No Mercy: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by D. M. Davis

  “I’ve thought of this all day, Frankie.” I flex against her ass as my fingers kneed her breasts and tease her nipples.

  She’s trembling. I need to be sure it’s in anticipation and not fear.

  Kissing up her neck, thankful she’s got her hair in a messy bun, I still at her ear. “You okay, Frankie Angel?”

  She curls her head into me, rubbing it back and forth. “I’m good.”

  “Good.” I pinch her nipples. She whimpers and bucks. I bite her neck and lick away the sting. My cock aches to bury itself deep inside her heaven. “You trust me?” I explore her ass to her pussy and back.

  “Yeah.” Her response is quick but questioning. She doesn’t know what I’m asking of her.

  “I’m only touching, Angel. No penetration.” I round her tight bud with my thumb. “When you give me your ass, we’ll have talked about it first. Okay? No surprises here.”

  The sigh of relief she releases has me massaging my hand up her back as she curls forward, resting her head on her hands. I don’t want to push her further than she can take. I want to work through her discomfort, remind her ass-play can be enjoyable, and just because I want to take her from behind doesn’t mean I want to dominate, control, or hurt her.

  In fact, at this point, I’d rather carry her to bed and make love to her face to face. But we’re here. She’s hot and ready.

  “Let’s take this off.” I push my t-shirt up her back and off over her head. Now I really wish we were face to face so I could suck her tits as she rides my cock.

  Next time.

  With me nearly a foot taller than her, taking her standing up has its challenges, but my girl anticipates and rises to her tippy-toes, giving me a better angle, with my spread legs and bent knees.

  “Please, Gabriel,” she begs when I run my cock along her folds.

  Her neediness is going to end this before I’m ready if I lose my head. “Patience.” I lean over her, flexing my cock over her opening a few times. “So wet, baby.”

  “Yes,” she groans as I push in.

  I grip her hips to pull her down on me as I thrust into her. Her gasping moans have me ramping up my pace and nearly lifting her off her feet with each forward drive.

  “Fuck, Angel.” I about lose my mind when she leans her weight on her arms and hooks her legs around my hips, curling at the knee so her feet are pressed against my ass pulling me to her, like a standing reverse cowgirl. She rides me, pushing down as I push up, our joining on full display as the sound of slapping flesh echoes in the small room.

  Without having to worry about her touching the floor, I stand taller, supporting her weight with a hand on her abdomen, and slam into her over and over again. My balls buzz with my impending release each time they make contact with her pussy.

  Her head thrown back in complete abandon has me galloping over the edge the second she screams my name and her hot walls contract around me.

  “JesusfuckingchristI’mcoming.” I grip her hips as I release into her, so fucking happy to not be wearing a condom. I pump into her until I’m spent, and we’re both folded over the washing machine, panting as we catch our breath.

  “Who knew doing laundry could be so fun?” my Angel puffs out between sucking in air.

  My laughter takes us to the floor, where I collapse on my back with her lying on top of me. “I don’t think doing laundry with Mable will be as enjoyable as it is with you, Angel.”

  She turns, curling into me. “I’m happy to hear that.”

  I kiss her head, throw a noodle-arm over her back. “No more doing laundry without me.”

  “Deal.”

  “Deal.” I bury my nose in her neck. Her scent fills my lungs. And my tin-heart grows a new layer of flesh that vibrates and threatens to beat—only for her.

  My heart is hammering against my chest. It’s not nerves. It’s excitement. I’m excited to be back at work. And, okay, maybe a little nervous. I step out of my car and stare up at the Black Ops MMA insignia on the front of the old hangar. It doesn’t look like much from out here, but inside is a state-of-the-art training facility. I’d even dare say it’s better than the gym back in Vegas. Everything is new and shiny with all the equipment the guys love, and the office space and rehab space I’ve only dreamt of. But as much as I love the space, it’s the people I’ve missed.

