by Sylvie Kaye
"Hmm,” he answered.
"Do you want to tell me what you like, and I'll tell you what I'd like?” She leaned back on his lap. Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her eyes glittered with desire.
She wanted to chat, and as much as he enjoyed when her banter turned dirty, especially in her amateurish style and her ladylike tone, he had no plans to get better acquainted with her. Not verbally anyway.
The look on his face must've told her so because she hastened to add, “For starters, what kind of condoms do you use?"
"Ribbed,” he growled. Grasping her vee-neckline in his fingers, where he'd wanted to get his hands from the first, he tugged.
She rocked forward, smiled, and then slid back again. Her eyes turned a darker, glassier blue. She moved again, setting a sensual rhythm. Slow, grinding, mesmerizing.
He slipped his hand into her lacy bra. The material of her flimsy, ivory-colored dress was pale against his skin. Cupping her silken breast, he teased her already puckered nipple. The tip was so stiff and so ready for him. He rolled the nub between his fingers, pinched it lightly, plucked it until she moaned.
All throaty and sexy. A turn on that strained at the fly of his jeans.
In the throes of passion, she tossed back her head, exposing a tender throat, the delicate skin throbbing with her murmurs.
He couldn't take his eyes off her. Every move and sound she made was hypnotic.
Her eyelids fluttered as she sat back again. “Do you have a ribbed condom with you?"
His thumb stopped, paralyzed on her nipple. This time her question was less about getting to know him and more to the point.
"Uh-huh.” He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment, thanking his lucky star. She was going to fuck him. Although she'd acted like she would, had teased and gone through the motions, he'd figured her to split and run before anything too sweaty or too gritty took place.
With an exhale, he opened his eyes and with a last squeeze wriggled his hand free from her breast to jam it into his pocket. When she widened her thighs to give him pocket-digging room, he instantly missed the heat and contact of her tight body.
Extracting the condom from his jeans, he dangled the foil packet between his fingers, wondering if non-streetwise women knew how to handle rubbers. With a grin, he taunted, “Do you know how to rip and roll?"
Her slender hand stopped short of the packet, and he knew she didn't. Her girlish hesitancy gave him pleasure. Suddenly he wanted to be the first. The first man she sheathed in rubber. Ribbed rubber.
She glanced over her satiny shoulder, to the right and then to the left, obviously checking out their state of privacy. But he knew here at the bend in the waterway, they were out of sight enough. If she was daring enough.
"I read a how-to,” she said, taking the foil square from his fingers. “If you don't mind being my test subject."
Mind? He couldn't believe his stroke of fortune. “Practice away."
She slid off his lap, bent at the waist, and tugged the metal closure of his fly. Her fingers were cool and gentle against his belly, less than adept at opening his jeans. The corded muscles in his legs and back twitched from having stayed still for so long, but he wasn't about to move and blow things now. Not unless Mercy asked him to.
Hell, who was he kidding? Even if she ordered him to, as far gone as she had him now, he'd obey her.
But she succeeded in loosening the metal button and then went after his zipper.
"Uncross your legs,” she said in a whispery soft but matter-of-fact voice.
Spence uncrossed his ankles, giving her the space she needed to unzip him. She slipped to her knees between his thighs and tugged. The metallic teeth began to grind down slowly, exposing an ever-widening vee of dark curls with each inch of denim that gave way. Finally, his erection sprang loose, popping up its head like a one-eyed jack.
"Mmm,” she murmured her admiration, and his cock bobbled almost taking a bow. She grinned. “I think a reward's in order."
"For the right reward it might roll over and bark,” he said gruffly.
Mercy laughed, slight and throaty, a wet dream come true kneeling between his legs. She tugged on the waist of his jeans to loosen them even further. He arched his spine to assist her.
Interesting, very interesting, all blonde, slender, and sexually willing.
A pearly drop formed on the tip of his dick. He clenched his jaw and his gut. She'd better hurry before he shot his wad and became worthless to her.
That's when she began reading the condom packet, aloud. “Twist and shout?” She arched her eyebrow and stared up at him.
"There's a twist at the tip. To stimulate both partners. Do you need a sex-ed class before we go on?” He was feeling vulnerable and exposed, and if she asked any more questions, he was going to go soft or go off. And either one was an embarrassment.
At last, she tore the square open and carefully peeled away the foil, holding him spellbound with each graceful but swift motion of her long, nimble fingers.
He gulped. His throat went dry when she placed the rolled condom in her moist, open mouth.
