Chapter 16 Mercy
MERCY
Idon’t fall in love like normal people. I crash into it like a meteor hitting earth—all fire and catastrophe, leaving nothing but scorched ground behind me. It’s why I ran from Cash for so long. Because I knew the moment I let him in, there would be no putting myself back together again.
His hands slide beneath my shirt, calloused fingers tracing fire across my skin, and I lean into his touch like I’ve been starving for it.
Maybe I have been. Three months of pretending I didn’t want this, didn’t need this, didn’t want his hands on me.
I was lying then, and now the truth is a wildfire consuming everything in its path.
“Cash,” I breathe, as his lips trace the column of my throat. My fingers tangle in his hair, desperate to anchor myself to something solid while the rest of me liquefies beneath his touch.
“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs against my skin. “Every night for months. What you’d sound like. How you’d taste.”
His hands slide higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, and I can’t help the whimper that escapes me.
Cash doesn’t stop, doesn’t tease, just pushes the shirt up over my head and off my arms. He tosses it somewhere behind him.
Then he takes one look at me—tattoos, stretch marks, every extra pound I suddenly worry is too much—and smiles like I’m art.
Like he’s the collector and I’m the prize he spent his whole sorry life trying to find.
“Jesus, Mercy,” he breathes, his hands skimming up my sides to cup my breasts. “Look at these perfect fucking tits. Been dreaming about getting my mouth on them for months.”
He lowers his head and proves he meant it, pulling the cup of my bra aside and sucking one nipple into his mouth with enough pressure to make my breath catch. His teeth graze the sensitive peak before his tongue soothes it, and I’m already panting.
“Cash—”
I can’t formulate a coherent thought as Cash’s mouth works its magic on my breast, his lips and tongue reducing me to a quivering mess as he rids me of my bra. My fingers lock in his hair, needing more, but he wickedly pulls away, leaving me gasping for air.
“Too much?” he teases. But hunger burns in his eyes.
“Not even close.”
He works his way down my body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my stomach, my hips, the inside of my thighs. By the time he hooks his fingers in my shorts and panties, I’m trembling with anticipation.
“Lift,” he commands, and I do, letting him strip me completely bare while he’s still fully dressed. There’s something about the contrast that makes me feel exposed in the best way.
“Fuck me,” he groans, spreading my thighs wider. “You’re already soaking wet. This all for me?”
“Who else would it be for?” I gasp as his thumb brushes over my clit.
“Better be just for me.” He settles between my legs, his breath hot against my center. “This pussy is mine now, angel. Going to make sure you never forget it.”
The first swipe of his tongue makes me cry out loud enough that I hope the apartment has soundproofing.
He’s not gentle or tentative about it, either.
Cash eats pussy the same way he does everything—ruthlessly, focused, absolutely relentless.
He pins my hips with both hands, tongue moving in tight circles that have me threading my fingers in his hair, and using that purchase to fuck against his face.
“Oh fuck. Cash!”
When he pulls back a little, I let out a whimper. But then he slides two fingers inside me—curling them just right—and I nearly come off the bed.
“Taste so fucking good,” he growls against me. “Could eat this sweet cunt for hours.”
“Cash, please, I need—”
“What you need is to be patient, angel.” He adds a third finger, watching his digits drag in and out of me, stretching me slow, making sure I feel every inch, every back and forth.
My thighs are shaking, my toes curling into the sheets, and I can’t decide if I’m dying or being born into something brand new.
He watches me the whole time, eyes locked on my face with this greedy, awed intensity that makes me feel braver than I’ve ever been.
I’ve always been a little self-conscious about my body, but Cash looks at me like I’m the only woman left on the planet.
Like he could feast on me for a hundred years and never get enough.
“You’re mine now, angel,” he rasps as he fucks me with his fingers. “I don’t care what papers are signed or unsigned in the world outside those gates. In this world, when you accepted my patch and put it on your back, you became mine in the eyes of the MC. That’s the only law I answer to.”
Yes. Yes, yes, yes. I want it. I want all of it. I want his hands, his mouth, his patch on my back and his name on my tongue. I want it so bad it feels like a fever, a bright hot need that has nothing to do with fear or hunger or even lust. It’s the need to belong—to finally, finally, belong.
