Merciless King (Lawless Kings, #5)

by Sherilee Gray

After switching off the lights, I padded down the hall to the spare room as quietly as I could. When I walked in, it felt cold, too quiet. It had only been a few nights, but I’d gotten used to the sound of Van quietly breathing beside me. I’d gotten used to being close to him, the heat and strength of him right there.

  Forcing those thoughts from my mind—because I needed to stop thinking about his hands on me and the way it felt being held close to his big, strong, hot body—I quickly showered and changed into my pj shorts and tank. I was about to climb into bed when there was a knock at my door.

  “You in there, London?” Van said.

  I stilled. “Yes.”

  “I’m opening the door.”

  I crossed my arms, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He gave me a head to toe when he walked in. The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I was waiting for everyone to go so I could talk to you.”

  I couldn’t read the look on his face, the tone of his voice. “Okay.”

  “The police arrested someone tonight.”

  I hugged myself tighter. “They did?”

  “They’ll need to formally ID him, and because he was wearing gloves, it’ll take longer than just running prints.” His shoulders stiffened. “But the hair you tore out of his head while you were struggling on the floor…” His nostrils flared. “They’ll use that to match this guy’s DNA with your attackers. That’s just a formality, though. He’s our guy. We ID’d him through CCTV footage we got of him outside your place and the store,” he said. “I saw him being taken in.”

  I didn’t know what to say. How to feel. My legs were suddenly weak. “They got him?”

  Van dipped his chin.

  “I’m…I’m safe now?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

  “That’s…” I struggled to find the right words and failed, so I said, “Thank you, Van, for everything you’ve done for me, not just the last week but two years ago. I don’t…I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  He shook his head. “Baby, you have no idea how glad I am that I could be there for you. None. No thanks needed.”

  Baby.

  He’d called me that before, but this time, the deep rumble of his voice when he said it hit me low, so low I had to squeeze my thighs together. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at him, speechless.

  His eyes were on me, the deep mahogany of his irises nearly swallowed by his pupils. They slid from me to the bed beside me then back, and his nostrils flared. “’Night, London,” he said and stepped back.

  I watched as the door closed quietly behind him, my own gaze moving to the bed. I was safe. It was over. That was fantastic, amazing. Then why was there this hollow feeling inside me that yawned wider by the second?

  Because you know when you leave here you won’t see him again. Van will walk away like he did last time.

  This was probably my last night here with him. Possibly the last time I saw him at all. The thought caused an ache in the center of my chest because, yeah, I knew it was the truth. I knew it.

  My whole life I’d been scared, shy, had kept myself apart, had done anything to avoid the fear I’d lived with for as long as I could remember. Van made me feel so much, so much beyond my fear that the idea of leaving tomorrow and never seeing him again, never knowing what it felt like to be kissed, touched by him, far exceeded any anxiety I felt.

  Van King would never hurt me. Never.

  Even if I walked to his room and offered myself to him, and he turned me down, he would do it in a way that would cause the least amount of pain. I knew that with absolute surety.

  Was that what I was going to do? Was I going to go to him and ask to spend the night with him?

  Was I going to tell him that I wanted him?

  I took a shaky breath, fighting the nerves exploding behind my ribs. This is your last chance. Was I willing to spend another two years, God, another moment living with what ifs? With fantasies?

  I opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

  No.

  I wasn’t.

  7

  London

  His door was closed.

  It had been hard enough to walk through my own. Did I knock? Or just stride in, all false confidence and bravado?

  Yeah, there was no way he was buying the confidence act, and I knew I couldn’t pull it off.

  I lifted my hand, fingers curled in a fist, poised to knock.

  Do it. This is your last chance. DO IT.

  Somehow my fist connected with the door before I registered the movement. I stumbled back a step, in shock that I actually had done it.

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  I was contemplating turning and running away when the door opened.

  Van stood there, shirtless.

  He was wearing only boxer briefs.

  And he was staring down at me, waiting for me to say something.

  I noted he held the door partially closed, blocking my view of the room behind like I’d never seen it before, like he was afraid I’d run in and dive in his bed and he’d never get me out.

  This was a bad idea. No, a monumentally terrible idea.

  If he wanted me that way, he would have done something about it. Van was a take-charge kind of guy. The kind of man who went after what he wanted.

  My entire body flushed with heat. With humiliation.

  What the hell were you thinking?

  “London?”

  I jolted. “Um…I just…I was going to…I wanted…I’ll just go back to my room.”

  His hand shot out and caught the fabric of my tank at my belly, fisting it lightly, stopping me. “You knocked on my door. Talk to me.”

  His voice was all gravelly and sexy, and I felt it between my thighs, kicking off a low throbbing ache. My panties were damp and my skin felt hypersensitive.

  My flight instincts were on high alert. But that grip on my shirt held me in place. The muscle in his jaw jumped. It seemed to do that a lot around me. His gaze dropped to my mouth, and when it came back to mine I couldn’t hold his intense stare. I glanced down…

  And got an eyeful.

  Van was hard.

  Straining against the soft fabric of his boxer briefs, and he wasn’t trying to hide it.

