by Jo Raven
Your girl.
My boy.
Nonono, stop it, Cos. Words aren’t facts, they aren’t real. They’re just words, breaths of air, pretty shapes and sounds. Don’t put any stock in them.
Don’t confuse this with what you’d like it to be.
My head hurts. My heart feels bruised. I feel too much for this guy already, I shouldn’t risk it, I can’t—
The bathroom door opens and my thoughts still.
Merc—a half-naked, dripping Merc with a towel wrapped around his hips—appears, and shoots me one of those devastating, sexy smiles. His broad chest ripples with muscles, small brown nipples taut, golden skin gleaming, his blond hair dark with water.
Not fair that the sight of that smile, of that body should hit me like a sledgehammer. After all, it’s not the first time I’ve seen them, had them under my lips, my fingertips.
I wonder if that will ever change, the impact of his presence, if a day will come when I won’t feel like the air is gone from the room when he’s around.
It’s never been this way before.
“You came.” He comes forward, takes my hand. “Cos.”
As if I could keep away. All the doubts in the world couldn’t keep me away. I tried, I tried to be rational, to be careful.
I failed.
Rock music is playing from his room. He drags me through the door and the second we’re inside, presses me to the wall and kisses me. This boy and walls… it’s as if he likes having me between a rock and a hard place.
“I’m so fucking,” kiss, kiss, “glad you made it. I just can’t,” kiss with tongue, teeth scraping over my lips, “get enough of you.”
God, me neither, but instead of speaking the words, I kiss him back and wrap myself around him like a starfish. He tastes delicious, smells even better, and feels ridiculously good under my hands, between my legs, all satin-smooth skin wrapped over steely muscles. I love the width of his shoulders, the expansion of his ribcage, the tight buns of his ass, the light scrape of scruff, the softness of his lips…
He’s like chocolate liqueur, only better, like coffee cake only spicy and rough, the way he presses me into the wall driving me crazy.
His hard-on is insistent, digging into my stomach. His towel is slipping, hanging on his jutting cock, trapped by my legs that are wrapped around his.
Panting, he breaks the kiss only to catch my face in his big hands and press our foreheads together. “Damn, girl. You’re like a drug. I was going to get dressed, fix us some dinner. Talk. But here we are again.”
I laugh, feeling strangely light and giddy. Is it because he just put into words what it’s like to be around him for me, too?
Pale lashes lift, and he grins. “You think it’s funny?”
I shake my head, at a loss for words. Bite my lip.
From so close, that smattering of golden freckles over his nose is so cute it hurts—though I’m not sure ‘cute’ really applies to a guy like Merc, with that square jaw, so sharp it can cut glass, and those big, broad, linebacker shoulders.
“You obviously don’t take this seriously, woman,” he drawls, pushing that hard cock into my belly, making me yelp. “Think you can handle this?”
Hard to tell—pun not intended.
And the urge to laugh returns. “Merc…”
“Naughty girls get spanked,” he growls, and that makes me laugh harder. “Punishment awaits you.”
And before I realize what’s happening, he grabs me and swings me up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. I yelp and flop like a stranded fish, then yelp again when he smacks his palm over my ass.
“Me Mercury, you Cosima,” he informs me, takes three steps and dumps me on his bed. “You and me, we hump.”
“We hump?” I’m on my back, a bit dizzy and laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes. “You and me we—”
“—hump,” he repeats solemnly, then thumps his chest and launches himself on me.
I shriek and scramble backward—but he manages to land on his knees and hands, his limbs trapping me.
He chuckles, a deep, delicious rumble—and I stop struggling. He’s bent over me like an angel—a sexy as hell angel with a wicked glint in his blue eyes. Somewhere along the way, the towel has disappeared completely, and faced with the naked reality of his arousal, I’m kind of paralyzed with need. Struck by desire.
That level of hotness could be lethal.
Woman down.
