She uncrosses her arms and gently rests her hands on mine.
I continue, giving the truth of my feelings to her in a way I’ve never done with anyone else. “My whole life I’ve been nothing more than my last name. For a while I reveled in it, liking the notoriety. Then it became a burden, and then a shameful legacy. You see me for who I am, not some name shared with assholes I’d never choose to have in my life if we weren’t blood related. You mean more to me than that. More than anyone, you’re the one in my blood, Andy. I think of you every day, miss you every minute we’re apart. I can’t remember a time before you and don’t want to imagine a day without you.”
Her hands grip mine harder. “I feel the same way.”
“We’re not dating our families. I know mine are huge baggage, and I swear I’ll fight hard to take them down and protect your family. I’m not like my family—I know I acted like it at the race, but it was from guilt for the shit I’ve had to do since being back in town, and I feel terrible for that. It won’t ever happen again.”
Guilt clouds her features. “I’m sorry for doubting you. I know you’re not like those assholes at all. I trust you.”
“Then trust us, too.”
“I’ll try. It’s hard to see past everything that’s happened.”
I press gentle kisses on her knuckles. “I need you in my life. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Finally, the pain eases from her face. I pull her to the edge of the couch and wrap my arms around her, pressing my lips to hers. Awareness at how close I came to losing her thunders through me and I have to force myself to be gentle, to not devour her with my hands and mouth.
But Andy must feel the same way, because her teeth and hands take a turn into harsher territory, and soon we’re clawing at each other, frantically pouring the emotion into our touches and mouths, desperately attempting to slake the thirst for the knowledge that we’re okay, we’re together and going to stay that way.
Her hands grip my shoulders hard enough to hurt. I love it.
I plunge my tongue into her mouth, tracing her teeth, relishing the way her tongue presses against mine, sliding across it, sucking it deeper like she can’t get enough of me either. A bit of the icy fear that lodged itself in my heart warms with every move she makes. She loves me too. And I believe her. She didn’t say it to use it against me, or try to get something from me.
She loves me like I love her.
Feelings expand from my chest and swell out, forcing me to haul in a shaky breath and pull back to see her face. Love shines from her eyes, radiant and pure.
“I love you.”
Her kissed-swollen lips form a soft smile. “I love you.”
I stand, pulling her with me, needing to hold her tightly for a moment as though by keeping her in my arms, the moment won’t be able to escape.
“Hey,” she whispers into my neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”
My face heats, embarrassment invading the joy. I’ve never loved anyone like this. No one ever got...no, I never let anyone get close enough to make this kind of connection with them. Love was a weakness. Weaknesses were to be exploited—it’s the lesson I learned from the start as a Mercy and is going to take some time to unlearn.
She pulls back. “I hate that no one’s loved you enough. That stops now.” She takes my hand and guides me to her bedroom, unhurriedly, calmly, reassurance in her eyes.
She removes my clothing one piece at a time with the same sure, peaceful movements, and then takes hers off as well. Motioning toward the bed, I climb in first and she follows, slipping in between the cool sheets beside me, pushing my chest so I lie flat on my back. Her hands explore every muscle, caressing me, leaving indelible marks of acceptance and care that seep into my skin and find their way to my veins, and into my heart.
Propped on one elbow, she bends and gently kisses my cheeks, my forehead, my chin, my jaw. I’ve never had anyone make love to me before. I’ve never let anyone.
It feels good.
My chest aches.
She pulls back and focuses on my eyebrow. “How did you get this scar?”
“Does it bug you?”
She traces it with her fingers, then her lips. “No. It makes you look tough. You’d be too pretty without it.”
I seize her wrists and nip the tip of one of her fingers, needing some playfulness to lighten the intensity of the mood. “Hey, are you calling me a pretty boy?”
“Have you looked in the mirror?”
I tickle her ribs and she squeals and squirms.
“Okay, you’re not pretty! But how did you get it? Was it really a bar fight with a dealer?”
“Is that the version you believe?”
“No.” She walks her fingers up my chest. “Tell me what really happened. I won’t tell anyone.”
“What will you give me in exchange for the truth?”
Her eyes sparkle with mischief and lust. “A dare.”
“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” I snuggle her into my side, and stroke her hair when she lies her head on my chest. “Wow, this is going to knock down my street cred. Truth is, I wiped out on my bike one night on the way back from a party in Georgia when I was twenty. The moonshine had been strong enough to strip paint, and I’d had one too many. Hell, one would have been one too many of that batch. I never should have gotten on the bike; I don’t know how the hell I managed to even start the thing I was that wasted. I don’t remember the accident. I remember starting the bike, and making it from the bush back to the highway.”
“And then?”
“Three days later, I woke up alone in a hospital so high on morphine I thought the wall was the floor, and grabbed on to the bed railings, positive I was going to fall off the bed.”
“Wow.”
