Begging For Mercy

by Mataya, Tamara

  I hold my hand out to him, wiping it on my jeans first. “Matthew Mercy, sir. I used to hang out with Patch sometimes when we were younger. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

  “I remember you.” He takes my hand, squeezing slightly harder than necessary, reminding me he’s not someone to be screwed with because he’s her father and will do anything to protect his little girl. “It’s good to see you like this.”

  What? “Sorry?”

  He gestures at the paints and pencils. “Creating something instead of wrecking things for a change.”

  “Ah.” Fresh shame fills me, lowering my head with the weight of my past. Even this situation is because of me and my family, not that the Perrises know that. “Yeah, this is more my thing now, sir.”

  “Call me Grant. You’re pretty good.” He leans closer, squinting at my sketch. “Subtle with a big effect.”

  It’s more of a compliment than anything my father’s ever given me. “Andy chose the colors.”

  “She’s always had a good eye.”

  Is he giving me the okay, approving of me seeing his daughter?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Andy

  I felt how Matt ripped his hand away, but I’m not worried Dad and Matt will get along. They’re both into racing, both good men, and they both came here to make sure I was alright when they heard about the damage, proving they both care. Matt even left when I told him to, and came back with the intention of doing something amazing for me. He wasn’t coming back to get anything or exploit the situation, or because he thought I’d be scared and lonely and needed a big strong man to protect me.

  If he’d done that, I’d have sent him away again to prove a point.

  As long as Dad realizes Matt’s more than the rebellious kid he used to be, this could be a good thing.

  “I’ll make us some coffees.” I wave off their protests and head for the coffeemaker, giving them a minute to themselves. Bond, boys! By the time I get back five minutes later, Matt’s posture has relaxed, and Dad’s got a smile on his face.

  I hand them their cups.

  “You going to open tomorrow?” Dad asks.

  I shake my head.

  “I’d have thought you’d be open no matter what.”

  I grimace. “I think it’s better to wait until everything’s fixed up so the customers don’t walk in and feel like their vehicles aren’t safe here.”

  Dad nods, and pride spreads over his face. He’s used to me being a stubborn ass, but he also knows I’m not stupid. Moments like this prove it. Rare, rare moments. “Looks like you’ve already cleaned the place up.”

  “Yeah.” I tap a pattern on the floor with the toe of my shoe. “Sucks though.”

  “I know it does. But no one was hurt and that’s the main thing.”

  “Other than my bike.”

  Dad squints. “Shady, that.”

  Not really, when you consider how I was kicking everyone like a grasshopper a couple races ago. “You know how it is. Some men can’t take being beaten by a girl.” That’s what we’ll go with.

  Dad frowns and shakes his head. “You haven’t been racing alone again? Patch needs to—”

  “Have a life of his own. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  Matt clears his throat. “When I’m there I keep an eye out for her, sir, but Andy can more than hold her own.”

  I think I love Matthew Mercy.

  Dad turns to him. “I know she can. I also know how fast things can escalate, and if anything happened to my little girl on your watch, you’d be answering to me.”

  “Oh my God, Dad! It’s not the fifties!” My skin prickles with embarrassment, but giddiness fills me as well. Dad’s basically giving us his approval.

  He kisses my temple and gives me a quick hug. “I should get going. I wanted to see for myself you were okay. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I walk him out and return to Matt. “I think he likes you.”

  “Well, I’m still breathing, so I’ll take that as a good sign.” Matt shakes his head. “I can’t believe he’s your dad. He’s a legend.”

  “He’s just a man, Matt.”

  “No. He’s a good man. He genuinely cares about people and loves you and Patch. There’s no ‘just’ about that.”

  Sometimes I forget everyone didn’t grow up with supportive family like I did. How did Matt turn out so well when he was raised by jerks? There’s something to be said for throwing off your genes and your upbringing and making something of yourself on your own terms.

  Then again, Dad and Patch have been infuriating lately with their overprotective bullshit.

  Matt sets his cup down. “I should finish the design and get out of here.”

  I nod, but there’s no way that’s happening.

  He opens a pot of paint and I fiddle around, cleaning up little things I haven’t gotten to yet, making sure nothing was stolen. Matt also could have dropped me in it with Dad, telling him about the way I brought the vandalism on myself through shitty race behavior, but he didn’t. He also stood up to him, saying I can take care of myself, and I love how he acknowledges that and fought my corner.

  He never tries to force me into a pretty little box of something I’m not.

  I give it twenty minutes after Dad leaves before walking quietly to the door, sliding the storm shutter down since the window’s wrecked, and locking things so quietly Matt doesn’t realize I’ve locked us both inside. I had him all day.

  I want him all night.

  He’s finished the painting and is just drying his hands off at the sink when I dip my finger in the paint pot, sneak up behind him, and dab a spot of blue paint onto his t-shirt.

  “Hey!” He takes a step back and I follow with bad intentions.

  “Oh no! I am such a klutz, I’m sorry.” Another spot on his jeans. “Whoops! You can’t ride your bike with paint on your jeans. You might damage the seat.”