“These clothes got to go,” he breathes, lowering himself over me, just enough so I can feel every hard inch of him, feel his muscular thighs on top of my legs, the taut planes of his chest against my breasts. His biceps bunch and bulge as he holds himself up, keeps from crushing me into the bed. “Just you and me, pretty girl.”
I want him to crush me into the mattress. “You and me in the jungle,” I whisper, smiling.
“Anywhere.” He brushes his mouth over mine, “Everywhere.”
“Including women’s restrooms.”
His mouth twitches into a smile. “That’s right.”
I lift a hand to his face, swiping a fingertip under his eyes. He has dark circles I didn’t notice earlier, evidence of restless nights. “Mercury Watson.”
“That’s me.”
I want to tell him about my dreams, the dreams where he’s hurt and asking for help, ask him if everything’s okay. But it’s too soon. We had sex, and then more sex, and more sex. And it was great, but I feel we haven’t really talked at all.
Not yet.
He lets me explore his face, eyes hooded, lowering himself more firmly over me. I stroke the smoothness of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, a tiny scar on his forehead, the thickness and softness of his hair.
It feels as if I haven’t seen him in ages, when it’s only been two days. He had an assignment to hand in, and my sis was back in town, briefly.
It was bad. She broke down and cried like I’ve never seen her do before. I felt so helpless. Like, she depends on me and I feel like I’m letting her down, unable to fix this, take away her pain. What’s the use of taking notes and signing the presence sheet in class, doing her work in that office, if I can’t make a real difference where it matters?
But how can I fix anything?
“Hey…” Merc rolls off me to sit beside me, puts a finger under my chin and makes me look at him. “Where did you go?”
Those blue eyes shouldn’t look so knowing, like he can read my every thought.
It should scare me.
It does, a little.
“I’m just thinking of my sister,” I say.
He seems to be waiting for more, and I’m not sure I want to talk about it now. About my sister’s issues, about my sister, period.
So I’m probably as surprised as he is when I blurt out, “Merc… is it my sister who you want? I mean… it was my sister you saw first. You thought I was her, so…”
Silence drops like a rock, ripples spreading in circles.
His eyes widen. Then he rubs his hands over his face and grimaces. “You two look so damn alike.”
“So I’m right?”
His mouth tightens, his gaze filling with shadows. “Right about what? It’s you I want.”
“How do you even know that?” And why am I asking him this now, when what I really want to do is jump his bones and forget every doubt that has ever plagued me?
The question is out now, though, and I realize I want to know, that it had been bothering me like a thorn under the skin.
He’s frowning as he sits back, against the headboard, drawing his knees up. “On the surface you’re almost the same. I honestly thought I was talking to the same girl every time, though I thought…”
“You thought what?”
He gives a faint smile. “I used to call you psycho girl. In my mind only,” he adds hastily.
“Excuse me?” In spite of myself, I start laughing again. “You serious?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes I’d see you, and you’d smile at me and say hi, but
most of the time you’d pretend you didn’t know me. It was so fucking weird, and I couldn’t understand why sometimes I liked you, and wanted you, and sometimes I felt nothing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell her, but your sister doesn’t do it for me.”
My smile gets wider. “That so?”
“That is so, Your Honor. You’re the one I want, the one I like. The way you dress, the way you talk. Your smile. Your laughter. I love your smile. And…”
I look down, then back at him. “And?”
He gives me a luminous, boyish grin that turns my heart over as much as his next words: “And I’ll do my best to keep you smiling.”
Chapter Fifteen
Merc
Cos still looks worried after our talk, and I feel weirdly reluctant to fuck when she thinks it may be her sister I want, despite my reassurances. So I end up throwing on an old pair of sweats and hauling her to the kitchen to cook us some dinner.
Every word I told her was true. I have no reason to lie, and besides… she makes me want more. More than just sex. More than just a few evenings in the week. I can’t stop thinking about her. Missing her.
