9. Reaper
Reaper
Mercy said yes.
If seeing her in class today wasn’t enough of a rush, witnessing the way she melts in my hands is enough to make me downright giddy .
Once class is finally over, she meanders around the room at a leisurely pace, going so far as to clean the sink so that she doesn’t have to confront the fact that she agreed to something I want.
Without a single word of protest.
My cheeks hurt from the smile I’ve been wearing for the past two hours.
My god, I never come to these classes, and now I know why.
True art can’t be dictated by some old fuddy-duddy telling us to feel the weight of the brush and see the curve of her waist like the waves of the ocean .
Art has to be felt in the marrow of your bones—it’s bringing raw experience to life for others to see.
It’s like if telepathy were real and we could read each other’s minds.
That level of intimacy is exactly what I try to embody in my paintings.
I want whoever looks at my work to know the agony I felt as I plunged a knife into Alejandro’s heart—to feel the rush of chasing him through a moonlit meadow—to taste the love pouring from his veins.
I haven’t sold his paintings yet, so I hope to show them to Mercy before our time is up.
To let her know that even in death, I’ll capture her beauty with the utmost reverence.
There’s a method to my madness; it’s why Zane has stuck around as long as he has.
I don’t kill out of boredom. I help people feel the full range of emotions that the human soul has to offer.
Someday soon, I’ll ensure that Mercy not only understands it, but that she experiences that euphoria with me.
When there’s nothing else she can distract herself with, Mercy slings her crossbody bag over her shoulder and finally glances at me. I’m practically bouncing on the balls of my feet, eager to get out of here. “Have you eaten?”
The tiniest twitch on her lips makes me wonder if I asked the wrong thing.
“No,” she answers honestly, “but I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll have something delivered.” Taking her hand, I eagerly pull her out of the studio.
It’s only a few blocks from the Fine Arts building to the cemetery, and I want to relive the moment I first heard her voice.
It won’t be accurate on account of the blazing sun outside, but it’ll be close enough…
I think. And if not, we’ll just have to come back after dark.
Once we’re outside, I slow my step and walk hand in hand with her down the sidewalk.
Heads turn our direction, the students within the frats no doubt recognizing me from my late-night rendezvous, and a few even take pictures.
Mercy tries to pull her hand free, but I don’t let her.
“Reaper,” she hisses, forgetting to use my real name as she digs her nails into the back of my hand. “Let me go. People are staring!” She must not be used to the attention, because she blushes like a virgin, her pale skin turning the brightest shade of red.
I stop to stare at the flush trailing down her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of her dress, some kind of ruffled, layered ensemble with a thick belt strapped around her waist. It leaves her thighs bare from her knees up, but she chose high boots with a zillion criss-crossed laces.
There’s no way I’m ever getting those off without a knife.
Pinpricks of pain from her death grip help me refocus on the whole woman rather than her parts.
“Stop looking at me,” she snaps, clutching onto my hand even harder. “Or I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Taking a breath, I lift our joined hands so that she can see the damage.
Her nails have broken through the skin, creating crimson crescents where she’s drawn blood.
“I’m not the one with my claws out. Relax, Mercy.
I’m not going to do anything to you today.
At least let me look.” I give her an appreciative once-over. “I like what I see. Is that a crime?”
She relaxes her death grip and has the decency to appear concerned. But when it comes to the apology, I’m not sure if she means it. “Shit, I’m sorry?”
“It’s okay.” I squeeze her hand to reassure her.
“I can handle a little blood. But you should get used to this.” I brush her hair off of her shoulder, enjoying the warmth of her neck.
“Because I’m not going to stop touching you, Siren.
” I keep us moving, tugging Mercy along while completely aware of the whispers in the courtyard and not caring in the slightest. People usually talk about my dick game, so I’ve been told, and this will give them something even juicier to gossip about.
Reaper has a girlfriend.
Mercy might not see it that way, but over the next few months, she’ll come around.
They always do. Go on a few dates, make them feel special, learn what makes them tick.