“A trucker found me in the ditch, called 9-1-1, saved my life. I was wandering by the side of the road, drunk as hell, bleeding all over the place. Horrible concussion. My bike was fine though. I don’t remember any of that either. Good old Dad was the only one who knew the truth; I’d called him to come get me when they discharged me from the hospital, and the old prick made me ride home on my bike by myself as soon as I was able. Said I wasn’t worth the gas money it would take to get there and if I was dumb enough to crash, I was old enough to walk it off.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way? I really want your dad to do the world a favor and die.” Her voice is tight with anger, and it feels amazing.
“I do too. Does the story make the scar seem boring?”
She shakes her head and pushes up to look at me. “The truth makes it even scarier. You could have been killed all those years ago. We’d never have had the chance to get to know each other now.”
That’s an awful thought. The automatic words are always there within reach when I think of that day and how close I came to dying. “Yeah, I’m lucky I’m alive.”
“No. I’m lucky you’re alive.” Her softly whispered words slam into me with the force of a head-on collision.
How do people live with this much emotion inside them?
Smoothing her hair back from her face, I rise to guide her to her back, kissing her before her head hits the pillow. I lightly graze her tongue with mine and she shivers beneath me when I nudge her thighs apart and settle on top of her warm body.
Her lips meld to mine, flowing perfectly with my movements in a counterpart of nibbles and presses. She tips her head back, allowing me better access when I kiss my way down her throat to her chest, and the velvety skin of her breasts.
I spiral my tongue around one nipple then the other, pausing to suck deeply before continuing my journey of kisses down her body. Her belly twitches, ticklish, as I skim my lips across it below her belly button.
Three more kisses and my lips brush her pubic bone and her legs tense. I tut and silently encourage her to open her legs wider. A slight hesitation, and then she lets them fall open.
It occurs to me I haven’t done this with her before in her bed.
How terribly rude of me.
I take a long, slow, sweet lick right up her center, and circle the delicate skin around her clit, not quite touching it, dancing around the movements of her hips as they try to guide me there.
I pull back and kiss the crease where her thigh meets her body, first one leg, then the other, and pause to trace her labia before tonguing her.
Her hands find my hair, and I’m glad it’s not longer or she’d be winding it around her fingers and riding my face.
Before she can say a word, I lock my mouth against her clit and start working it with firm lips and a soft tongue. Andy moans and her hips move faster. She drenches my fingers when I slide them up inside. My balls ache for me to be where my fingers are, but I want to give Andy more, make her come first, come hard.
So I curl my fingers in until her legs shoot straight out and her breath leaves her in a sharp exhalation, and I pulse against that spot in her pussy, licking her clit a little harder, a little faster.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Andy
Oh God.
I think I love that hand almost as much as I love him.
And his tongue.
Everything below my bellybutton tightens.
My chest expands with warmth when I remember how he said he loves me, and the vulnerability in his eyes when I said it back, like he thought someone was going to come take the words away.
His hand moves harder inside me with ruthless pleasure and hot waves crest over me as I come hard, squeezing his fingers, panting and writhing.
And wanting more. “Matt.”
“Yeah?” He traces a lazy circle on my clit.
“Don’t make me come down there.”
He pulls his fingers out and I’m dripping wet, but I need more, need him, so I sit up beside him.
“What?”
“I don’t even know what I was planning, I just wanted to be closer to you and couldn’t wait,” I admit.
“What do you want?”
I bite my lip. “Remember that time in the shop?”
His groan makes my thighs clench. “Yeah, I remember that time.”
His leg tenses beneath my hand as I stroke it on the way to his cock. “You remember the dolly?”
His hands shoot out and take my hips, supporting me as I scramble to my hands and knees and brace myself. He squeezes my ass. “Fuck, I wish the light was on.”
I do not share that wish, but his body heat on the backs of my thighs and ass as he kneels behind me takes the edge off. He reaches up my body and takes my breasts in his hands, kneading, rubbing them, stimulating my nipples.
I grind my ass against his cock. “You can do that while you fuck me.”
“Mmm. Say that last part again.”
I lower myself to my elbows. “Fuck me.”
“Say please.” He rubs the head of his cock up and down my wet folds.
“Pretty fucking please.” I shudder hard and barely manage to drag in a breath, choking on desire.
He stills. “You okay, baby?”
I reach back and slap his hip. “Don’t stop.”
He thrusts inside with one long stroke that steals my breath. Another thing I love about Matt is he’s a fantastic listener.
This angle allows his cock to rub against new areas inside me, and I use the wall to brace harder and push back against him when he speeds up. Skin slapping skin is the best song I’ve ever heard, and I move faster to hear more of it. His fingers dig into my thighs, urging them apart so he can get deeper. I curl one leg forward and his hand snakes around my hip finding my clit again, rubbing fast and light, doubling the pleasure storming inside me.
He pulls out, flips me, and pushes back inside before I have time to complain. I’m glad he did, as now we’re face to face and his mouth crushes to mine. I wrap my arms around his back and pull even tighter, moaning into his mouth when deep inside, muscles start clenching and ripple around his hard length.
