by Bane, Lucian
She gave a snort as he rounded the couch and eyed her. “Oh, you’re serious.”
“We do need to get it on and you did say you’d help.” He loved how everything he said was pure sexual innuendo.
“You want me to sit on you?” she said, hoping he heard how crazy that was.
“I do. Yes. Very, very much.” He ignored her suggestion that the idea was preposterous. “You ride with Bo and not me?” He couldn’t bring himself to say sit on Bo, the idea made him crazy.
“That’s different.” Like that were obvious.
“How fucking so?”
Her jaw dropped. “Because we’re… you know.”
“More reason for you to sit on me.”
“Stop saying it like that.”
“You started it.”
“But I didn’t mean it like you clearly do.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Are you going to ride me or not?”
She looked straight ahead and gave a sigh.
“I won’t bite you.”
That earned him a glare. “Really.”
“Unless you want.” He had to laugh at her look. “Trust me when I say you’re not a coy little virgin.”
“Something tells me that’s all thanks to you.”
He put a hand on his chest. “I merely directed what was there, and begging.”
“I think you had better just roll yourself over and do the job.”
“Can I have a kiss instead?”
She leveled an incredulous look at him.
“What? Just a small one. On the cheek.” He rolled near the couch and leaned, giving her easy access. “Please,” he mumbled.
“For what?” she shrilled quietly.
“For busting my foot, if you must have a reason.”
She gave a light huff and leaned in. Sade turned and intercepted her lips with his, grabbing her face and holding her while he tasted her sexy fucking lips briefly and let go. He rolled off while she was still in the shock and awe phase.
“That was wrong,” she called behind him.
“No baby, that was right,” he called back, not the least sorry. “My foot agrees,” he added as he made his way to the kitchen. As silly as it may have been, he still wasn’t happy that she rode in a wheelchair with another man and not him. Bo was his brother, but who was he to her? Just a stranger.
After he managed to get the pizza in the oven from a wheelchair, he made his way to the media center along the stone wall.
He finally located the control for the large TV that he hoped held the music collection since there was nothing but that. He studied the control and saw fireplace. Hmm. He hit the button and that huge space that appeared to be an empty slab of black granite lit up with a low roar.
“Ohhhhh neat,” Mercy said. “Who would guess that was a fireplace!”
“Who would guess you’d need it?” He aimed the control at the TV and pressed power.
“It’s romantic.”
He glanced back at her, remembering the word he’d heard her use before. It was still considered foreign to his brain, but not his body. It meant something to her, and he considered it a doorway in. “I forgot you like romance.”
“Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember liking it.”
He turned his chair and faced her. “You don’t?”
She shrugged. “Not really. I know the concept, but I don’t have the feeling of the memory of it. Should I assume we never did romantic things?”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“What did we do?”
He raised his brows and saw the remote allowed you to search songs right on it. “Stuff.”
She snorted. “Like what?”
“You’ll have to read.”
“Oh Lord. If you can’t tell me then it’s likely not romantic.”
“Depends on how you define romantic.”
“How do you define it?”
He scrolled through the classic selection and found her song that she danced to. “You. Dancing for me. In your panties and t-shirt.”
She gave a roll of her eyes. “Figures.” But he didn’t miss the flush in her cheeks or the way she fiddled with her fingers in her lap.
He watched her closely as the song came on loud enough to feel it. She soon began bobbing her head, and when the words came, she began to mutter them, making his heart want to leap from his chest.
“I know this,” she suddenly gasped, looking at him.
He gave her a smile, so happy with that. “You should.”
“I should?” She moved more now, letting the music take her. “Only looooove,” she sang softly, “can make it rain….”
“This is the one you danced to for me.”
Her jaw dropped. “In panties and a t-shirt?”
He made his way to the couch to get closer. “God, yes.”
Her mouth remained gaping and her brows narrowed as she fought to remember, all while her body moved to the tune. She finally gave a sharp exhale of “I don’t remember!” She nailed him with perplexity in her pretty green gaze. “This song?”
“Yes, that song,” he said, his hopes slipping a little.
She continued singing then shook her head without stopping. “I don’t remember dancing to that! Amazing that I can’t remember! And you said I did some kind of contemporary ballet? Oh, I like this part! Loooooooooove,” she wailed out of key. “Rain ooooover meeeee.”
Sade found himself torn with being disappointed and enraptured with her here and now. There was plenty more memories to jar. Maybe a little alcohol to help with the process.
“Where you going?” she called over the music.
“Get us a drink.”
“I’ll take a coke.”
“A coke,” he mumbled.
He wheeled himself to the bar at the back of the room and inspected the supplies. Finding all the ingredients he could want, he mixed with practiced ease and returned to the couch and handed Mercy hers.
She took the small glass. “Orange juice?”
“Yep.”
She raised her brows and sniffed then jerked her head back. “Oh my God!”
“And alcohol. It’s called a Slow Screw. Come on, try it. A sip.”
“It smells awful.”
“Then don’t smell it.”
She took a sample taste and her face tightened with a grimace. “Oh shit, that’s nasty! Tell me I wasn’t a drinker!”