  I’ve been hanging out with guys since I was fourteen. Austin rarely went anywhere without me—his choice, not one I pushed on him, but I was happy to oblige. And being the football and wrestling star he was, being surrounded by other guys was status quo. Once he got connected to Captain Jimmy and his MMA gym and his crew, it felt like I found my family. If I’m being honest, Austin wasn’t the only reason I became interested in physical therapy. When the guys got hurt, I wanted to take care of them, and learning about the human body, how it works, and how it heals was an excellent way to do it. Enter Gabriel, stage left, he took Austin under his wing, treated him like a brother and me—well, you know how that went.

  “You ready?” Gabriel slides his hand along mine, linking our fingers. He follows my gaze to the building and back to me, frowning. “He’s not in there.”

  “What? No—”

  “He’s in rehab. Court-ordered. He can’t hurt you.”

  I tug on his arm when he starts to move forward, dragging me with him. “Gabriel.” I wait until he steps back to me, his hand resting on my hip and his eyes on mine. “I wasn’t hesitating out of fear.”

  “No?” He cups my cheek, resting his forehead against mine.

  When I place my hands on his chest, his racing heart lets me know he’s a little anxious too. “No. I was reminiscing in my head about the guys and how Austin and I became a part of Cap’s family. I’m happy to be back. I’ve missed them.”

  “Them? Not Austin?”

  “Them.” I push on his chest and laugh when he doesn’t even budge. “God, you’re like a brick house.”

  He corrals me till my back hits my car, his hands resting on the hood on either side of my body, pinning me with his stare, tight-jawed, and no humor to be found.

  “What’s going on, big man?” I tug on the front of his shirt. “You don’t want people to know about us?” Us? Is there even an us?

  “Fuck, Frankie.” He bends till his breath is teasing my neck, his eyes still slanted on me. “I want to fuck you in the center ring, so they all know you belong to me.” Not Austin is what I hear at the end of his statement.

  On tiptoe, I press my mouth to his—not sensual but a thank you, a promise, a whisper of a truth he just offered up. “As much as I’d like that, Big Man, I don’t think Cap would approve it as a sanctioned MMA technique.”

  His chiseled façade cracks. “No, Angel, I don’t imagine Cap would like to watch me fuck you.” His thumb teases my cheek. “Especially since he sees you like a daughter.”

  My blush doesn’t escape his notice. He runs his lips across my heated skin. “I talk about fucking you in public, but it’s hearing Cap thinks of you as his own that makes you blush?”

  He hugs me to his chest when I groan in embarrassment.

  “Are you two gonna come inside or dick around in the parking lot all day?”

  Speak of the devil. We turn to see Cap holding the door open, waving us in.

  “Give us a minute.” Gabriel speaks to him, but keeps me locked in his arms. When we’re alone, but probably still under the gaze of prying eyes, he captures my face between his powerful hands. “Don’t think for a minute I’m not proud to have you on my arm. I’m only worried how being back here without Austin is making you feel. I’m not going to pretend you don’t have nine years of history with him.” His forehead is back on mine. “Trust me, I was painfully aware of every one of the last five. I’ve wanted you before I knew you were his. I don’t plan on letting him get in the way of having you now.”

  “God, Gabriel.” I’m melting for him. “What was it you said about fucking? Can we do that now?”

  His head falls back on a full-bell
y laugh. The sound eases my nerves, and I take a few cleansing breaths as he composes himself.

  “Come on, Angel.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the door. “Our family is waiting for us.”

  The warmth his words produce in my belly blooms again on my cheeks. He eyes my face and smiles his panty-dropping smile.

  It’s only been a few hours, but the door to my office has been on a revolving hinge since Gabriel and I arrived. We separated ways after the guys came out to greet us. He headed for the locker room and then to train. I followed Cap to my office, which doubles as the medical facility. I’d barely dropped my purse in my bottom desk drawer when the visitors started coming in, one by one.

  First it was Jonah "The Whale" Tate, ex-heavyweight champ, trainer, and sometimes coach. He complained of deltoid discomfort. I examined him, not finding anything obviously wrong, but treated it like a pulled muscle with manual manipulation and ice. He left smiling, swearing he felt better. “It’s good to have you back, Frankie.”