  Understanding settles over his features, and he cocks an eyebrow. “Oh no, we definitely can’t have that. It would make me look bad in front of the other riders.”

  “Exactly. We’d better get you out of those filthy clothes.”

  He steps into my space, licking a finger and touching my shirt. “Now I’m dirty and you’re wet. Such a shame.”

  I grin. “Whatever will we do? We can’t go out wet and dirty where people could see us.”

  He takes my t-shirt by the hem, giving it a tug toward my stairs. “I mean, you’d be a pretty crappy host to let me leave here like this. And I’d never forgive myself leaving you here by yourself, all wet. You might catch your death of cold. It’s only, like, eighty degrees.”

  “You’re so considerate, Matt.”

  “I try.”

  Desire pulses through me to the rhythm of the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

  I love Matthew Mercy.

  I love his big, built body with the muscles that make me feel like swooning even though I never wanted to swoon until him.

  I love the way he smiles when he wants me, and the way his eyes darken when he really wants me.

  I love his large, strong hands that can defend and destroy, but he uses them to create a picture of me on my bike, or a paint job beautiful enough to eclipse a bad memory and take my breath away.

  I love his strength, and his passion, and his gentleness, and humor.

  I love how he effortlessly carries me up the stairs like I’m weightless without taking his gaze from mine.

  “You locked up already?”

  I nod, unable to speak for fear of accidentally screaming I love you!

  I love how he looks in my apartment, every familiar object transformed into a blur as I focus on his face.

  I love how he smiles with his eyes, and makes me feel like the first, last, and best woman in his world.

  God, I want to be.

  He sets me down inside the door so we can kick off our shoes. Then we stand, moving closer until our legs and hips are gently p
ressed together. Hands become tentative, barely grazing shoulders, chests, hips. Our bodies come together, gently, irresistibly, arms wrapping around each other.

  For a moment, we stand in an intense embrace as though our hearts are exposed and the only way to keep them safe is by pressing them to each other and holding on tight, baring everything silently between us.

  Our mouths meet, hands gripping tighter as lips and tongues and hearts make contact.

  Desire tears through my body, painful and deep because I realize I don’t just want his body. I want him.

  I pull back and stare up at him, searching his gaze for any sign that he feels the same way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Matthew

  Something in her eyes is safe and dangerous all at once, and I don’t know how not to cross that emotional line I should have drawn in the sand to keep her safe, protect her from me and my family.

  “Andy.”

  “What?”

  I want to be yours. “I want you to be mine.”

  She leans closer, whispering the words against my lips. “I already am.”

  “I mean only mine. Exclusively.”

  “I know what you meant. And like I said, I already am.”

  I want to take everything Andy Perris has to give, and then I want to give her everything I am.

  I’d definitely be getting the better deal.

  Gently cradling her face in my hands, I kiss her lightly, sweetly, intensely aware of how precious she’s become to me since she knocked me off my bike not all that long ago.

  We bump into walls, turning as we kiss, vaguely aiming for the bedroom, neither of us willing to break the contact to get us there more directly. I’m in no hurry. She’s already in my arms and that’s what matters.

  We kiss our way to the bedroom, and she pulls back to strip off my t-shirt, careful not to touch the damp paint to my face before tossing the garment to the floor. Bathed by the light streaming in through the door, she drinks me in with her eyes and I swear I can feel her gaze like a touch to my skin. Am I good enough for her? Her expression says yes and my past says no, but inside her room there’s no past. No expectations. No doubts or shame, only acceptance in her arms and eyes.

  I pull her shirt off, holding it over her eyes for a second. A soft smile thins her lips, and I kiss it from her face before pulling the shirt completely off and unhooking her bra with one hand, unbuttoning her jeans with the other, stripping her bare. Her skin is buttery soft, lush and decadent like I should only get to experience it in small doses or I’ll be forever spoiled.

  She’s already ruined me for any other woman. No one could measure up to Andy Perris. Her hands trail down my abs on the way to my fly, undoing the button and sliding the zipper down slowly. My cock pushes against the denim, and springs forward as she bends slightly, pulling my pants down. She lightly rubs her nipples up my abs and chest as she stands to her full height and wraps her arms around my neck, snapping any self-control I’ve got.

  I slide my hands down her back and grip her firm ass, pulling her tighter to me, kneading before slipping my hands down to grasp the backs of her thighs and part them, lifting her, opening those legs to me and carrying her to the bed. Spread out, her wetness slicks my cock already, and I grind against her.

  She makes a sound between a moan and a purr when I press my lips to a very specific part of her throat. I kiss a trail down to her collarbone and give one side an experimental nibble, which makes Andy arch her back and tighten her legs around my waist. I do the same on the other one before moving down and sliding my tongue over the silky tips of her nipples.

  Her hands fist my hair, sending a tiny jolt of pain across my scalp, and I suck one nipple hard in pleasurable revenge, smiling at her sharp inhalation when she presses harder against my mouth. No matter what I do, she meets me as my equal, ready and able to take me on and give back as good as she gets.

  “Matt.”

  “Yes?” I brush my hand up her thigh.

  “I want you to stay over.”

