by Rie Warren
“’Cause if so, I think I’d like to keep you around.” A heart-skipping grin curved his mouth to settle deep dimples in his cheeks.
But his words nettled.
Because more trouble waited for me the longer I stayed away from the Lair compound.
“I should get back.” Planting my feet on the floor, I shook off a wave of dizziness.
Angel’s hands on my shoulders stopped me from getting up, and his eyes blazed down at me. “The fuck you’re going back there. No way. No way, Mercy.”
“Why do you care? I’m one of them. I’m branded. I’m disgusting.”
“Yeah, I’m really disgusted by you,” he muttered under breath.
Crouching in front of me, he cupped a hand around the nape of my neck. “All I see is a beautiful woman who’s been really hurt. And I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”
“I am not a damsel in distress.” New fire lit inside me, and I snapped back.
One of his brows hooked high. “Nah. Guess not. I mean I never had a woman whose favored weapon was a garrote.”
“I’m pretty handy with a pistol too.”
He whooped like I’d said the funniest thing in the world then hauled me straight onto his lap.
I had no choice but to ring my arms around his neck.
“You’re safe now. Safe here with me.” Snugging me closer, he rocked me in his arms.
“How do you know that?”
“Because if your family comes a’busting down the door they’re gonna get smacked down by a bunch a man-bun wearing hipsters toting super badass hookahs.”
I laughed, a well of sensation burbling up like bubbles in a brook. “So the hipsters are gonna save me?”
“No.” Angel scowled. “I am.”
“You are?”
“Mais oui.”
That Cajun accent of his did all sorts of tingly things to me.
I bet he knew it too.
Sitting up straighter to break some of the connection, I fully took in the surrounds. “So, this is your room?”
He plunked to his butt and easily spun me so I sat between his spread thighs. His heat radiated up and down my back.
“Yeah. But I’m not . . .” His breath fanned across my neck. “I don’t expect anything to happen. I’d never take advantage of you, Mercy.”
Because I sensed nothing but sincerity in him, I nuzzled my mouth against his throat just for a second.
I tucked my lips together when I heard the groan stifled in his chest.
“It’s not that.” Tipping my head to the side, I looked at him in profile.
“Huh?”
I almost giggled. I never giggled. I didn’t ever get a chance to giggle.
“I don’t think you’re out to take advantage of me by bringing me to your room.”
“Then what?”
“Well . . .”
I looked around the large tidy space. Two doors opened to a wrought iron balcony, sending in the scent of jasmine and hot puffs of summer air. A fan lazily spun overhead, but no dust crawled across the wood floors. The only notes of manly disorder were what looked like a pocketful of gewgaws emptied on top of his dresser, boots piled in a pyramid in one corner, and clothes in disarray on the chair right next to the balcony.
Heck, even the sheets on his bed had smelled good.
They smelled like Angel.
A hint of smoke and bourbon and leather.
He jostled me in his arms. “Well?”
“It’s so clean.” I was used to darkness and dankness.
“I’m not a complete slob, I’ll have you know. What about where you live?”
“You’ve been to the White Lair.”
He stiffened against me. “So you’re in one of those concrete boxes out back.”
“It’s not nice like this.” Not nearly.
“Tell you what’s even nicer. A big hot bath after a long shit day.” Angel lunged to his feet, swung me into his arms, and strode across the room before I could protest.
He kicked open an adjoining door and slid me down.
The bathroom wasn’t huge . . . but a bath.
And the tiles were clean. Not a speck of mildew in sight.
The toilet seat was up though.
I smothered a laugh while he jerked aside a shower curtain and spun the taps.
Water sloshed into the tub, immediately steaming up the room.
Angel turned to me, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “No bubbles or anything like that I’m afraid.”
“I think I’ll live.” I moved away from the door.
He looked at the open portal then at me. “You’re not expectin’ me to leave, are ya?”
