
It’d be much easier to help my sister, too. Even if her cat is still terrified of me. Maybe she thinks I’m a paler version of my sister?
Kitty wouldn’t be so wrong there.
God, I want to talk to Merc. Not the best idea, I know, but it’s not like I can avoid him, either. I have Calculus class with him.
“Admit it,” Lin told me before I left. “You’re too far gone, let yourself fall for him, and you just want to see him again, gaze into those baby blues and ogle his muscles.”
Yeah. There’s that, too.
It’s just that I liked him so much.
Lin was right.
Only it doesn’t matter because Merc doesn’t appear in Calculus class, throwing me off my plan yet again.
I’m annoyed. I even wore my favorite black skirt today for him, and—I couldn’t help it—a black cat T-shirt that says “Sorry, not tonight, I have plans with my cat.”
With cowboy boots. Yes, I did. Call it an act of rebellion.
I tap the back of the seat of the guy in front of me.
“Hey,” I say when he turns, a question in his eyes, “Do you know Mercury Watson? You know, the guy who… a blond guy, blue eyes? Um. Muscular.” I flex my arm to give him an idea. “Cute?”
He shakes his head.
Crap. “But… He’s just…” So hot. You can’t miss him.
But the guy has already turned back around and is talking to the girl beside him. So it’s true guys don’t check each other out unless it’s to measure dicks.
It also shows how hopelessly in lust I am with Merc Watson.
For shame. Stop it, Cos. God, will you move on? You knew from the moment you saw him he was too much to handle. Too handsome, too sexy, too popular.
Stupid move, Cos. And this pain in your heart is the price you pay. When will you ever learn?
Too pissed at myself for a pity party, I finish the class, make notes for Soph, and take my time gathering my stuff to go.
So of course when I step out, he’s right there.
The light falls just so, catching the gold of his hair, the glint of his white smile, gilding the outline of his strong shoulders. He’s so handsome. Everything about him draws me in, attracts my gaze and snags my heart.
My lust, I mean. Yeah, that’s what I mean.
He lifts a hand to grip the back of his neck, such a gu
y gesture, and those muscles in his arms and chest shift and bulge and… oh boy. The guy’s too sexy for his own good—and mine.
Because of course he’s surrounded by girls. Three by my count. Two more hanging back for now, waiting their turn to talk to him, bask in his male glory.
A flush of anger is working its way up my neck, heating my cheeks. A girl steps back into me, and I push her away. I’ve approached the little group too much without realizing, and when he turns at the small commotion, his bright eyes widen a fraction.
Then they narrow into blue slits, and his smile falls, his face settling into hard lines. “You,” he says, looking right at me, and the other sounds fade.
“Merc…”
“Can’t you see?” he huffs. “I’m busy.”
There. A slap in the face that shakes me out of my trance.
“Oh, I can see that. I’m so sorry. Trouble deciding which girl to take home tonight?”
“That’s none of your business.” Every word clipped and sharp.
“You’re right. It’s not.”
The other girls scatter a bit when he takes a step toward me. “Look, I’m not the kind of guy you can jerk about like that. Don’t play those games with me.”
“Games? You’re the player, not me.”
“You don’t know me at all,” he says, his voice deadly quiet, his eyes icy.
“I guess not.” Tears prick the back of my eyes, and I can’t let him see. But when I turn blindly to go, I’m yanked back when he grabs my arm.
“Dammit. Wait.”
I try to shake him off, furious—at him, at myself. “You were playing me. Trying to hurt me.” I wave a hand vaguely at his flock of hens. “What need do you have for that?”
“Playing you? What the hell do you mean?”
I can’t look into those cool blue eyes. “Pretending to be nice.”
“I am nice, goddammit.”
“You’re an ass. You stood me up.”
“Life gets in the way of plans sometimes, princess.”
I can’t avoid his gaze when he says things like that, and I recall that I was worried about him, about the reasons why he never showed up—but too late. “Blond, big-breasted plans?” I snarl.
“Now wait a minute…”
“No, you wait. I won’t let you do this to me. Not again.”
“Do what exactly?” He looks puzzled. “We just had some coffee, that’s all.”
And there you have it. I’m so stupid.
My face grows hot, my eyes prickle worse than before. “See, you are an ass. I knew it.” Not going to cry. No way. Over this guy? Get real. I push my finger into the middle of his hard chest. “Screw you.”
“Quit jabbing at me.” He grabs my hand, eyes blazing. “What’s wrong with you?”
“With me?”
“Fuck this.” He grabs my wrist and drags me away from the gawping, tittering girls. “You and me, we need to talk.”
“Stop.” I shove at him. He drags me along, not seeming to notice. I scratch at his arm. He hisses. “I said stop.”
But he doesn’t.
“Where are we going? Let go.” I tug half-heartedly at his hold.
He pulls me between two buildings, pushes a door open and hauls me inside. I barely have the time to realize it’s a dusty storeroom when he pushes me against the wall. “Just tell me this. What the hell do you want?”
“Nothing you can give me, obviously.”
“Hey, will you stop talking in goddamn riddles—”
I jab harder at his chest, then splay my hand between his hard pecs, leaning closer, because God, he smells delicious. “You act all nice and then you never show up, never look for me—”
“After you pretended not to know me for months, and then again, and now you’re wearing a cat-T-Shirt again, what’s up with that—”
“Wait a minute.” What is he talking about? “Merc…”
“What?” His eyes are furious, but there’s a glint of pain in them, too, and that stops the next words that want out of my mouth. “What do you want from me?”
