Chapter 15 Cash #2
Mercy whimpers, her forehead dropping to my shoulder as she moves faster, chasing her pleasure against the rigid line of my cock straining against my jeans. The friction is maddening—not enough and too much all at once.
She changes the angle, movement hungry, and the friction spikes hard enough to punch a sound out of me.
“That’s it, angel.” I slide one hand up her back to tangle in her hair, my other hand guiding her movement. “Take what you need.”
She moans, a broken little sound that nearly undoes me. Her movements become erratic, frantic. I can feel the heat of her through our clothes, can feel her trembling close.
“Mercy,” I groan as she tenses against me. “Fuck, that’s it.”
She shudders, her whole body going rigid before a tremor runs through her.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she comes, a strangled cry escaping her throat.
The sight of her falling apart in my arms, fully clothed, the feel of her grinding down on me just right…
It’s too much. My hands lock on her waist, pulling her down into the pressure.
The drag of her body breaking apart on mine rips the control right out of me. And I go with her.
Fuck.
What the actual fuck.
I just came in my pants like a teenager who can’t control himself.
Any other time in my life I would have felt ashamed, exposed. I hate losing control with a passion. But in this moment, I just feel... close to her. Losing control with her is different than every other time control was taken from me.
“Holy shit.” She drops her forehead to mine, and for a moment we just breathe together. Mercy’s eyes are closed, her lips parted, cheeks flushed with color. She looks like every fantasy I’ve ever had, but better because she’s real and warm and mine.
Then her eyes flutter open, and there’s a moment of stunned silence before we both burst into laughter.
“That was fucking embarrassing,” I say, shaking my head as I hold her against me, trying to play it off even though something just shifted in my chest. “Christ, Mercy. I haven’t come in my pants since I was going through puberty.”
She buries her face in my neck, her laughter muffled against my skin. “At least you’re not the only one. I haven’t...” She trails off, suddenly shy.
“Haven’t what?” I ask, stroking her back through my shirt.
“I’ve never wanted someone so bad I dry humped them.”
I tilt her chin up, taking in the messy satisfaction in her eyes. “Good,” I tell her. I mean it. “Because I plan to make you feel like that a hell of a lot more.”
Her cheeks flush deeper. “We should probably get cleaned up, huh?”
“Yeah, we should,” I say, smiling at her flushed cheeks. “And I know just the place we can do that uninterrupted.”
“Inside the clubhouse?”
“Yes, in the clubhouse. Grab your stuff,” I say, brushing her hair back. “I have something to show you.”
Mercy raises an eyebrow. “My stuff? Where are we going?”
“Just get your shit together and come with me.” I stand up, adjusting myself as discreetly as possible before I take the duffel from her hand. “Come on.”
Mercy grabs her small bag of toiletries, looking both flustered and amused. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is this one of those ‘trust me’ moments?”
“Definitely a trust me moment,” I say, leading her out of my room and up the stairs. When I push open the door to the guest apartment, she steps ahead of me and looks around.
“What is this place?”
“Our place. For as long as we need it.” I set her bag down so she can explore, watching her face for any sign I’ve overstepped. “Stone had it built for Emma, but she likes the family house better. So now it’s the guest suite. Full apartment, totally private, best security in the clubhouse.”
She walks through slowly, taking in the leather furniture, the kitchen, the massive bed visible through the bedroom door. “This is insane. This place is nicer than most hotels I’ve been kicked out of.”
“You’ve been kicked out of hotels?”
“Haven’t you?” She grins over her shoulder. “What kind of boring life have you been living?”
“Um…what kind of crazy life have you been living?”
She pauses at the open bedroom door and peers inside. “When I was young, before you-know-who, I was wild.” She turns back to face me and leans against the frame.
“Wild, huh?” I step closer. “What kind of wild are we talking about?”
She smiles, and there’s something mischievous in it, something that makes me want to discover every secret she’s ever kept. “The kind your MC brothers couldn’t keep up with. I’ve calmed down since.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.” I move closer still, crowding her against the doorframe. “The calming down part.”
“Believe it,” she says, spinning away from me and heading toward the couch. Tease.
I follow her, watching the sway of her hips in those cut-offs, the way my shirt hangs loose on her frame. She’s teasing me by putting distance between us, but both she and I know there’s nowhere to go in this apartment that I won’t follow.
“So, who is Emma?” Mercy asks, running her fingers along the leather couch. “I’ve heard Kya mention they grew up together. But I don’t know much more than that.”
“She’s Stone’s daughter—Lee’s kid sister. She and Kya were best friends growing up.”
“MC princess, huh? Where is she now?”
“She’s a prima ballerina in New York.”
“Get out.” Mercy spins to face me. “Stone has a daughter who does ballet? Stone? The guy who looks like he eats nails for breakfast?”
“She’s kind of a big deal, actually. Performs at Lincoln Center and everything.”
“That’s...” Mercy shakes her head. “I can’t picture Stone at a ballet recital.”
“You should see the photos in his office. Opening nights, her in a tutu, him in a suit looking ready to murder anyone who even thinks about criticizing her performance.”
Mercy laughs. “That actually makes perfect sense. Protective dad mode.”
“Emma’s supposed to visit for Christmas,” I tell her, checking the window locks out of habit. “You’ll like her. She’s tough as hell despite the tutus.”
“A ballerina who grew up in an MC.” Mercy flops onto the couch. “That’s got to be a story.”
“Several stories. Most involving her terrorizing prospects when she was a teenager. Bones was tasked with keeping her out of trouble whenever she was home, and oh man did she hate that.”
“OK, we’re definitely going to be friends.”
I move toward her, drawn by her laughter and the way she’s sprawled on the couch like she already belongs here. Like this is ours.
That’s the part that hits me hardest.
Because this is what I wanted. Mercy in my space. Wearing my damn shirt. Safe. Mine. And wanting it this bad is how a man gets gutted. Wanting hands the other person a blade and tells them right where to cut. I’ve never given anyone that shot before.
She could walk out tomorrow and I’d have nothing to stand on. No armor. No distance. Just empty hands and a bed that smells like her.
But she put on that cut. She chose my name. She chose to stay. That has to count for something.
My hands itch to touch her again. To finish what we started. To make this real, not something I keep holding at arm’s length because I’m scared of what it’ll cost if it goes sideways.
“Come here,” I say, voice low as I reach for her.
She gives me that smile—the one that’s all cheek and promise—but instead of coming to me, she spins away, quick as a cat. Before I can catch her, she’s headed toward the bathroom, those cut-offs showing off every curve as she moves.
“You promised we were going to get cleaned up, and I can see a big tub with jets in there,” she says, peeking into the bathroom with an appreciative whistle.
I cross the room in three strides, catching her about the waist before she can escape again. In one smooth motion, I hoist her over my shoulder, her surprised yelp turning into laughter as her hair cascades down my back.
“Oh, we’ll get cleaned up,” I tell her, carrying her toward the bedroom instead of the bathroom. “But I want to make you dirtier first.”
Her laugh goes breathless the second I put her down on the bed. We don’t move. We don’t speak. We just hold the moment, as if the whole damn world is waiting for my next breath.
“Cash,” she whispers, and hearing my name like that goes straight to my cock.
I brace over her, hands planted on either side of her head.
“I need to taste you, angel.”