by Jo Raven
Awesome.
I take a few deep breaths, and look at the caller ID. It’s Gigi.
I stare at the display for a few long moments before I disconnect. I can’t talk to her right now.
And then the doorbell rings. Holy fuck. Seriously? She’s here?
Yep. I see her through the peephole. I consider pretending I’m not in, but she probably heard my phone ring. I have set the ringtone to “Twisted Mirror” by Pure X.
She loves that song.
Sighing, I open. “S’up, sis?”
“Heya, Merc. Won’t you invite your favorite sister inside?” Her eyes narrow on the bottle I’m carrying in my hand. “And pour me some of that.”
Glaring at her, I stumble back to the living room. “Not in the mood to talk, Gigi.”
“Too bad, because I am. Hey… that tat on your back. How come I never saw it before?” She elbows me in the ribs as she sits down beside me. “Look at you, gone all bad boy. Any special significance to this…” She leans back for a better look. “Ax?”
I hand her a glass with a finger of whiskey. Don’t want her going back to Jarett wasted. He’ll have my balls, even if she’s my sister. “What do you think it means?”
“Self-expression? Some repressed urge?” She shrugs. “It looks good.”
A shiver runs through me. I pour some more whiskey. “Thanks.”
“Cosima not here tonight?”
“She said she’ll come by later. She had facetime planned with her bestie.”
Gigi smooths down her short plaid skirt. She likes wearing skirts and thick black knee-high socks with boots. Her long blond hair is caught in two pigtails, and she’s wearing red lipstick and perfume.
The kitty seems to like it. She comes sniffing, tail in the air, then sits at my feet and stares at my sister.
“Hey, there’s a cat here! Hey, cat! Is she yours?”
“She’s Cosies’s. I’m taking care of her.”
“Very domestic.”
“You’re one to talk. You settled in just fine with Jarett.” I rub at my aching forehead. “Anyway, what’s wrong with domesticity?”
“Whoa, tiger. I’m only teasing. You know that, right? I’m really glad to see you happy with this girl.”
“Sorry, sprout. Just tired.”
“Little brother, I know. You look it. You need to talk to me. Or go to a psychologist.” She sips at her Whiskey and makes a face. “Ugh. You shouldn’t drink car oil before bed.”
I ignore that. “See a psychologist. That’s what JC said. Are you two working together to convince me?”
“JC sounds like a worthy roommate, after all. Not a serial ax murderer, huh?”
A shudder runs through me. What… the… fuck?
I down my drink and wait for the heat to spread through me, relax my locked muscles. “I don’t need no psychologist.”
“Let me ask you this: The nightmares you have, are they always one and the same?”
Goddammit, the whiskey isn’t doing anything today. “If everyone who had nightmares went to a psychologist, there would be endless lines outside their offices.”
“Merc, is it the same dream over and over? At least tell me this much.”
Fuck. I put the glass down very carefully because what I want is to throw it against the wall. “The same.”
“I figured as much. Look...” She puts the glass down and twines her fingers together on top of her knees. “Repeated nightmares mean there’s something in your life causing stress. Something you haven’t acknowledged, and it won’t go away until you’ve faced it, and fixed it.”
“I see. Piece of cake.”
“And if it is a person you see…” She ignores me. “Then…”
“Then what? Where did you get all this, Ginger? Wikipedia?”
She looks affronted. “I read. This interests me.”
“Because you wanna psychoanalyze your boyfriend?”
“No, Merc. Because I want to help him. And I want to help you, too.”
Blowing out a breath, I turn away. “Look, I did my online research too, okay? I know sometimes nightmares are caused by bad things that happened to people. But not to me, okay? You know me. I had a good childhood. I was always taken care of. You took care of me.”
Her face twists, and something in my gut wrenches. “Merc…”
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“We always tried to be around when you were little.”
“Tried? What do you mean, “tried”? You make it sound like there’s something you’re not telling me. Is there?”
“No, I’m not… Forget it.” She swirls her whiskey. I’m tempted to tell her it’s not brandy, but I’m uneasy. She’s avoiding my question. And then she says, “If you don’t tell me about your dreams, I’ll tell Mom. And Octavia.”
“You’re blackmailing me?”
“Sure am. What are big sisters for if not that, huh?”
Damn. She plays dirty.
“Then you go ahead and tell them, Ginger. If you wanna worry them over nothing, be my guest.”
She scowls at me. Looks just about as threatening as the kitten. “Why, Merc? Why won’t you talk to me?”
Good question. Why am I refusing? What the hell have I got to gain by keeping this to myself? I should talk it out, make her tell me whatever she’s not telling me, figure this out.
But I don’t wanna do this, I realize.
Not without Cos.
My mind balks at trying to analyze this thought. Hey, I don’t need to hide behind my girlfriend, okay? I can face my fears. So what’s this shit, Merc?
But the nightmares feel like something bigger than, I dunno, a childhood trauma like falling off a bike or losing a toy. If something happened… A body. Blood. An ax I tattooed on my fucking back, this sense of drowning, and the bogeyman.
Who is he? What the hell happened?