It’s the weirdest fucking thing.
I glance at her where she’s sitting on the table this time, the cat on her T-shirt stretched over her pretty, round tits. She’s swinging her feet, like a pixie fairy, in that short skirt I like, all curves, dark curious eyes and those lips… I want them wrapped around my dick.
Can’t stop thinking of sex for five fucking minutes, Merc? Come on.
But something’s off, something missing. I stop in the process of gathering the ingredients for my own version of Chicken Vesuvio and listen.
So quiet. Too quiet.
Hurrying to my bedroom, I return with my Bluetooth speakers and my phone. I place them on the kitchen counter and start my music. “Deliver Us” by In Flames is playing, and my shoulders relax.
All set.
I wash the chicken and veggies, toss them in olive oil and garlic, and throw them in the pan, to get them crisp and golden. I pour in some white wine, then lift the bottle and take a swig.
Not bad, even if I’m more into beer and scotch. We never had fancy wines at home growing up, and I never grew to like them.
“Wine?” I turn to Cos who’s frowning at nothing—or is it at me?—as if trying to figure out something. “I can get you a glass.”
“No, that’s fine.” She grins and takes the bottle for me. Takes a swig. Swallows. Licks her lips with her little pink tongue. “Mmm.”
Oh fuck. I swallow a groan. That was a bad idea. If she keeps doing that, I’ll probably fucking burn the food.
Speaking of which… shit. I rush to take the food off the hot plate and grab a pan to empty it in. Then I shove the pan into the oven to finish cooking.
Dinner saved.
I hope.
“Can I ask you something?” she asks as I close the oven door.
I adjust my hard-on through my sweats and turn toward her. Her gaze dips to the tent between my legs, but hey, what’s a guy to do? Girl’s hot.
I wink at her, and that cute flush spreads on her cheeks again. “Shoot.”
“What?”
“Ask away.” I spread my arms wide. “No secrets.”
Right? I feel kinda guilty after the words are out, but bad dreams aren’t really a secret, are they? Just background noise.
She puts down the wine bottle beside her on the table. “Okay. Why the constant music?”
I blink. Not the question I expected—though what the hell I expected… “It’s not constant.”
“Well…”
The music rises to a crescendo, the bass beat vibrating.
I glance at the speakers, rake a hand through my hair. Shrug. “Okay, you’re right. It is constant. I guess it… keeps the world… at a distance. Keeps it quiet.”
“Why would you want to keep the world at a distance? And what do you mean, to keep it quiet?”
I frown, tug on my hair, causing pinpricks of pain in my scalp. “I’m… not sure.” Tug and release, tug and release. “It doesn’t matter.”
A scream. That eye staring at me. A bass male voice. Footsteps after me, pounding heavily on the ground. Blood spreading. Darkness falling.
Fuck.
“Enough talking about me. Tell me about yourself.” I push the wine away and step between her legs. “Are you in town for a while? Do you live here?”
“I don’t…” She gasps when I run my thumb over her lips. “Don’t live here. I live in Springfield.”
I drag my thumb along the smoothness of her cheek. Like silk. “Why?”
“Why what?” She sounds breathless. Her lips are parted.
“Why don’t you live here? Do your parents live in Springfield?”
“No, no, Dad lives in Nashville, and Mom…” A flash of pain goes through her eyes. “She lives in San Diego now and keeps trying to get me to move there. My friend Lin lives in Springfield.”
“And you followed her.”
A tiny shrug. She leans into my touch lightly. “My sister had left town, too. We actually grew up here. But she followed a guy she was in love with, and I just kind of…” A shiver. “Kind of drifted.”
“Okay.”
“Sophie didn’t finish school. I didn’t either. We both got our GED later. She just…”
“It’s okay.” Her sister is a tough topic for her to touch. It’s plain to see, and I didn’t mean to make her sad. “So you’re going back to Springfield? Guess what I’m asking is… Will I see you more, or will I be talking to your sister instead and scaring her with my sexual innuendos?”