  The pulse between my thighs intensified.

  Say it.

  “London?” he said again, with a whole lot of growl behind it this time.

  I aimed my stare at his chest because I couldn’t say this and look into his eyes. “I-it occurred to me that tonight was probably the last night I’d be here…with you.”

  He didn’t say anything. In fact his big body had gone unnaturally still.

  I pushed on. I’d started now; there was no going back. And despite my embarrassment, I didn’t want to. “Two years ago, you left and I, I regretted that I never, that I didn’t…”

  The fingers of his other hand slid under my chin and he tilted my head back, gaze locking with mine. “What did you regret, London?”

  “Will you”—I swallowed hard—“spend the night with me, one last time? Only this time, I don’t want to just…sleep.”

  It was his turn to jolt, but he pulled it together quickly. I’d taken him by surprise. Did he really have no idea that I wanted him? I guessed not. I’d obviously hidden it better than I thought.

  I stood my ground. He wanted me. There was no hiding it. That was all that mattered. I forced myself to take a step closer and, God, I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Please,” I whispered. “I know you’ve already given me so much, more than anyone has given me. But will you give me this?” I looked up at him. “Will you give me tonight?”

  Van made a rough sound, low and gritty, then he carefully cupped the side of my face. His eyes dropped to my lips again, and I expected him to slam his mouth down on mine. I’d imagined those were the kind of kisses he gave, that he was the kind of man to take a woman.

  But he didn’t. He came in slow, like he was
giving me time to change my mind. There was no way in hell that was going to happen.

  His lips brushed mine. Once. Twice. He lifted his head, eyes still intense, body rigid, but there was warmth there as well. The kind I’d never seen before. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Humiliation burned my skin instantly in a full-body flush. Ouch. “Oh.” I didn’t know what to say, what to do. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. “I shouldn’t have come to you like this.” I bit my lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “A fucking beautiful, sexy woman told me she wants me. Nothing to be sorry about.”

  He sounded in pain, physical pain, and my gaze dropped again. He was even bigger, the huge, thick length of his cock straining against his boxer briefs.

  He laughed darkly, the sound strained. “Yeah, baby, I want you. But I’m the last man you need in your bed.”

  He wanted me. I straightened my spine. “You don’t need to protect me, not from you, not this.”

  He cupped my face again, sliding his thumb below my bottom lip. “I wish that were true.”

  I had no idea what he meant by that. He was rejecting me but making me feel more wanted than I had in my whole life. It was confusing.

  My breathing had turned to needy, erratic pants and I was hot and slick between my thighs. He was standing there all big and sexy and hard, and I wanted to scream. My nipples were tight, and my top suddenly felt intolerable. “I don’t understand.”

  His gaze moved over my flushed face. “You ever been fucked before, London?”

  Was virgin stamped on my forehead?

  “I’m talking hard, demanding, out of control,” he continued.

  Okay, maybe he didn’t know I was a virgin, but he at least suspected I lacked experience. I didn’t know how to answer him.

  He still held my shirt at my belly and his fist tightened around the fabric. “I’m not the man for you.”

  I’d take whatever he gave me, however he gave it to me. Just one night. I’d be happy with one night. That was all I’d expected anyway.

  His gaze did a sweep of my body from head to toe, and despite his words, his rejection, God, I was even more turned on, because he was beautiful, and kind, and so damn gorgeous. I thought I might self-combust.

  His eyes were warm, but as he stared down at me, watched me, something shifted, got darker, deeper. “Fuck,” he ground out.

  I had no idea what was going on in his head. I didn’t understand any of this. “You said you wanted me…If you’re worried about my feelings—”

  “I want you so bad it hurts. I’m not exactly hiding it.”

  No, he wasn’t. If anything, he seemed to want me even more than he had a few minutes ago. I wanted to reach out and touch him, take him in my hand and stroke him.

  “Jesus,” he bit out. “You keep looking at me like that and I won’t be able to send you back to your room.”

  My eyes shot up to his, because I’d been blatantly looking at his cock, like I was about to jump him. And there was no point pretending otherwise. I’d just knocked on his door and asked him to have sex with me. “I don’t want you to.”

  He took a step closer. “You’re wet, aren’t you, baby? It aches, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t give what you deserve, London.” His eyes searched mine. He was breathing heavily, strung bow tight, strain lining his handsome face. “I can’t give you more than this.”

  I’d take one night. I’d take one night with Van over a lifetime with someone else, with someone who didn’t make me feel this way. “I don’t care.”

  “I won’t fuck you,” he finally said. “Shit between us is complicated enough.” His jaw tightened. “But I’ll relieve that ache you got between your thighs. I think I might fucking die if I don’t at least get to do that.” His nostrils flared. “Is that what you want, London?”

  I stared up at him in shock that he’d actually agreed, even as I nodded. It might not be exactly what I’d asked for, but I’d take whatever he could give me. Maybe that made me pathetic, but I didn’t care.

  He came at me with a growl that lifted goose bumps all over my body, sweeping me off my feet. He kept walking until we hit the living room. Then he sat on the couch so I was straddling his hips. I could feel him hot and hard beneath me, and I couldn’t stop myself from grinding down against him, from rolling my hips.