  “It’s good to be back.”

  He swung his arm, free of pain. “You’ve got the touch.” Then he ducked out my door.

  My second visitor was Sloan "Killer" Michaels, up and coming heavyweight contender like Gabriel. Though he’s big and strong, Gabriel has him beat, hands down. Sloan complained of a hamstring pull. Once on the examining table, he proceeded to talk my ear off, filling me in on all the happenings since I’ve been gone: who was pissed off at whom, who he had the hots for, and whose ass he was going to kick in his next match. I was done treating him long before he ran out of things to say.

  The next knock at the door ushered out Sloan and in Patrick "Dirty Irish" O'Malley. With his reddish-brown hair and ivory skin, he looked the part of good ole Irish boy, except he’s from Tennessee and has a twang to match. He’s the lightweight of the bunch, but he’s scrappy and strong as a miniature ox. He didn’t have any injury. He was nice enough to bring me a cup of coffee, a banana nut muffin, and stories of his visit home last weekend.

  I’d forgotten how much these boys could talk. Get them together, and they’re gruff, trash-talking macho men. But get them alone, and they’re sweet momma’s boys who miss having a female to talk to—one they aren’t trying to sleep with. That’s me, by the way. In all the years I’ve known them, no matter how much of a player they are, they’ve never hit on me. Sure, I get playful looks and compliments up the wazoo, but they respect me. Or, maybe they respected Austin.

  A cleared throat has me looking into the mesmerizing blue eyes of Gabriel, standing in my open doorway. His arms are crossed over his chest, stance wide and powerful. “Why the scowl, Angel?”

  I frown and release it as fast, not even realizing my consternation showed. “How come the guys never hit on me?”

  He stops mid-sit in the chair before my desk. “What?”

  “I mean, they tease me, but none of them have ever seriously hit on me.” I motion to myself. “I know I’m no ring-chaser, but you’d think out of all the fighters who have come and gone through Cap’s doors, one of them would have tried at least once.”

  The air rushes out of the cushion as it bears the weight of his fine ass when he finally sits. “Are you for real?”

  I study his expressionless face, the tick of his jaw, the glare in his eyes. “Never mind.” I wave it off. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up?” He leans forward, his hand clasped between his wide legs. “Angel, am I not giving you enough attention? You need more that you’re wanting the guys to hit on you?”

  “What?!” I squeal and then clear my throat, trying to find my calm. “No.” I stand and cross the room, eyeing the poster of this year’s Black Ops Team, my back to him. “It’s not about you and me.” Though, admittedly, I don’t even know what we are.

  I turn and face him. “It’s just, with everything that’s happened with Austin—I had no idea he was doing drugs, doing steroids. I didn’t even know he was a lying, cheating, piece of shit for years. What else have I missed? What else have I been blind to?”

  He closes the door on his way to me. “First off, don’t let me hear you comparing yourself to ring-chasers ever again.” He points at me. “You hear me? You and them aren’t even in the same universe of hot.”

  “I know. I’m not an idiot. But thanks for pointing that out.” Sheesh. Way to make a girl feel special.

  He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Angel, you’re not gettin’ me.” A quick press of his mouth to mine, and his fiery eyes are on me again. “They’re not in the same universe of hot as you. Feel me?”

  A smile ticks my lips. “Really? You think I’m hotter?” My ego apparently needs petting.

  “Yeah, Angel. Way. Fucking. Hotter.” He releases my chin and comes to his full height. “As for the guys not hitting on you.” He fingers my ponytail. “That is about you and me.”

  “What?” My brows shoot up, and he rubs them down with his thumbs.

  “I wouldn’t let them hit on you. I made it clear you weren’t a toy to be played with.” He presses forward. “I’m the reason they leave you alone, but you’re the reason they treat you like family.” He runs a finger down my cheek. “Because you are.”

  “But I was with Austin.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “Then why did you protect me instead of Austin?”

  He leans in, closing the distance, tipping my head back so his lips brush mine as he speaks, “Because you were mine even before I knew you were his.”

  I swallow around the lump in my throat. “And now?”