Why does he look hurt? He hurt me, and it wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t been crushing on him since the first time I saw him. His words make no sense. Why is he accusing me of ignoring him? What right does he have to be mad at me?
He’s gazing down at me, lips parted as if he, too, wants to say more but is hesitating. His hand is still wrapped around my wrist, big and strong, and the heat from his body is seeping into me even if there are a few inches between us.
But God, he smells like wood and dark liquor and man, with a hint of car oil and smoke. My body feels too hot, burning. I want to bury my nose in his neck and inhale.
“Damn,” he mutters, his fingers tightening around my wrist, jerking me closer.
Next thing I know, his mouth is on mine, scorching hot and demanding. Oh yes, I think as he shoves me up against the wall, pressing his full length to mine, deepening the kiss, his tongue demanding entrance. He stretches my hand over my head, puts the other under my leg, lifting it, wrapping it around his muscular thigh.
Making me fully aware of how tall he is, how strong, how masculine and different from me. Beautiful. How square his jaw. How soft his mouth.
How hard his cock pressing into my stomach.
He’s hard for me, I think, moaning in his mouth, overwhelmed by the realization, the sensations, the crazy feeling of finally kissing him, touching him.
He tastes even better than he smells, of dark chocolate and bourbon, addictive and mouthwatering—and I kiss him back hungrily, licking at his mouth, throwing my arms around his neck.
Giving in to desire.
A shudder goes through him, I feel it through every inch of my body.
With a groan, he lets go of my wrist to grab my ass and lift me up. The knobs of my spine scrape against the rough plaster. Instinctively I curl both my legs around his lean hips for balance.
“Love the skirt,” he breathes against my mouth. “And the boots.”
He’s holding me up against the wall, pressed between my thighs, and I whimper at the heavy weight of his hard-on right there, against my throbbing pussy.
His hand slides up my leg, under my skirt, tugging on my panties. His mouth slides from my mouth to trace my cheek, my jaw, his teeth sink into my earlobe.
His fingers sink into my pussy.
I arch up against the wall, moaning.
“Fuck, the sounds you make. I want you so damn bad. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
His words barely register, because he unzips his jeans, the sound like thunder in my ears. I try to see where he’s bared, to see his cock.
But it’s already nudging at my entrance, pushing the thin scrap of lace of my panties to the side, and I shiver. “Merc…”
“Want it? Say it. Say you want it.” His voice is harsh, raw. Unsteady.
We’re going to fuck, I think dimly. In a dusty college storeroom, with the only light coming from a small window high up, just enough to see him.
To see everything.
God, please.
“I want…” I gasp when the head slips into me. “I want you.”
“Oh fuck…”
He’s sinking into me, inch after delicious inch, more and more. So thick, and long, so big, I can’t…
I claw at his back through his jacket, feeling his bunched-up muscles as he grunts and pushes even deeper, impossibly deep.
So good.
Driving me crazy.
His mouth finds mine again, and he kisses me hard, biting into my lower lip, thrusting his tongue against mine as his hips roll. His thick cock pulls out an inch, two inches, three—I feel every one of them as he strokes me deep inside.
Then he rocks back inside, and I cry out into his mouth, the sound swallowed instantly. He’s still kissing me, panting, fucking me so hard I can’t breathe. My boobs are smashed against the planes of his chest, my legs are trembling, my mouth feels bruised, my pussy stretched too wide.
To
o full.
It hurts. And feels amazing.
I’m going to come.
Oh crap, I’m going to come now.
I writhe against the wall, against Merc, on his cock, my pussy clenching so frantically I want to scream. Wrenching my mouth from his, I whine in the back of my throat as wave after wave of excruciating pleasure hits me.
“Jesus fuck,” he hisses. “I’m gonna… No condom.” He’s panting, his cock swollen huge inside my still clenching pussy. “Dammit.”
“Come inside me,” I whisper, “I’m on the pill, please…”
I know I shouldn’t, but right now I want him so badly I can’t think straight.
He gives a groan like a wounded animal, and I swear his cock fills out even more, splitting me apart. I moan his name, my orgasm still rolling through me, the feel of him inside me, against me, his smell, his body pressed to mine so exciting the pleasure doesn’t seem to want to stop.
“Hold on,” he whispers, and I don’t know what he means, dazed from wild ride and the aftershocks. “Damn, girl.”
The back of my head hits the wall when he lifts me up a little higher and gives it to me, fucking me with brutal thrusts, his jaw clenched, face twisted up with need, hands bruising my ass. He grunts with every thrust, faster and faster, until I’m coming once more, tightening around his cock again and again, choking on a wail at the new onslaught of burning pleasure.
The spill of heat inside me is scorching, as are his panting breaths in my neck where he’s buried his face. I hold him and he’s trembling, still coming, the whisper of a groan washing over my skin.
His hips rock a few more times, his breath hitching, and my heart tips over at the thought he’s having such pleasure, that I’m giving him that, I’m the cause of it.
He lifts his head and brushes his mouth over mine. Sweet. Gentle. His eyes are a bit wide. I bet mine must look the same.
Never been fucked like this. So savagely, so brutally, so hard and fast.
So thoroughly.
Never came so hard in my life. I’m still dizzy from it, my pussy still throbbing, and crap, even though he finished, his cock still feels enormous inside me.