“Angel, you already saw—”
“That’s right. The brand. Some of your bruises. I promised I wouldn’t take advantage of you. And now—if you’ll let me—I’d really like to take care of you the best way I know how.”
“I don’t want you to see me naked.”
“Is that what all this is about?” Humidity poured over us, and he shut off the hot tap before tugging his shirt up and off. “Guess I’ll have to go first then.”
I didn’t know whether to look away or not.
I am not looking away.
Holding my breath, I watched as Angel shucked his boots and socks and tossed them over my head and into the bedroom. I couldn’t believe he was going through with this.
“But you don’t bathe, do you?” The sight of his bare chest alone made me feel faint.
All strapping muscles and a glint of golden hair. Strong ropey shoulders and tats on his biceps. The grooves of muscle leading into his low-slung jeans.
He sniffed at his pits. “Why? Do I smell that bad?”
“I just meant you probably just shower?” Then I narrowed my eyes at the trickle of blood on his thick bicep. “You said no one got hurt.”
“Just a scrape. I’ll live.” He stripped the rest of the way off, and I thought I’d fall over.
Oh . . . my my my.
“Your turn.” Angel spun off the other tap, giving me an amazing view of his firm sculpted ass and his thickly muscled thighs. The full backpiece that looked like a replica of the MC colors I’d noticed on the back of all their leather vests.
When he quirked an eyebrow, I just stared some more.
I was too busy drooling. My first eyeful—and, oh lord, what an eyeful—of incredibly buff and beautiful male.
He sat on the edge of the bath with arms braced on either side of him, not moving a muscle. His cock rose like a flagpole from his groin, heavy looking and thick and veiny.
Something heady and new spun through me, webs that connected me to him. My sex swelled, and heat swamped me like a summer afternoon in the foothills of Tennessee.
He sat there, completely unabashed, while I worried the hem of my T-shirt between my fingers.
“See anything you like?” A dimple drove into his cheek.
Lord. Where to start?
It was hopeless, I couldn’t even speak to answer him.
“How about you even the playing field?” he asked.
I nodded.
Despite my nervousness, I kicked off my boots. I toed off my dingy socks. I shed the rest as fast as I could, goose bumps standing up on my bare flesh. Arms crossed over my breasts and my sex, I shut my eyes.
“Jesus. Don’t they feed you?” Angel’s voice sounded as stark as I felt.
Tears leaked from my eyes, salty reminders I wasn’t made for love. That I wasn’t worth loving.
The ghost of a touch skimmed my hip, his fingers lightly caressing.
“Didn’t mean you’re not the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen, m’petite.” Thick and rough, Angel’s tone held a note of lust.
I opened my eyes.
“Would like to spoil you just a little bit, though.” He hopped into the tub, sending swells of water over the lip. “Well, come on in.”
“We’re not both fitting in there.”
“Sure we are.” Arms reaching out, he w
rangled me to his lap.
More water spilled out, and he didn’t seem to care one iota.
Our skin slick, we slid together. His hair-roughened legs bent around mine. His calloused fingers cradled along my hips.
I felt his big hot erection against my bottom. “You’re poking me.”
“Sorry. Bound to happen when you’re in my arms.”
But he didn’t seem too sorry.
Angel washed my hair, combing his fingers through all the tresses, before working in conditioner. He arched me across one arm, sifting warm water over my head to rinse me out.
I blinked my eyes open, stunned to see him staring at my breasts.
The brand was such an ugly mark on my flesh, but my nipples had puffed up under his tantalizing new touch.
I slipped my torso beneath the water.
His cheeks tinged pink, whether from the heat of the water or heat of arousal, I didn’t know.
“Come back here.” Gruff and big, he lifted me back up against him.
He swabbed a cloth across my breasts, and my breath caught in my throat with each pass he made.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” his drawl whispered next to my ear.
“I don’t think you will.”
A large breath escaped his chest, and he carefully dabbed at the brand.