  He hissed. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, sweetheart. You’re not making it easy.”

  How was that the right thing when we both so obviously wanted it? I didn’t want to make it easy on him. I wanted him buried inside me. Before he said anything else, I gathered my courage, which wasn’t hard with how turned on I was, and wrapped my arms around his wide shoulders, pressing my lips against his.

  He groaned, his arms coming around me tight, and he kissed me back, hard, sweeping his tongue into my mouth.

  I’d never been kissed before, had never done anything with a man before. When you barely spoke to the opposite sex, doing anything else with them was kind of difficult.

  I always worried I’d do it wrong, but with Van it felt easy.

  It felt wonderful.

  The taste of him filled my senses, the heat and rasp of his tongue against mine, the surprising softness of his lips, the scrape of his stubble against my own skin. I took it all in. My hands rested on his shoulders and I tentatively slid one down his back, feeling the definition of his muscles, the way they shifted when he moved, while the other hand slid higher up the back of his neck, my fingers delving into his thick dark hair.

  I couldn’t get enough, of his mouth, of the sounds he made, of the way he felt pressed up against me, and with the fierce way Van was kissing me back, I was pretty sure he was enjoying it just as much.

  The longer we kissed, the hotter I got. I was aching everywhere. My skin felt sensitive and the throb between my thighs was relentless.

  Van made a rough sound and his hand slid up my side, thumb resting below my breast. My nipples strained in anticipation. I thought, hoped, he might touch me there, but instead, he pulled away with a groan, breaking our kiss, and dropped his mouth to one of the tight peaks pressing against my shirt, and sucked it into his mouth, right through my tank.

  I cried out and fisted his hair tighter. He nipped gently, using his teeth, his tongue, his lips on me until I was writhing helplessly in his lap. Then he moved to the other side and did it all over again, until I was begging—for more, for relief, for whatever he wanted to give me.

  Van lifted his head. “More?” he rasped.

  “Y-yes,” I gasped out.

  His mouth came back down on mine, one of his arms banding around me, and as he kissed me, he dropped his other hand, sliding it down over my belly until he reached my waist.

  He tugged down the front of my shorts.

  I gasped when he shoved his hand down the front of my underwear, when those strong thick fingers grazed my heated slick flesh.

  He hissed. “Fuck, London, you feel good.”

  “Please,” I said. It was all I could say. He started circling my clit and I gasped against his lips.

  “I would love to take my time with you. But we’re gonna do this quick, ’cause I can’t take much more,” he rasped.

  I nodded frantically.

  “You want my fingers inside you, baby? You want to ride them?”

  “Yes.” I was already lifting higher, giving him room. He instantly slid one thick finger inside me, and I moaned, pressing my forehead to his as he started sliding in and out, his thumb still working my clit.

  “Good?” The sound was more a vibration through his chest than actual words.

  I whimpered, which he obviously took as an affirmative answer because he added a second finger. I whimpered again, desperate for more.

  “Ride them, sweetheart. Ride my fingers.”

  I clung to him, moving my hips without thought, doing whatever felt good. He thrust them in and out of my bo
dy, those skilled fingers repeatedly brushing the sensitive bundle of nerves inside while working my clit with his thumb.

  It hit me hard and fast, racing up on me like I’d never experienced. I pressed my open mouth to the smooth hot skin of his shoulder, kissing and sucking while I worked my hips and cried out. Riding his fingers through it. I felt a gush of moisture between my thighs as it reached its peak.

  Van groaned and cursed and worked me faster, deeper, and I screamed, the sound muffled against his skin. I was shaking, clinging to him. He slowed his thrusts, reading my body, giving me exactly what I needed, knowing to ease back as I shuddered against him.

  I was panting, a dead weight against his body, when he lifted me again and carried me down the hall. I wanted to go to his room, but he deposited me in the spare bed. I could barely keep my eyes open. I wanted to make him feel good, too. “Van…”

  He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, stopping what I was going to say with a quick, hard kiss. He tugged the covers up over me and strode out, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  8

  Van

  London sat beside me, staring out the window as I drove through the streets toward her store. We’d already dropped her bags back at her apartment. She’d tried to get me to leave, said she could walk to work, but I wasn’t ready to…fuck, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  After last night, what I’d done—no, I hadn’t fucked her, but I’d wanted to more than I’d wanted anything in my life. Somehow I’d stopped myself from taking her. But turning her away after the way she’d come to me, flushed and turned on and so fucking brave, how could I say no? I didn’t want to, despite knowing I should.

  I knew what that took for her to tell me she wanted me. Yeah, fuck, London had blown me away. Christ, the way she’d looked up at me, lips parted, nipples straining against her tank, thighs squeezed tight together, I’d wanted to slam my mouth down on hers and take her over and over until neither of us could walk.

  After I’d made her come on the couch—because there was no way I could get her off in my bed and not slide inside her, no damn way—I’d laid her down in her bed and walked into my room, shut the door, and used her juices still coating my fingers to slick over my dick as I jacked it.