She laughs. The tension breaks. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking.”
“What about?”
“About getting a job here. Staying here. Not because of you,” she hurries to add, cheeks reddening.
“Of course not,” I say lightly, though my heart is thumping hard, and a little sting of disappointment pricks me.
Jesus, of course not. She barely knows me.
“That leads me to another important question,” I say, making my voice grave, sliding my hand to her neck.
“What is it?” Dark eyes meet mine, worried.
“Are you sure? Is it my turn to ask?”
“What?” She stares at me. “Ask what?”
“Who are you in a dream relationship with?” I stroke over the rapid pulse of a fine vein under the skin. “I saw your profile status on Facebook.”
Her pulse spikes, her dark lashes sweep down even as a smile curves her lips. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is. Look, I don’t wanna stand in the way of your cat and dream boyfriend, but…”
She snickers delicately. “But what?”
“But I swear to hell I will. Whoever he is, no offense.” I’d meant this as a joke, to diffuse the rest of the tension, but I find my back stiffening, my hackles rising. “Only I get to hold you, and kiss you, and… fuck…”
She grins at me. “Especially that last one?”
“All of it,” I say, I find I really mean it.
We eat and climb on top of my bed to watch a movie. I lie on my back, propping my head on two pillows, dragging the laptop on my lap, and she snuggles beside me.
I wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer. I like this. Never done it with any girl before. I like how she fits in the curve of my arm, against my side, how she lays her head on my chest and draws circles with her finger on my stomach.
Talking was good, even if it wasn’t long. Take it slow, right? I’m starting to get a faint picture of who she is, where she’s coming from. I have so many questions about her sister and why Cos took her place a few times, about their mom and the pain I sense there.
But lying here with her eases something inside me I didn’t know had been wound up tight for so long. Maybe all my life.
Clash of the Titans starts to play, and she sighs, rubbing her cheek on my pec.
“You’re
like a kitten,” I tell her.
I’m watching the screen, but not seeing the movie. It happens to me every time we watch a movie together. Kinda makes me wonder why I bother—but she seems to enjoy it, and I enjoy having her half-draped over me. Just having her near is enough to make me smile.
“My sis has a kitten.” Her words are small puffs of breath on my skin. “I told you about her. I may need to take her home with me.”
“Your sister?”
“The kitten. My sister is more and more away now, and the kitty stays all alone.”
“Need me to take the kitten in?”
She lifts her head, eyes wide. “You’d look after the kitty?”
I shrug. “I’d have to clear it up with JC first, see he’s not allergic or anything like that.”
She smiles the brightest smile ever. Plops back down.
“I kinda like you, Mercury,” she whispers.
I grin.
She rests her cheek back on my chest and trails her fingertips over my hand that’s lying on top of my stomach.
The movie plays on. There’s a battle. Lots of monsters. Blood pours in rivers, arcs out of wounds, splashes on clothes and bodies.
I blink, an echo of a scream in my ears.
“You have a scar here,” she says, and I jerk.
“What?”
“A scar, on your hand.” She turns my hand over, traces the scar in my palm. “What happened here?”
Searing pain in my hand. Darkness. Panic.
“It’s an old scar,” I whisper. “I… I’m not sure how I got it.” My scars, one on my palm, and one on my arm. Old and half-forgotten.
“I have one here,” she says, and rubs her knee, though I can’t see the scar because of the black tights she’s wearing. “I fell off a swing when I was five. Me and Sophie, we were competing to see who could swing up higher.”
I chuckle and turn my eyes back to the laptop screen, and the movie before she asks me again how I got mine.
Not all scars are visible, I think. Not all scars are fun.
“And the tattoo on your back?” She’s looking up at me, her cute little face upturned, eyes bright. “An ax.”
“Yeah… Had it done last year. It was… from a book I was reading.”