Tears burned in my eyes with his tender care.
Reaching long arms around me, Angel pressed my legs open. “Let me get at those dirty little ankles now.”
“My ankles ain’t dirty!”
“Ain’t they?”
He started at my toes, a ticklish touch which made my ribs ache.
Then he foamed soap all the way up my thighs, warmth turning into melting heat.
I grew wet and sleek.
By the time he reached the apex of my legs, I panted.
“Should I clean you here too?” he asked for permission, his voice gruff.
I nodded and closed my eyes, wanting to wallow in this new sensation that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with pleasure.
Angel parted my sex and caressed me in a way no man ever had.
He groaned when his fingers slid into my slick recess. The angle was so good, his touch so dancingly light, I clasped his forearm and bit into the muscle at the crux of his neck.
“Oohhhh!” I shuddered, more water pooling onto the floor.
“Dieu. Mercy.” Licking at my earlobe, Angel held me against him as he made me writhe and come.
He was the first man to ever make me orgasm.
He was the first man to ever give a damn.
I fell back against him, warm to my very soul.
“Water’s gonna get cold soon.” He shifted me around to straddle his lap where his big cock rose up between us.
Laying his arms on the sides of the tub, he asked, “You gonna do me now?”
He was an exhibition of pure male virility. Healthy. Blond. Sexy.
Rampantly erect.
His light tone didn’t reach the shadowy blue of his irises.
I looked down at his rigid shaft, and I shook my head.
“You shy, cher?”
“I want to . . . but . . .”
“How about my chest, and I can take care of the rest.”
He made a big deal of splashing water all over us while he soaped himself up, shaking his hair out like a dog.
I bit my lip, setting my hands against firm solid muscles. I reveled in the feeling of the springy hair on his chest. I roamed to his abdomen and farther while he reached to his balls.
His body twisted and flexed, and he grasped my wrist when I neared the head of his cock.
“If you go there, there’s no goin’ back, beb.”
“Sorry.”
“The least little thing you need to be sorry ’bout.” Helping me up, Angel drained the tub and swathed me in a towel.
He hooked another around his waist and disappeared into his room.
When he returned, he’d pulled on some shorts. His cock tented them.
And his hands shook when he peeled off my towel to roll a shirt over my head.
I found the armholes, and the material swamped me almost all the way to my knees. The T-shirt smelled so good, felt so soft.
Angel took my hand and drew me back to the bed. He sat me down and lifted a lavender-scented parcel from the little table.
“Sol made a cool poultice for that mark on you.”
“Sol? He’s okay?” I’d lost track of just about everyone after I’d rushed outside only to be grabbed by my uncle.
“Right as rain. Tough as rawhide, that old man.” His gaze slid from my face to my breasts. “So, should we put this on?”
“Maybe we should’ve done that before I put the shirt on.”
Miraculously, Angel blushed. “Yeah. Maybe.”
He’d already seen all of me. No sense being shy now. I lay down and pulled the shirt up to my collarbone.
He gulped, and his hands shook as he placed the cool swabbing against the brand. The tips of his fingers slid across my breast, somehow replacing the horrid pain of the scarification with tremors of heat.
I glanced at his face, and anger had leaped into his eyes.
Voice raw, he said, “I don’t know how anyone could do this to you. Makes me wanna murder someone.”
He tied a band of soft cotton diagonally across my torso to keep the compress in place before gently shifting my shirt back down.
He set his hands on my shoulders, leaning down to kiss my brow. “Sweet, sweet Mercy.”
My heart fluttered as if it had wings that could make it soar instead of an anchor tied around the beating thing.
After Angel relinquished his hold on me, he pulled over a covered platter of food.
Lifting off the lid, he presented a veritable feast. “Sol sent this up too.”
I pushed up to sit against the headboard, overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers. “For me?”
“It’s just food.”
Food. Care. Help.
Hope.
“No one’s taken care of me in such a long time.” I sniffed through the threat of tears.