“You weren’t a drinker.”
“You’re lying?”
“No, I’m not lying,” he said, finding the remote and turning the music down enough that they could talk. “You weren’t. I’ll never forget the first time you drank in fact.”
She eyed him and took another sip. “What happened?”
“You’ll have to read it.”
“Oh come on!”
Sade downed his drink and set it on the table while she eyed him. “What was your drink?”
He glanced at the empty glass then back at her. “Something I really love.” She waited with raised brows and he grinned at her. “A Screaming Orgasm.”
She gave a huge eye roll. “Figures.” She took another sip and looked at it. “Not so bad after the first few sips. Is everything about sex with you?” she asked, seeming genuinely curious.
“With you, yes. Otherwise, it’s mostly about pain in some form. But you taught me new tricks.”
“I did?” She raised her brows and stirred her drink with the straw, making the ice clink. “Like what? Or do I have to read? And do I even want to know?”
He shrugged, putting his feet on the coffee table. “You taught me how to soul mesh.”
“Soul mesh?” Her brows furrowed with her squeak of disbelief. “I taught you how to soul mesh? Excuse my Latin but what the fuck is that?”
Sade busted out laughing and shook his head. “I think it’s French, but it’s something you were very good at.”
“Is that a sexual maneuver or something?” Her face screwed up, making him want to kiss her.
“No, it wasn’t sexual, but I did use it during sexual things.”
She bit her lip and nodded then stared into her drink before taking another sip. “I almost remember that,” she muttered.
“Really?” His heart sped up.
“Yeah, no. Not really. I’m just…” She wagged her hand. “Was joking. It’s not ringing a bell, my mind literally drew a picture of this blob next to a fish net of some kind.” She eyed him. “What?”
“It was so much more special than that.”
She looked at him around her glass as she sipped, nodding. “Sounds… kinda corny. Even creepy, don’t you think?”
It was Sade’s turn to roll his eyes.
“It does, admit it.”
“It did at first until you did it.”
“Are you sure you’re not mixing me up with somebody?” Sade glared at her, and she cried, “I’m kidding! Jeez, you’re all sensitive about the mesh memory!”
“They’re us.”
“Well, I’m sure I’ll get them all back any minute, you said that.” Again she eyed him as she drank more and he realized she was asking.
“Yes. I’m sure.”
She downed all her drink, making Sade wonder what was going through her head. He could see her wheels turning and hoped he didn’t have to drag it out. “What if I don’t get them back? Then what?”
His heart hammered fiercely at the idea. “I prefer to think positive.”
“I mean how great are these memories, it was only a month, if that.”
“If that?”
“Well, maybe you miscalculated.” She stared at her empty drink, stirring still. “I don’t see you as the type of guy to mark off days on the calendar.”
He stared at her for a long while, trying to figure out how to put his anger into words without saying something he’d regret. “The memories are very fucking great. I never want to forget. Ever. I’d rather die than not have these memories. Is that great enough for you?”
“Wow,” she said, looking amazed. “Yeah, so for sure I’ll remember them, they sound impossible to forget, really.”
“Yes, they are.”
“Can I get another one like this? It was delicious,” she said with a tipsy exuberance.
“Absolutely.”
Sade made his way to the bar and made her another one, a little stronger this time. That would be enough for her. She’d be at her limit with that. And then what? Perform sexual acts to jog her memory?
Finally, Bo and Liberty made it to the party—Bo on crutches, Liberty behind him. The strained smile he wore said he was biting his tongue hard. What a show. Sade wasn’t surprised that both of them took all of thirty minutes to get shit faced. After Sade burned the pizza, he decided to pop popcorn to go with the show Liberty was soon putting on.
By the time he got back with it, he realized that their little plan was in full swing with Bo playing the pimp and Liberty playing his whore. Quite well, he might add. It had Mercy in a very foul mood when he returned. “Mind if I sit by you?”
“Oh, by all means, this is a free country. Couch is plenty big enough for two.” He handed her the popcorn bowl before moving from chair to couch. “Popcorn to enjoy the show. Nice.”
He sat next to her, and she moved over, putting twelve inches between them. Wow. Sade couldn’t help be amazed at how the insignificant act could cause such a dense ache inside him. He decided to not let it deter him and reached for her hand. She didn’t fight him but she didn’t reciprocate either.
Liberty danced her way to the media center and found something to gyrate to and then danced her way back to Bo. If wasn’t mistaken, maybe she was already shitfaced. He glanced at Bo’s goofy grin and realized so was he.
Sade leaned toward Mercy a little. “I used to dance,” he said over the music.
“Did you,” she said loudly. “What kind?”
He leaned in again. “The dirty kind. At my dad’s nightclub. Not something I’m proud of.”
“Did I know this before?” she asked.
“Not that part, no.”
“Ohhhh nice,” she said, with raised brows. “Now I know something I didn’t before. I’m starting to feel like a new person.” She nodded, and Sade felt bad that everything he said and did pointed to some reality she didn’t like.
She moved to the music in her seat like maybe her body remembered how. He angled his head and watched her.
