Mercy Love
Page 4
“Sure, anything.”
“Promise me you’re not like all those guys I’ve dealt with before. I’ve grown to trust you and I can’t afford to be hurt again.”
“I promise you I’m nothing like them,” I assure her. “I would never do anything to hurt you or tear you down.”
CHAPTER NINE
I’ve never felt so secure around a man as much as I have with Pearce. He puts my mind at ease. He makes me feel normal. He doesn’t judge me. Just those things alone, even if he wasn’t the most great-looking guy, would draw me to him like a moth to a flame. It just so happens that he is super attractive, which is a bonus in my book. Looks aside, all I’ve ever wanted was a man who gets me, who can see my hurt.
But it’s not just me who’s hurting. He is, too. At least his ego is. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a man who has everything, only for his woman to fall into the arms of someone else. Pearce said his would-be fiancée wasn’t good for him anyway, but still. I know that was a blow to his pride.
I look outside and see that it’s getting dark.
“Pearce, I think I should be getting home. I promised Karlie I’d check in on her before the day is out—”
“Oh. Okay.” His eyes spangle with disappointment. “You sure you can’t stay? If you need to call her, you can call her here.”
“I was actually gonna go by her place. But . . .” I think about it. “You know what? She should be okay. I’ll check in with her tomorrow.”
“You sure? I don’t wanna take you away from your friend. If you really have to go, please go. Friends are everything. And you promised her, so . . .”
I smile. “No, really. She should be fine. She’s been taking it easy these past couple days. It’s not urgent, trust me. Besides, I really don’t wanna leave you. I’m enjoying our time together.”
His bright, penetrating eyes gleam with contentment. “I’m enjoying it, too. At least shoot her a text or something to let her know you didn’t forget about her.”
“You’re right. I’ll do that right now.” I pull out my phone and peck out a message stating that I’m with Pearce and that I’d check on her tomorrow. She responds with three shocked face emojis. I giggle at her reply. The most she knows of Pearce is that he’s a deranged lunatic. I write back that I’ll explain later and I put my phone away.
“She cool with it?” he asks.
“Yeah, she’ll be okay.” I chuckle. “Now, where were we?”
“I was just complimenting your hair,” he jokes, running his fingers through my curls. He definitely was not, but I see what he’s trying to do.
I laugh. “Were you now? Because I don’t recall any flattering words about my fabulous pumpkin tresses.” I flip my ruddy hair with confidence.
“That’s what you call them? Pumpkin tresses?”
“I certainly do. And you, sir, have the cutest chestnut waves.”
Pumpkin and chestnut sound like a nice, sweet combination. I smell danger brewing in the oven. The more I look at Pearce, the more scrumptious he’s appearing to me. My heart begins to rev.
He gently tucks my pumpkin tresses behind my ear and stares into my eyes. “How could anyone not appreciate how gorgeous you are?” he says.
The engine locked away in my chest is acting up. My heart is going crazy. Inwardly, I am hot, I am fluttering, and I really want this man to please me.
Our faces pull toward each other like magnets. We lock lips. He tastes my pumpkin and I taste his chestnut. Electricity zips through my entire body while we kiss. My senses become overloaded; the smell of his cologne, the moistness of his mouth, the sound of our tongues clicking against each other, his hand tenderly grazing my thigh, venturing dangerously close to my womanhood. I don’t know what to process first or what to enjoy the most. I greedily take it all in at once. I owe it to myself. I haven’t felt like this in, well, ever.
Pearce stands up and takes off his shirt, then unbuckles his belt. I stare up at him as if I don’t know what to do. But the truth is, I know what’s coming. I knew what this would lead to. And I’m scared. I want it, but I’m scared.
He gives me a look that says, “Just go with it,” and so I do. I take off my shirt, and I feel a little awkward at first. It’s been a long time since I’ve let a guy see my intimate parts. I’m self-conscious; I don’t want him to see my blubber. Pearce acknowledges my breasts and then resumes kissing me. He hooks his fingers underneath my bra straps and slowly, sensually, glides his hands down my sides and stops at my waist. He pulls me closer to him and starts smooching my neck. I let him enjoy me, all of my pumpkin flavor. Down below, between my legs, I feel myself throbbing and expanding, in anticipation for the inevitable.
He guides me toward the bed and we fall (we sink) into the mattress. I’m beneath him, panting heavily, my body on fire; I feel nervous, excited, lustful, free. His pelvis touches mine and I almost burst. And then, I stop him.
“Pearce,” I breathe.
“What?” he exhales, nibbling on my stomach.
“We can’t do this.”
He pops his head up. “What? What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
On the verge of tears, I gently push him off of me and I sit up in the bed. My hands melt into the downy satin sheets.