“Well, tuck in.” Angel’s tone was gruff, like he was stamping down emotion too. “If you let it get cold, I can guarantee there’ll be hell to pay.”
I ate the delicious bounty with the hunger of a street kid, only stopping to guiltily offer some to him. He just waved me back to the chow, a strained smile forming on his lips.
After I’d finished, he poured me a bourbon and one for himself.
I hadn’t felt this warm on the inside, this full in ages . . . probably not since Memaw died. When everything had turned black.
Angel paced onto the balcony, a flare of light sparking from a lighter then a tendril of cigarette smoke wafting inside.
So, my Angel had at least one bad habit. Smoking and taking in no-good loners like me. I wandered over, searching the seriousness in his eyes through the dark veil of the night.
“Care to share?” I asked.
He exhaled several perfect rings then passed me the cigarette.
I pursed my lips where his had been, and touching the slightly damp tip felt as intimate as our first kiss.
Our only kiss.
What should probably remain as our last kiss.
When I handed the cigarette back, he let the smoke curl up to his nostrils before exhaling to the muzzy starlit sky.
I finished my last sip of bourbon, which warmed me even more, watching his long fingers cradling the cigarette. I remembered how those long rough fingers had been so tender and arousing on my body, in my pussy.
Warmth became heat.
“How’s your cheek?” His fingers stroked the side of my face.
“What?”
“Saw you take a pretty hard blow from your uncle out there. Right where he must’ve hit you before.”
“What’s another kick or hit? I hardly notice anymore.”
“Fuck. I don’t wanna think about that.” Stubbing out his
smoke, he shoved off the balcony’s railing. “I’ll get you some ice. Should’ve done that first thing.”
I placed my hand on his forearm, aware of his near nudity and our close proximity. “It’s okay. Could we just . . .” I chewed on my lip. “Can we go to bed now?”
“You move fast, don’t you?”
For someone called Angel, he had a very devilish grin.
His teasing helped relieve the last tension remaining inside my body, and suddenly exhaustion drained me.
I sat on the bed, bare feet on the floor, while he closed the doors and locked them. He ambled across the room with a mesmerizing swagger. I tried not to look at his groin or his naked chest or his long muscular legs, and I almost whooped with laughter when at the last second he did a short running jump to land in the middle of the bed flat on his back.
He kicked blankets and sheets down to the bottom then whacked the mattress next to him. “What are ya waitin’ for?”
“Just wanted to make sure I was on the right side.”
“Bien, bien. Plenty of room anyway. I’ll try not to crowd you too much.”
I lay back stiffly, unsure how this would go.
“Relax, Mercy. I don’t expect anything from you.”
I glanced at him, but his eyes were shut.
Releasing a pent up breath, I rolled onto my side away from him. “G’night, Angel.”
His hand came up to softly brush through my damp hair. “Bon nuit, cher.”
Shutting my eyes, I smiled at his Cajun endearment.
He reached over me to switch off the light, and I hoped this wouldn’t be one of those nights I woke with terrors.
Angel remained on his back, his breathing steady and slow. Minutes ticked past, and I knew he didn’t sleep. Too much electricity surrounded us, and we were both aware. That awful but awesome tension thickened the air like a humid summer day just before a thunderstorm hit.
Finally, he cursed softly. The mattress jostled, and he spooned up against me.
“This okay? Just wanna make sure you don’t disappear on me during the night.”
I nodded, smiling in the dark.
I squished back closer to him, enveloping myself all the way in his scent and his solidity and his . . . oh, lord. He was hard again. His thick erect cock nestled right into the wedge of my bottom.
He murmured something low in his throat, his arm ringing right around my waist to haul me even closer.
I couldn’t believe he could want a girl like me. Not after he’d commented about me being so underweight. I wasn’t model skinny, but abused and neglected and malnourished. It definitely wasn’t a hot look, especially with the bruises and the brand . . .