He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean.
The sight sends a shudder through me, and I already know I’m about three seconds from coming just from the look in his eyes.
But Cash isn’t in a hurry about finishing anything yet.
He plants a forearm across my hips, pinning me as he looks up at me, hot breath washing over my core.
“Cash. Please—”
“Need to come all over my face, don’t you, angel? Been thinking about my mouth on you ever since that night at the bar?”
“Yes,” I sob, my hands fisting the sheets. “Longer.”
“Did you touch yourself, angel? At night when you were thinking of me?”
“Every fucking night,” I gasp, embarrassed and aroused by the confession. “Cash, I’m gonna—”
He drags his tongue hard over my clit and then hums, the vibrations shooting straight up my spine. “Gonna what?” His voice is all smug dominance muffled between my thighs. “Gonna make a mess for me, Mercy? Show me how fucking dirty my girl really is?”
“Yes,” I say, or maybe I scream—I’m not sure, because the moment he sucks my clit back into his mouth and curls his fingers just so, everything goes white.
I crash into pleasure so hard I see fireworks lighting up behind my eyes.
My hips buck against his mouth, my thighs clamp shamelessly around his head, and he just holds me there, devouring me, refusing to let me come back down until I’m sobbing his name between desperate, breathless gasps.
“Holy fuck. Too much,” I gasp, pushing at his shoulders.
He pulls back, pressing kisses and gentle bites to my inner thighs, his evening stubble scraping sensitive skin in a way that makes me shiver. When I finally open my eyes, he’s watching me with the most satisfied smirk I’ve ever seen.
“That was fun,” he says, crawling up my body. “But I think we can do better.”
I giggle, and he kisses me deep, sharing the taste of myself on his tongue. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
“Then fix it,” he challenges, rolling off me and lying back on the bed.
I get up on my knees, making quick work of his belt and jeans, dragging them down his hips along with his boxers. When his cock springs free, I can’t help but stare. He’s bigger than I expected, thick and hard and perfect.
“See something you like?” he teases, glint in his eye.
“I see something I want inside me.”
“Then get your ass up here and sit on it.”
I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything, so I climb back on the bed, gripping him in both hands, greedy with how thick and hot he feels in my fists.
“Fuck, Mercy.” His hips jerk as I stroke him. “Your hand feels so good.”
The sight of Cash with his head tipped back, veins stark on his neck, lips parted, is enough to make my thighs clench together.
“My mouth would feel better.” When I lean forward, tongue teasing the head, he shudders and grips my shoulder, halting my movement.
“Angel, wait.” His voice is rough, almost strained, and I immediately pull back.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. Never. I just…I need…” He shifts quickly so he’s sitting, big hand reaching up to gently cup my face. “I have my own demons, OK? From before. I need to be the one calling the shots here. Can you give me that?”
My heart cracks open. Because I know exactly what he’s not saying. I know what it’s like when your body remembers things your mind tried to bury.
I look up at him, seeing something raw and wounded in his eyes.
Cash has been so careful with me. Learning my triggers, giving me space, making sure I always have choices.
Whatever happened to him on the streets, whatever was done to him—I don’t need the details to understand that he needs this.
And more than that, I want to give it to him.
Want to be the person who makes him feel safe the way he makes me feel safe.
“Whatever you need,” I say softly, lying back and letting him take the lead. “I trust you.”
He cups my knee and parts my thighs, eyes glued to mine like he’s daring me to look away.
I don’t. I can’t. Even when he lines himself up and pushes in, thick and slow, stretching me open until it hurts and then feels so fucking good I could cry, I keep my gaze on him, letting him see every twitch and tremor in my body.
“Jesus, Mercy,” he grits out, his breath ragged and chest heaving as he bottoms out, filling me to the hilt.
“You’re so fucking perfect. You feel—you feel like I was made for this.
” His hands are careful at my hips, firmly guiding me as he draws out to the tip, then thrusts back in, quick and deep enough to make me gasp.
He sets the rhythm, slow at first, hips rocking against me in deep, measured strokes that force me to feel every single inch.
Each thrust is deliberate, controlled, hitting spots inside me that make me see stars.
“That’s it,” he growls, picking up the pace. “Take it all, angel. Take every fucking inch.”