She leaned over without looking at him. “You’re staring,” she informed.
He smiled, scratching his cheek. “Yes, I can’t help it.”
“It’s not nice to stare.” She shook her head, dancing back into her spot. “You like being stared at?” She looked at him now.
“By you, yes.”
She rolled her eyes, her cheeks turning pink then gestured in front of her. “Go ahead then.”
“Go ahead?”
“Dance for me. Give me that memory back.”
He studied her, trying to figure out if she were serious while his cock grew harder by the second. She had no idea what kind of dancing he meant. It would be worth just seeing the look on her face. “You promise not to laugh?”
She nodded real big and yelled, “Promise! What about your feet, I forgot,” she said suddenly worried.
He shrugged and stood. “I’ll live.” Would be worth the sacrifice if it helped her remember.
Sade pushed the coffee table back, giving himself room. Walking back up to her, he stopped at the couch when she was staring up at him, curiosity mixed with the heat in her green gaze. He gave his body over to the music and began his filthy dance right before her, keeping his eyes locked to hers while he invited her to fuck, using erotic rolls of his hips. He stepped up his persuasion, grabbing his cock and flicking his hips, letting her know he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer.
Her jaw was open as she pressed herself into the couch, her eyes following his hands as he slowly removed his shirt. He threw it in her face and she gasped, darting her eyes right, to see what the audience thought of that. Before she could get too distracted, he fell forward, bracing his palms on either side of her and straddling her legs, bringing the nasty up close and in her face.
Unlike the women he’d danced for before, she sat frozen beneath him as he kissed her and fucked her without touching. He was close enough to hear and feel her gasps on him as she stared at the show before her.
He leaned his face to hers, not breaking his sexual assault dance, gasping at her ear. “No touching,” he teased.
“Ohhhh,” Bo cried.
Sade noticed Liberty out of the corner of his eye climb onto Bo’s lap. He looked only long enough to see if Bo was okay or if he needed rescuing now that Liberty was clearly drunk. But the way he held her hips tight in both hands, and the heat in his gaze at a thousand degrees as he watched her, said he was all too fine. Thank God for that. He was actually hoping that might happen.
He turned to Mercy to find her glaring at him. “No, don’t stop looking.” She shoved him off of her and grabbed the bowl on the coffee table. “Have some popcorn,” she hissed, dumping it on him before hobbling out of the room with no crutches.
“Fuck,” he muttered, getting in the wheelchair and racing after her.
“Let me give you a ride,” he said behind her.
“Get away from me,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong? It isn’t whatever you’re thinking, I can assure you.”
“You’re a pig, go fuck yourself. Maybe you and Bo can do Liberty in fact, she looks like she’s open for that.”
“Mercy, stop!”
“Fuck you and don’t call me Mercy!” He stopped at her door where she fought to open it. “I don’t like Mercy,” she grit, looking at him with hate burning in her green gaze. “She sounds like a pathetic little stupid girl with cotton balls for brains. Soul mesh? That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And you’re stupid for liking it.” By then she was in the door and slammed it in his face, leaving Sade confused and dumb
founded. And pissed. How dare she fucking talk that way? About the woman he loved? Her!
He hurried to his room and slammed the door as hard as he could, hoping she would feel it in her bones the way he felt the pain her ugly words caused him. Everything was fucked up, and the Mercy he knew was gone. Just fucking gone. And this person she was now barely fucking liked him.
Chapter Fifteen
Mercy limped her way to her bed and threw herself on it. She wanted to be sad, guilty, something, anything. But all she was, was… pissed. The way he’d stared at Liberty… how dare he? And what the hell kind of person had Mercy been that he thought it was okay to do that with her sitting right there? At all if he’s supposed to be in love. Ha!
She may not remember who she was, but she’d be damned if she was going to stand around and put up with that. The old her obviously had some hang-ups and thank God, she didn’t remember those. And Mr. you’ll have to read it. Fuck him. Fine, she’d read it.
She grabbed the notebook from the table and began where she’d left off. It didn’t take but five minutes for her to forgot her anger and become fascinated with the man Sade, and how he perceived her. As she devoured the words, she struggled to remember them. Flashes, sparks, anything. But it was like reading a story of him and another woman. She had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t another woman, it was her, just to keep from getting pissed.
She shut the book with a gasp as she realized. She was jealous! Jealous and couldn’t remember shit! Wait a minute, no. No, she wasn’t jealous. Not literally or actually. No, this was more like… conceptual jealousy. Her brain knew she was supposed to be the love of his life and so she expected him to behave like it, and when he didn’t, yes, conceptual jealousy switch got flipped.
But God, reading him and this person she once was, it was like reading a stranger. And it was becoming sadly clear that either A: He had no idea what love actually was, or B: she had been a complete, blind, moron.
She continued reading and again, everything faded away. Soon she was at the part where she first went to his house. He had her there to interrogate her, only he’d lied and said he needed help cleaning his condo. And she fell for that? Maybe he’d been a great player. Maybe he’d hit his head and lost the memory of how to be that, because he sucked at it now. Or maybe hitting her head knocked sense into her!