  I bend to kiss her shoulder. “I have to stay. Wet, dirty clothes, remember?”

  “I know. But when I wake up, I want you here.” She stiffens as though scared I’ll react badly to her gentle demand.

  I’m thankful she can’t see the ridiculous smile on my face. “Of course I’ll stay if you want me to.”

  “I do.”

  I do, I do, I do. Maybe someday...

  She grabs me and pulls a move that results with my back to the mattress and her on top. I let her stay there.

  “What was that?” Not that I’m complaining with a view like this.

  “Martial arts.” She straddles me, trapping my cock between us and lightly grinding, killing further questions.

  Covering her hips like a corset, I support her while she raises up, positioning my tip at her wet entrance and slowly working herself down my length, so tight she has trouble getting down at first, frantically circling her hips until I’m completely buried inside. Instead of moving up, she grinds in a slow figure eight that tenses my belly and tears a groan from my throat. The way her hips undulate beneath my hands is almost as sexy, and I keep them there until she guides them higher, to her breasts.

  Her hands trail up to rest on my chest, and then she rides me, slowly, steadily, like there’s not just all night, but all our lives.

  Up and down. Hard and deep. I explore her breasts and nipples, adding my own hip movements in a counterpart to hers until she gasps and her movements become shallower and more erratic. Then I press a hand to her belly so she sits up higher and I support her with a hand on her back and maneuver us again until our heads are at the foot of the bed and I’m on top.

  Now I thrust into her with all my weight and power behind it and she clasps her arms behind me to pull me down farther. I don’t want to crush her, but apparently that’s exactly what she needs from me, so I give her what she likes until she’s moaning with every movement and clawing at my back, grabbing my ass for more.

  Our kiss turns brutal, tongues plunging deep, wrestling to give and take every bit of pleasure from the other, teeth nipping and dragging because this feeling isn’t gentle; it devours us from inside and the only thing that can satisfy is each other. Her legs spread wider, knees bending until her legs resemble butterfly wings out at her sides, allowing me to reach deeper inside, get closer to her.

  The base of my cock grinds against her clit with every thrust, driving her closer to release which makes her already tight pussy even tighter, and soon I’m clenching my teeth against how fucking good it feels to be inside her, and I want to keep going, need to live inside this woman as long as I possibly can, but she cries out and tenses, and it’s like a fist milking my cock and I can’t hold on.

  Spasms wrack my belly, and I come inside her, deep, with a shudder that leaves me breathless, and we’re breathing heavy, clinging to each other, and I roll us and move so she’s on top and we’re sitting, still riding the aftershocks of our pleasure. This position lets me embrace her without losing the closeness or feel like I’m crushing her.

  She rests her head on my shoulder, kissing the top of it, warm breaths heating my neck. Her hair is like satin between my fingers, and I lose myself in the simple sensation of running my hands through the softness of it, removing any knots we created together.

  “I love your hair. And skin.” I brush my hand down her flank. “How are you so soft?”

  “How are you so hard?” She counters, tweaking her hips with the cheekiest grin I’ve ever seen, reminding me we’re still joined.

  Like I could forget.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Why?” She tenses as though to get off me, and I hold her in place, not wanting to be apart yet. She relaxes and traces patterns on my shoulders. “Do you have plans?” She nibbles my earlobe and my cock jerks at the fresh stab of lust that jolts straight through me.

  I nod. “An old friend of mine’s having a barbeque and I’d like it if you ca
me.”

  “I like coming with you.”

  I reach down and rub her clit. “I know you do, but that’s not what I meant, cheeky.”

  “Like a date?” she gasps, sucking my earlobe into her mouth.

  “You are my girlfriend.”

  “Okay.” She throws her head back, finally taking what I give. “Am I going to hear stories about you from the old days?”

  My rhythm falters for a second. “Maybe.” I cradle the nape of her neck and press my forehead to hers. “Promise me you won’t think differently of me if you hear the stories about me.”

  “I won’t.”

  I thrust in and out. “I couldn’t bear it if you thought badly of me, Andy.”

  She moans. “Nothing could make me think less of you. I know who you are now. The rest is in the past.”

  It was, and it will be again as soon as I finish paying Luke’s debt.

  I hope that’s true.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Andy

  The lanai glows with flickering candles and the white lights strung on the fence and wrapped around the plants in the backyard. With the fire pit in one corner, the soft lights are bright enough to see everything without hiding the twinkling stars. The smoking BBQ at the far end of the yard releases sweet and savory scents that make my mouth water.

  The boys are talking in the kitchen, and Garth sent me out to the back with a glass of wine in hand.

  How they didn’t realize me prancing into someone’s yard unannounced is incredibly awkward, I have no idea.

  “Andy, right?”

  I turn and smile at the attractive brunette carrying a baby dressed in pink. “Hi, yes.”

  She holds out a hand. “I’m Garth’s wife, Kristen. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Uh oh. Am I going to need a bigger glass of wine for this conversation?”

  Her nose crinkles when she laughs. “It was all glowing praise—second hand through Garth of course.”

  “Ah, that’s a relief. And what’s this one’s name?” I peek at the tiny baby, tickling her toes.