“As much as I want this with you, I don’t wanna have sex with a guy, only to have the same thing happen to me all over again. We screw each other, and then you disappear on me like the others. I’ve been down this road dozens of times before, and I want to do something different this time. I want to know that the man I make love to genuinely loves me and wants to spend the rest of his life with me. I hope you can understand that.”
Pearce sits right next to me and plants one arm on my side to brace me from leaving. “Wendie. I told you. I’m not like those other guys. I’m a different breed. You have my word on that. You just have to learn to trust me. I know you’ve been hurt by so many assholes, and it’s left you scarred. But I can sincerely look you in the eyes and tell you that I’m cut from a different cloth. I think you’re an amazing woman. And I wouldn’t have you here with me if I didn’t actually feel that way.”
I take a breath and let it out shakily. “I hear you, Pearce. I do. But please. I just want you to respect my stance on this. I have to know that it’s real. So, for me, just to protect myself, I have to switch it up. I can’t fall for just anything anymore. I can’t keep sleeping with guys and have the same outcome. I want something that’s long-lasting, something permanent.”
Pearce smiles at me and says, “Wendie, with the fabulous pumpkin tresses, your wish is my command.”
EPILOGUE
Pearce and I have been dating for six months now. Correction: we’ve been exclusive for six months. It’s been the happiest time I’ve ever had in my life and I have this amazing man beside me to thank for it. There are no strings attached, no conditions. During our time together, we’ve been intimate with each other, but have never had sex. He respects my boundaries and I love him for it. Any man who’s willing to go this long without it is a man worth keeping.
Friends are worth keeping, too. And luckily, Pearce and I were able to keep ours. Karlie’s doing well. She made a full recovery and is back to her normal, spunky self. Pearce’s friend, Kyle, is getting the help that he needs at a retreat in North Carolina. Kyle has since apologized for hurting Pearce, and their friendship is on the mend.
As for me and Pearce, life couldn’t be better. I officially moved in with him two months ago. And we’re taking things steadily, not slow per se, but day by day, learning each other and growing more and more lovesick.
At present, he and I are riding in a cab through New York City. I told Pearce that I’ve never been, so he wanted to give me the full Big Apple experience. We just came from an exquisite dinner at this very upscale restaurant in SoHo. The Grappling Feather. Their foie gras (as recommended by Pearce) was quite delicious.
Pearce actually dressed like his net worth tonight; he’s wearing a finely cut suit with a crisp white shi
rt and a bright orange tie. The tie, he said, is in honor of my pumpkin tresses. I couldn’t help but laugh at the reason for his fashion choice.
The driver has been driving aimlessly for the last thirty minutes. We seem to be taking a long, scenic route. I’m confused. I was under the impression that we were going over to Central Park.
“Um, where exactly are we going?” I ask Pearce.
He leans up to the glass separating us from the taxi driver. “Hey, this isn’t where I asked you to go,” he says to the man.
“We have to detour, sir,” the driver replies.
Pearce grunts with frustration and sits back. “I knew we should’ve just used my driver,” he grumbles.
“It’s okay, babe. We’ll get there.” I massage the back of his head, feeling his soft, chestnut hair through my fingers. “Besides. I think we’re coming up on Times Square. I’ve always wanted to see this in person!”
“You’re in luck, ma’am.” The driver overhears me. “We’re headed down Broadway now.”
The dazzling lights, the endless, moving sea of tourists gadding about, the massive TV screens adorning every corner. It was sensory overload. I’d never seen anything like it.
We stop at a corner to wait for a parade of pedestrians to cross the street. It has to be at least three hundred of them. Pearce taps me on the shoulder.
“Hey, look up at this jumbotron right here,” he says, tapping his window.
I lean across him and look up at the screen he’s pointing to. My heart sinks when I see what’s on it. A picture of us together at a 76ers game. It fades to black and a message replaces it:
Wendie, will you marry me . . . PLEASE?!
The surrounding crowd notices and cheers. I gasp and look at Pearce, who’s wearing a mischievous grin. The floodgates are opened and I start to cry. I can hardly see him through my tears. My crying becomes laughter at how rom-com this moment is. I wipe my eyes and take his hands.
“Yes, Pearce, yes, I’ll marry you.”
MORE BOOKS IN THIS SERIES
BAD LOVE BOOK 1
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MERCY LOVE BOOK 4
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Click THE>>> FOLLOW <<< to receive new release updates....I have been writing numerous steamy romances and short stories for over three years. I pride myself on giving my audience what they want: drama, suspense, and passion. My aim is to create stories that are engaging and relatable. With an educational background in storytelling and an extremely vivid imagination, I can’t think of a more fitting calling than being a writer. I list authors Tana French and Danielle Steel as inspirations for my love of writing.
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