I usually let them show me pieces of their world, but this time, I want to show Mercy parts of mine… and learn where the two intersect.
It doesn’t take long for Mercy to recognize the path we’re on.
Color me impressed; not many students take this detour.
The pathway is covered in moss on account of the shade from the canopy of trees overhead, so it blends into nature particularly well.
The grounds staff doesn’t keep up with this spot since students aren’t supposed to come here—but the fact that Mercy simultaneously perks up and wilts makes me smile.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her, “I promise that I’ll be on my best behavior today. ”
She purses her lips like she doesn’t believe me, and that’s fair.
I wouldn’t believe me, either, but it’s not my fault. Sometimes even the smallest moments are worth living to the fullest.
When we get to the side gate, I grab the key from my pocket and unlock it. Pushing it open, I gesture for her to enter first. “After you, beautiful.”
As she crosses the threshold, she eyes my key ring with interest.“Where did you get that?” she asks, watching as I shove it back in my pocket. “Are you the reason the gates are never locked?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Guilty as charged.” I walk up the stone path ahead of her, eager to reach the mausoleum.
My heartbeat thrums the closer we get, and it’s hard to keep waiting on Mercy to catch up.
I glance over my shoulder to find her swishing her skirt back and forth across her thighs, a pleasing hum falling past her lips as she hops along a line of concrete pavers.
It’s actually adorable.
She leaps off of the final stone in the sequence, and I jump forward to catch her mid-flight, scooping her into my arms easily. She gasps as I spin her around by the waist. “Let me down!”
“I told you, you have to get used to this. Besides—” I lower her to the ground but don’t let her go, interlocking our hands and bringing her knuckles to my lips. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one making me fall in love with you?”
The way her eyes widen—that little catch of her breath—means that I’m winning.
Until she shoves.
I tumble backwards and trip over an overturned brick on the path.
In that first moment, she’s grinning in triumph, but in the next, I’m grabbing her hand and pulling her down with me.
Her bubble of victory bursts before my eyes, and I inhale the sweet taste of surprise as we collapse onto the grass.
Not willing to let her get away, I drag her body on top of mine and grab her hips to keep her in place. “Easy there, Siren. I bruise easily.”
She smacks her hands against my chest as she sits up, a cry of frustration tearing past her lips.
Torn blades of grass stick to her dress, and her chest heaves with each labored breath she takes.
“You’re insufferable!” Smacking me again, she huffs.
“I wouldn’t fall in love with you if you were the last man on earth! Get a grip! ”
“That’s too bad,” I muse, enjoying her squirming. “I’d be good for you. Not only am I an excellent lover?—”
She snorts in disbelief.
“—but I’m a good listener.” I tilt my head to the side and admire the view, the smooth canvas of her thighs wrapped snugly around my hips.
Planting my feet, I roll my hips in the cradle of her thighs, sighing at the friction.
I’m not above dry humping, especially when my partner keeps blushing like that.
My cock stirs as I imagine her grinding on my thigh, her plush tits bouncing as she takes her pleasure.
“Sing for me, Siren.” I grab her thigh and greedily widen her stance, moving her body to where I need her.
“That’s it,” I groan, rocking my hips. Heat builds exactly where I want it, and within seconds, I’m rock hard for her.
A tremor courses through her body, but she doesn’t fight against me this time.
Slowly, very slowly , she grabs my hands and starts to move her body over mine.
Her lips part on the tiniest intake of air, but she doesn’t sing like I want her to.
By now, other women would be grinding all over my cock, desperate for it.
But Mercy takes her time, like she’s hesitant to give in to the pleasure.
It makes every little touch and tease ten times hotter.
I’m the one losing my cool. Rapidly.
“Mercy,” I rasp, swallowing hard. “Touch me.” The word please hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I refuse to let her have that kind of power.
I can give her my body—but I won’t give her anything else.
Taking her hand, I guide her under my shirt and over my stomach, placing her palm flat against my chest. My heart races as she brings her other hand up and presses down on my sternum, mashing her tits together so that the tops spill out of her dress.
I stare at her chest while she finally lifts her hips and— stops .