I need her there. I need to see her before I plunge into this, like seeing the person you love before a serious surgery or traveling abroad. Just in case.
In case, what? I lose my mind?
Jesus fuck. Maybe I’ve gone around the bend already.
Gigi isn’t happy with me when she leaves.
That’s fine. I’m not happy with me, either. Or with the nightmares. Why won’t they leave me the hell alone, huh? Go haunt someone else.
Though I wouldn’t wish this shit on anyone.
My head fucking hurts. Booze probably isn’t helping with that, and… I’m dog-tired. I wanna sleep, and I don’t wanna dream. I need… I’ve no clue what I need at this point. My body hurts, my head is a constant throb, and when I look down I sometimes see the body and the blood spreading.
I need Cos.
JC comes home, nods at me and goes to his room—to study? Watch porn? Who knows?—and still no sign of Cos.
I pull out my phone. What if I shot her a text, asking her to come home now? Telling her I need… I need her. Now. Would she come?
Fuck, no. I put the phone down. I’m okay. What the hell’s the matter with me today, huh? Then I shove the phone deep inside my pocket, for good measure.
Good thing, too, because she rings my doorbell a few minutes later. That would’ve been fucking embarrassing.
The moment she walks through the door, I have her pinned against the wall, her wrists locked over her head, my leg between her legs. She laughs, because I like doing that, but I’m dead serious.
Dead tired, dead serious, dead horny.
“Hey,” she says, smiling up at me, and like every time it undoes the knot in my chest, letting me breathe more easily. “Sorry I was late. I was talking to Lin about my stuff ther—”
I kiss her, not caring if it isn’t the right thing to do. All I know is that I crave her like oxygen, like water, that it’s been a shitty day, and now she’s here.
Her lips are soft and warm, her flavor that sweetness that’s all her. No other girl tastes like her. Truth is, all other girls faded the moment she smiled at me.
It’s our thing, right? The thing of two people who miss each other too much when they’re apart. Is it normal, to miss her so much?
But she jerks and gasps, looking over my shoulder, and I make myself stop and turn.
JC is passing by, carrying a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He nods at us, as if he found us by the side of the road on his way to work. “Remember the bathtub,” he says gravely, nodding like a bobblehead, and goes on his way.
“What?”
“Sex,” he calls over his shoulder. “In. the. Tub.”
My dick likes the thought, that’s for sure, hardening so much it actually hurts.
Cos’s brows have gone up and her eyes are round. “Did he just suggest—?”
“The tub was his main selling point when he tried to convince me to rent the room.”
“You didn’t want this?” She gestures at the luxurious apartment.
“I thought I couldn’t afford it. Now, where were we?”
She laughs softly. “The tub?”
“That’s right. Let’s go.”
“Really?” She laughs harder when I slip my hands around her waist and lift her up a little, to carry her toward the bathroom.
Her arms go around my neck, and somehow we’re kissing again, stopping to shed clothes and touch. Her cool fingers slip under my T-shirt, pushing it up to trace my abs, while I pull off her jacket and tug down her skirt.
Half-dressed, stumbling over garments, we inch toward the bathroom—though I’m starting to wonder if we’ll make it there.
Shoving the bathroom door open, I drag her inside and turn on the taps, then tear the rest of her clothes off—her blouse, her tights, then her bra.
God, I love her tits, her belly button, her hair, her shoulders, her thighs, her pussy. Love how she seems as hungry for me as I am for her.
The tub is filling nicely, steam wafting up, fogging up the air. I pull the tie from her hair and it curls, glossy, on her shoulders. She rises tiptoe to kiss me and I lift her up, and over the rim of the tub.
God, she’s beautiful, wreathed in mist, dark hair, dark eyes, red lips, dusky nipples, all curves I want to map with my mouth and my hands, the triangle between her thighs drawing my gaze, making my dick twitch and weep.
I climb inside with her and sit, drawing her down with me. My hard-on juts out of the warm water that’s lapping at our bare skin, and she licks her lips as she lowers herself over it. She sinks on top of my cock, her heat enveloping me.
Oh damn…
She leans over me, her soft tits swaying, and I cup one, tracing her pretty nipple, making her hiss. She starts to move,
I feel like I’m drunk. Drunk on her. It’s the heat, I tell myself, the steam rising up from the water, the slickness of her skin. It’s seeing her on top of me like this, moving slowly, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted, drops of condensation running over her creamy skin as if on crystal.
She’s like crystal. Transparent, fragile, precious.
Strong, funny, perfect.
“Merc…” She moans, her pussy clenching around my cock, and my mind goes blank at the pressure.
“Yeah, baby.” Love how she moans my name as she comes.
Love everything about her.
All of her.
I frown, the thought zipping through me like lightning—and on its heels, my orgasm comes in a sudden hot rush. It’s a flood with an edge like a knife, the pleasure of it so sharp it startles a cry from me.
We shake and rock together, riding the ripples of our release. I reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, to see her face.
She’s smiling.
This is what I want, I think with sudden clarity. Her. Being with her. My studies, my work, it’s all secondary, it’s all afterthoughts. Everything I do I wanna share with her, for all the time to come.
