11. Zane #3
Grabbing the edges of the sketchbook, I lean back and prop my feet up on her desk, grabbing the closest charcoal pencil and flipping to the final page in her sketchbook.
What no one knows is that while Kane paints, I draw.
Messy sketches, full of scratchy lines and wacky shading, but it’s drawing nonetheless.
I picture Kane at first, but he’s quickly joined by Mercy, the two of them holding hands as they lean into each other and threaten to kiss right in front of me.
I draw what I see in my mind’s eye, keeping Kane’s hair a light gray and Mercy’s the darkest shade of black, carefully drawing in the details from memory.
As the minutes pass, Kane’s visage shifts.
His hair darkens. His muscles are less defined.
The slant of his lips is flatter, and his hand isn’t on Mercy’s waist, it’s tangled in the thick strand of raven hair grazing her neck.
An open window with a candle on its sill sits just beyond their silhouette, and she peers up at him with a subtle curve to her lips and her hand resting on his throat.
I’m so absorbed in getting Mercy’s expression just right that I don’t notice the sun crawling across the sky or the cooling temperatures as morning shifts to afternoon then quickly slides into evening.
I’m fixing the shading on her combat boots when I hear them coming up the stairs.
I jolt out of my trance and slam the sketchbook shut only to tilt too far back in my chair.
I catch the barest glimpse of Mercy pushing open her bedroom door before I topple over and slam into the unforgiving hardwood.
She’s on me in seconds, tossing her bag to the ground and stepping on my throat.
This isn’t quite how I imagined my evening going.
“ Zane ,” she growls, pressing down harder against my windpipe. “What the hell are you doing in my room? Or having tea with my grandmother?” She shakes her head with one short, jerky motion and forgets to breathe, a vein in her neck appearing with her distress.
I relax my body and grab her ankle, the leather of her boot worn thin enough that it fits like a second skin.
Her body heat radiates into my palm. Grinning up at her, I dig my fingers into her Achilles heel and enjoy her full-bodied flinch.
She doesn’t move, so neither do I, the two of us locked in a stalemate.
I would tell her that she needs to be careful before I slit her tendon with my knife, but I can’t speak until she lets up on my throat.
Too bad, not very sad.
“Answer me,” she hisses, glaring twice as hard.
If I actually hurt her, Kane will blow up at me.
It’s too soon , I can hear him whine, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
If she’s bad enough to stomp on my fucking neck, she can handle a little pain.
I ease up my grip on her Achilles tendon and tap the toes of her boot instead.
After a moment’s hesitation, she eases up enough for me to breathe.
The inhale burns. I use the pain to keep me grounded.
“Needed to check something.” Grabbing the ridiculously flowy fabric of her skirt, I wrench it aside to check that her panties are still in place.
She shrieks and slams the heel of her boot into my nose. “You fucking pervert!”
The crunch hurts—that shit’s gonna fucking bruise—but at least I have my answer. If Kane had slept with her, he’d probably have torn her panties off or taken them with him as a trophy. The fact that they’re still on means that she survived her first day with him unscathed.
That is, until I notice the hickey on her fucking throat.
“What the fuck is that?”
Mercy backpedals, jumping off of me to grab the baseball bat leaning against her shitty metal headboard. Its wood is worn and chipped on the side. I doubt it’s hers. Maybe her brother’s? She wields it like a weapon and bares her teeth at me. “Get the fuck out of here, Zane!”
I roll onto my feet and close the distance between us, grabbing the middle of the bat when she tries to swing.
Wrenching it from her grasp, I toss it across the room and shove her against the wall.
“Did he do this?” I grab her chin and force her head to the side to get a better look at the bruise.
It’s hickey-shaped. Reddish purple. Exactly where Kane likes to leave them. “I told you not to let him fuck you.”
She sputters, blowing her hair into my face. “I didn’t! He didn’t!”
Mmm. “You sound guilty.”
She flushes bright crimson, and my anger flares.
“One day,” I murmur, feeling the bitterness rise like bile in the back of my throat.
“One fucking day, and you couldn’t keep your hands off of him.
” I’ve known Kane for over a decade, and when he wants something, he goes after it without an ounce of hesitation.
I’d expected Mercy to fight him, but perhaps that was naive of me.
It’s hard resisting Kane’s charms.
Mercy’s eyes lock onto mine as she tries to turn her head, but I don’t let her, too angry to let her win.