He continues for a few more strokes and pauses, pushing hard against me, all the way in, and comes, hand fisting the sheets by my head while his cock twitches deep inside me.
I’m sweaty and hot, but hold him on top of me when he tries to roll to the side a moment later, drawing patterns on his back with my fingertip, mostly the words ‘mine’ and ‘I love you.’
He drops tiny kisses on my cheeks, lips, and the tip of my nose until our breathing steadies.
I flick on the lamp so I can see his face. “I love you.”
He smiles, surprise and delight in his eyes. “I love you.”
“Want to take a shower with me?”
“I want to everything with you.”
I’VE NEVER SHOWERED with someone before, so this is another new experience for me, but I’m glad it’s Matt. I don’t think it would have been the same with my ex—he never made me forget how to be self-conscious like Matt does.
I can’t stop touching him and he seems to be floating on that same wavelength as me, holding my hand on the way to the bathroom, embracing me from behind while I grabbed towels and started the shower. Kissing my shoulders while waiting for the water to reach the perfect temperature.
Wanting him to smell like my soap, as another way to experience him being truly mine and sharing this little thing with me, I pour some body wash onto the puff and lather up his back, letting the shower rinse it away. Matt’s got little scars everywhere, and I want to know the story behind every one of them. Most of all, I need to forget everything outside my apartment for a little while to recharge my batteries.
“How’d you get this scar?” I trace the white ridges of the V on his left shoulder blade.
“Fell backwards onto the corner of a coffee table when I was seven.”
I frown, thinking of the little boy who got hurt badly enough to leave a scar like this. “Where were your parents?”
“Mom had left by then and Dad was out.” He reaches back to caress my thigh.
I wrap my arms around his slippery torso. “Did they leave you alone a lot?”
“Yeah. Honestly, that was probably the best thing they could have done. We aren’t exactly the Brady Bunch.”
I nuzzle between his shoulder blades. “You turned out deliciously well.”
“Thank you.” He covers my arms with his and gives a squeeze.
He feels so good in my arms. “Are you in touch with your mom at all?”
“No. She bailed when I was little, left us alone with those assholes. Not that I can blame her, but I don’t want her in my life either. You lost your mom when you were pretty young, right?”
“Yes, but I remember a few things about her and there are good memories as well as the shitty ones right after the car accident. What’s this from?” I poke the big scar I can feel on his belly.
“Appendix was removed.”
“Emergency?”
“Yup. Uncle Kingsley rushed me there in the middle of the night. Dad was out working and Luke had to call Kingsley because I was too sick to get out of bed by myself.”
I make my way around him until we’re chest to chest, bend and kiss the scar. “No bar fight with an evil drug cartel overlord? What was the other version?” I drum my fingers over my lower lip. “Something about a biker?”
He laughs. “My reputation was handy since it kept people from trying shit, but greatly exaggerated.”
I’m glad—if the stories had all been true, he could have died before I got to know him, before we got to fall in love. “And this one?” I point at one on his hip.
“Cased a jump and landed on a rock when I was thirteen. Probably should have had a stitch or two, but didn’t.”
I kiss it too.
He winds his fingers through my hair. “Not that I’m complaining at all, but why the interest in my scars? They’re ugly.”
“They are not ugly. They’re your history and let me get to know you better while I get to know you better.” I waggle my eyebrows at him.
“You can do and ask anything you want.” His cock hardens, growi
ng longer and thicker at the words.
The possibilities rampage through my brain. “Oh, you shouldn’t have just handed me the keys like that.”
His gaze is hotter than the water. “I want everything you can give me.”
“You looking to be kicked off your bike again?”
His fingertips find my hips. Ten points of contact that sizzle through my body and straighten my spine. Isn’t electricity in the bathtub dangerous?
He licks my neck and nibbles my earlobe. “Maybe I like it rough.”
“Maybe I like how you like it rough.” My nipples harden.
“Do you?”
I nip his lip and grin.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Matthew
Andy’s love has made me feel invincible, and I stride up the stairs to Dad’s and call out to him and my uncle.
“Kingsley’s not here, and shut the fuck up. I’m on the phone.”
I grab it from his hand and throw it at the wall to get his attention.
He glares at the shattered pieces, then glares harder at me. “You lost your damn mind?”
“No, I’ve gained something and it’s worth more than any amount of money.”
He rolls his eyes. “Stop thinking with your pecker, son. No fuck’s that good.”
“That right there. Every inch of your life is an angle you can exploit, you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. No wonder Mom left. No wonder you never made more of your life than this shitty house. You want things, but they’re the wrong things. You take shortcuts and easy ways out, but never build anything to last or try to repair the relationships with Luke and I that this life has broken.”
His expression is bemused. “You sampling some of Samson’s products?”
I throw my hands up. “It’s like trying to reason with a toddler. You know what, I’m done.”
“What exactly are you ‘done’?
“The debt, this conversation, this family—with the exception of Luke. You slithered to a new low even by your standards.”
“You’re not finished and you’ll always be one of us. You’re a Mercy, same as the rest of us, always will be.”
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