I just need to beat the goddamn dreams, go back to normal, forget about the bloody images, and be the man she needs.
Does she feel the same way? I wonder as she slumps against me in the cooling water, as I gather her up and wrap her in a towel.
I want her to move in with me, be my girlfriend. Officially. For all the world to know and see. I want… so much.
And since when do I feel so insecure with a girl?
Since I started caring for Cos, I realize. I never cared before, never wanted all these things with any girl.
I carry her to the bedroom, lay her on the mattress and put on the music.
Then I crawl into bed with her and roll her on her back so I can kiss every part of her, from her mouth to her neck, her arms, the inside of her elbows. I take my time with her breasts, licking and sucking on each sweet tight nipple until she’s squirming and making little breathless sounds of need. Lick my way down her belly and between her legs, parting them until I can drag my tongue over her clit, then bury my fingers inside her.
I finger her and lick her until she cries out and comes again, her pussy pulsing, getting slicker, wetter.
Moving over her, I kiss her, letting her taste herself on my tongue. And then I sink into her again, thrusting my cock deep into her heat. She’s panting, eyes dilated and black like the night, hips rolling together with mine. The first time in the tub was urgent, damn frantic.
I slow my thrusts, to feel every slide and shift, try to make it last. This is… so good I can’t stand it. I kiss her and we rock slowly, so slowly together, until pleasure rolls over us and we swallow each other’s moans.
I roll beside her, haul her against me and close my eyes. Never wanted to cuddle with a girl before—but with this one everything’s different. I wanna lie down with her every night, hold her and ask her how her day was, how her family is doing, what’s on her mind.
When she’s going to say she loves me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cosima
I’m sore between my legs and deeper inside, but I’m so high I’m dizzy. My body is heavy like a stone, pleasure still singing in my blood.
Singing Merc’s song.
Smothering a laugh, I turn my head to study him. He dropped off to sleep so quickly I didn’t even get a chance to talk to him today. Not yet. I doze on and off as he snores lightly beside me, his arm around me, muscles occasionally twitching and lashes fluttering, eyes moving rapidly as he rolls from dream to dream.
That reminds me of my dreams of him.
With the mess with my sister—who by the way won’t be back for another couple of days, and whom I need to call to see how things are with Griffin—I put off talking to Merc about it, and now, lying in a puddle of pleasure in his arms, it seems like a silly thing to obsess over.
I look at him sprawled on his back, all long golden limbs and that broad chest, one arm thrown up by his head. His hair glows like a halo around his head.
Eye candy.
The kitten jumps on the bed, sniffing here and there, ears swiveling. She sniffs Merc’s foot, and he doesn’t even twitch. She pats his foot with her paw.
Then she meows softly and jumps off the bed.
She’s in love with him.
Kitty has good taste.
I need to pee so badly. Carefully I extricate myself from his arms. He tightens his hold, then relaxes again and lets go.
Rolling out of bed, I throw on Merc’s T-shirt that I find lying on the carpet and open the door. The corridor is empty. The coast is clear. I pad to the bathroom, pee and brush my teeth using a blob of toothpaste on my finger.
Kitty stares at me from the open door, then skitters away when I move toward it. She’s like a ghost on rewind.
I glance at the bathtub, my pussy throbbing hard. I wonder if I’ll ever see a bathtub and not get wet from the memory of Merc’s muscular body gleaming in the
water, of his cock deep inside me, his hooded eyes watching me, hazed over with lust.
And then going down on me on the bed, and fucking me into the mattress … Holy shit, now I’m aroused again.
I can’t stop smiling as I return to the bedroom. God, I’m hooked on Merc Watson.
Big news? Yeah, no. Guess I’ve known it from the first moment, but it just struck me like a bolt of lightning to the heart.
I’m in love.
“Hey,” someone says, and I yelp at the dark form looming over me. “It’s me, JC.”
I nod. “You scared me.” I give him a shaky grin. “And hey yourself.”
“Is Merc okay? I thought I heard something.”
“What do you mean?” I’m very aware of the fact I’m standing wearing nothing but Merc’s T-shirt, my hair a nest, smelling of sex, in front of his brooding handsome roommate. “Like what?”
“He has bad dreams,” he says, not answering my question. “Damn bad ones, most nights.”
“Most nights? Like, almost every night?”
Why didn’t he tell me? So this is why he doesn’t sleep well?
JC takes a step back, retreating into his bedroom. “Maybe it was nothing. I’m not sure I heard him, anyway.”
“Well, he was fine five minutes ago,” I mutter.
And why does it feel like his roommate is used to checking up on him, to wake him up from nightmares?
Turning away, I throw Merc’s bedroom door open and stop.
It’s as if a shadow has fallen over the room—and Merc is curled up tightly on the bed, arms folded over his head. A sound permeates the quiet.
Harsh breathing.
Then a deep groan. Not of pleasure, this time. His body jerks. A grimace distorts his face.
Shit. Nightmare. I should wake him up.
But before I move, he starts to thrash, hitting the mattress with his hands and kicking at the covers, back arching, garbled sounds leaving his mouth.
Shit, shit.