“It’s not from him! It’s from Sam!”
Some of the hot air in my chest escapes. “You’re lying.”
“Sam and I—” Her flush trails down the side of her neck.
Maybe she isn’t lying.
“We were intimate today, okay?”
I force myself to breathe. “Explain. In detail.”
Her eyes nearly bug out of her skull. “Excuse me?”
I wrap her hair in my fist and tug until she winces. “I said, explain. Paint me a goddamn picture.” I can tell that she doesn’t want to. Her tongue ties in knots the first few times she tries to form a coherent sentence.
“We—we were at the Registrar’s office?—”
“Weird hookup spot, but go on.”
She glares. “Fuck you.”
Smirking, I rub my thumb across her jaw. “You wish, Kitten. Keep going.”
In the end, her tale is boring. They were in the Registrar’s office for God knows what reason, and they ended up kissing and mutually masturbating. But it doesn’t make sense. Who the fuck gets each other off without actually fucking ?
I stare into her eyes for a long, long time, trying to determine if she’s lying or not. “Why didn’t you have sex? It would have been faster if you’d let him blow his load inside you.” Hand jobs are tough on the best days. Dry, unsatisfying, boring.
Mercy won’t meet my eyes, and I quickly reach beneath her skirt to touch her pussy.
She fights me, but I’m already sliding my fingers through her folds by the time she grabs my arm.
Gasping, she pushes up onto her tiptoes as she tries to retreat, but I pull her hair until she cries out and gives up.
She’s wet, sure, but not that wet. If she had gotten off, she’d be soaked. Swollen. Needy. Her body twitches as I explore, rubbing her clit with the pads of my fingers before I slip one inside. She’s tight as fuck , sucking me in like a greedy little whore.
I search her face as I finger her nice and slow, analyzing every shallow breath and muscle spasm. She should be riding my hand right now, not acting like a scared?—
My eyes widen as it hits me. “You’re a virgin.”
Her eyes flutter closed as she bites her bottom lip, not saying anything to deny it. She shakes her head, but I can’t tell what she’s objecting to. The accusation, my touch, or this entire situation.
What it is, is fucking bullshit.
“You can’t be a virgin,” I snap, rubbing her clit with the heel of my palm.
Kane will lose his goddamn mind if she’s a fucking virgin.
Mercy whines loudly, and I quickly cover her mouth with my other hand.
She’s too sensitive. Too fresh. Growling, I bury my face in her hair so that I don’t have to see how flushed her cheeks are.
The only solution is to make sure that she’s experienced enough to throw off Kane’s trail until she loses her virginity.
If she sleeps with Sam—her alleged lover—the problem will be solved.
“Stop squirming,” I order, unable to ignore the way her body presses against mine.
Heat stirs deep in my gut, and it takes every ounce of my being to ignore it.
But none of this is about me. It’s about her and how goddamn inadequate she is.
I lessen the pressure on her clit and rub her sensitive nub with my fingertips.
She exhales harshly against my palm. “That’s it,” I coax, “relax. It’ll feel better.
” Taking a deep breath, I steel my resolve and press my lips against the shell of her ear.
“I’m going to make you come on my fingers, Kitten. ”
She grips my arm so tightly that her nails dig into my skin, but she doesn’t actually protest. Her hips rock in a subtle, slow roll, and her breath catches in her throat.
“What a dirty little virgin you are,” I rasp, chuckling.
“You want to come, don’t you? Sam couldn’t get you off, huh?
” I click my tongue. Figures that lover boy sucks in the sack.
“Don’t worry, this will be our secret.” I drag my fingers through her slick folds before sliding two inside her heat.
She gasps, and I clench my jaw as I bury my fingers to the hilt.
I haven’t fingered a girl in a long time, but Mercy’s inexperience works in my favor, because she can’t tell that I’m nearly as inexperienced as she is.
She mutters something beneath my palm, but I have no interest in listening.
“Shh,” I murmur, closing my eyes. Fuck , she’s still so tight.
“Relax, Mercy.” I drag my nose along the curve of her neck and inhale the scent of her sweat and what little remains of her sweet perfume.
“Don’t think. Just feel.” It takes a minute, but I find the spot I’m looking for.
As soon as I rub it, she gasps and claws at my shoulders. Shit, that’s gonna leave a mark.
“Doesn’t that feel good?” I groan as her pussy gets wetter.
It does feel good.