  “And now, I’m claiming what’s always been mine.” His voice is so soft, belying the intensity of his words.

  “I’m yours?”

  “Every delicious inch of you.”

  “And you?”

  “You want me?” He grinds his hardon against me.

  “Every delicious inch of you.” I give him back his words, meaning them and also hoping he literally gives me every delicious inch of him.

  “Then I’m yours.” He tugs on my ponytail, keeping my eyes on him. “Make no mistake, Angel. I’m playing for keeps.”

  All thoughts leave my sex-laden brain. “Okay.”

  He smirks. “Okay?”

  I nod.

  His lips press to mine, his tongue teasing my seam before diving in. I fist his shirt at his waist, begging for more. But he breaks our kiss, leaving me breathless with only a taste of what I want.

  “I gotta go kick some ass now.” He steps back, hands on my hips until I’m steady. “You got visions of guys hitting on you taunting me.” He cracks his neck. “I need to reinforce my claim.”

  Leaving me slumped against the wall, he walks out. The taste of him on my tongue. The smell of him in my nose. The touch of him still on my skin. His words ringing in my ears, and his promise of playing for keeps have hope knocking free. Again.

  Maybe this time it’ll live free and blossom into dreams that come true.

  “Gabriel,” my girl moans, stirring from sleep.

  “Yeah, Angel?” I resume eating my breakfast, relishing her squirms and pleas long before she joined the world of the waking.

  “Oh, God.” She fists my hair.

  I pull back, looking up the length of her writhing body, ignoring her hands trying to pull me back down to finish what I started. “Who’s between your thighs, Frankie?”

  “At the moment? No one.” She lifts up on her elbows, spying down at me. “Finish me before I get pissed.”

  A chuckle leaves my chest before I can stop it. My Angel is not a morning person. “Call my name. Not His.” I hide my smirk in her pussy lips.

  “Gladly—”

  Her words fade off when I fill her with two fingers and suck her clit, wrestling her legs to the mattress to keep her wide open for me.

  I think she might have missed her calling. She could be a killer MMA fighter. She has strong leg muscles and a knack for slipping free of my hold—not to mention knocking me flat on my ass with a singl
e wanton look. The idea of her rolling around on the floor with another woman has me nearly blowing all over the bed.

  Fuck. I’m not sharing my Angel even if it is with an imaginary MMA female fighter.

  She’s almost there, but before she can trip the wire, I flip her on her belly and fill her to the brim. Her hands clasped in mine, my body covers hers, rocking into her slowly. I swallow her cries for more, swiveling my hips, grinding her into the mattress, chasing her orgasm, knowing she’ll pull mine from me in equal measure.

  Before she can voice what her body is pleading for, I slip my hand between her and the bed, giving her clit the extra friction she needs. She calls my name, and I growl my approval of her tone and word choice, and encourage her to say it again. She does. Over and over until she’s mute on a silent scream as her orgasm racks her body in thunderous waves, leaving her shaking from head to toe.

  “Fuck. Angel.” I slow my pace, wanting it to last, wanting her to feel every morsel of pleasure her release has to offer.

  When she stills, I pull out, turn her over and suck on her tits until she’s writhing for me again. Then and only then do I take her, face to face, hard and with the lust-induced frenzy she unleashes in me.

  The lion marking his lioness.

  The beast claiming his beauty.

  The devil loving his angel.

  The past month has been good. Great, even. Austin is in rehab. Out of sight. Out of mind. Out of my heart, my life, at last. I didn’t press charges: the man I knew had been taken over by Anabolic Steroid-induced Mania according to his doctors. But his cheating ass was due to lack of character or balls to tell me he wanted to sleep around long before his car accident. That’s all on him. The steroid freak out, I can forgive. The lying and cheating—I’m still working on.

  Forgiving myself for putting up with it for so long is a work in progress. I fell in love with a boy-man at fourteen. I loved him into manhood. But somewhere my love turned to loyalty and only hung by a thread that Austin so easily ripped free. He felt trapped by me, and I never want another man to feel trapped by me.