After that, he didn't need any twisted-pleasure-rubber to stimulate his nerve endings or heighten his sensitivity. With her mouth open wide and her blonde halo of hair descending over his lap, she made the most erotic picture he'd ever seen. His stomach tightened as his cock twitched. He held his breath, feeling as if his eyes were about to cross.
He moaned out loud as soon as her soft lips touched the end of his penis. He didn't care if she heard him. Bets were off. Games were over. She won, hands down. No hands, really.
When she pressed down on the head of his cock, her tongue hot through the membrane of the rubber, his restraint almost popped. He gritted his teeth until perspiration broke out across his forehead.
As she took him further into her mouth, she kept her firm, moist lips wrapped tight around his shaft. The slow, inching pleasure almost killed him as his heart slammed in his chest.
Gentle pressure and friction from her mouth enclosed him, sending shudders through his body as her lips and her tongue unrolled the condom onto his shaft. What sweet torture.
"Mercy,” he hissed her name or maybe it was a plea.
She looked up at him with a proud smile as she finished unrolling the rubber all the way to the base of his dick with the help of her cool fingers.
Between the delicious heat from her mouth, followed by the chill of her diligent fingers, he'd reached his edge.
He grasped her hair in both his hands. “That was great, baby, but I can't wait any longer."
When she rose, he grabbed onto her hips to help her up onto his lap. Pushing the nylon crotch of her panties aside, he embedded himself into her slick, hot pussy in one quick motion.
He hadn't meant to be so forceful, but he'd lost his head. Both of them. And so quickly. He'd buried himself to the hilt, yet couldn't get close enough, go deep enough.
She moaned, taking in his length before starting a steady, stroking advance-and-withdraw motion that slowly built in momentum.
He grasped her hips and arched his own to mark the rhythm she set. He smothered his face in her neck, hugged her breasts to his chest, losing himself in Mercy, drowning in the scent of her musky sex. The sound of her panting breath. The softness of her giving body.
He gasped for air, lifting his head away from her devouring sexuality and spied a flash of color from the corner of his eye. Parker's Cadillac glittered in the distant neon glow from the Starry Night Club.
What to do?
She was still working it; he'd gone still.
Come?
Go?
Come first.
Then go.
Why now?
He groaned. He'd waited for that son-of-a-bitch Parker for weeks.
Aw, hell.
His cock, not to mention Mercy, was going to hate him for this, but he couldn't take the chance of letting Parker slip away.
Not taking her to orgasm wasn't his style,
but...
"Sorry.” He winced, and with one swift move and a pop of suction-releasing contact, he lifted her from his lap to set her on the bench while he took off on a run after Parker's Caddy.
Mercy shrieked as he sprinted toward the bend in the river. He tossed a brief glance over his shoulder and saw he'd missed his target. She landed on the gravel path in front of the bench on her ass.
While he zipped up his still rubber-encased dick and ran for all he was worth, he heard her. Instead of cursing him, when she had every right to, she was grumbling something nonsensical.
"Sister Doria was right-on about pride going before a fall."
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Chapter Four
"Sinner."
Spence heard Mercy call his name, but he kept moving. He couldn't go back. He had to keep his focus on the prize. For Mark as well as for himself.
He had hardly believed the neon-blinking stars shining their garish blue lights on the red Caddy, making it appear purple in the parking lot of the Starry Night. Too bad his break had come while he was deep inside Mercy. She was the only sweetness to enter his battered life in the past two years.
While he raced up the pathway, he glanced back one last time and smacked into the flower vendor, nearly toppling the guy. Shoving some money at the sturdy man, he told him what to do with his flowers and stepped up his pace.
Up ahead, he ran into more problems when the crowd thickened and slowed him down yet again. Boldly, he pushed by whatever bodies got in his way. As he closed the distance between himself and the stone overpass leading to the nightclub above, the street became denser with bustling people. His pace snailed with the crossover still yards ahead of him.
He felt bad about Mercy, for leaving her sexually unfulfilled. But he had to get to the Starry Night. He had to keep his eye on the prize. On Parker.
He elbowed through a laughing group who threatened to make him wait while they bought ice cream. Damn it, but he'd waited long enough to get his hands on the slimy owner of the club. Two years with little else to think about.
A young woman shrieked an indignant slur as he rushed by, his shoulder jamming her vanilla cone into her chin. When her young man shoved him back, he grunted an apology to the couple but didn't pause. What the hell was one jab to his ribs compared to the pain Parker had inflicted on him after Mark's death.
He'd been convicted and sent to jail for the manslaughter of his best friend on testimony from the lying son of a bitch.
A renewed surge of determination drove him forward. He remained untouched by the looks of surprise or annoyance on the once-happy faces of those who got in his way. People out to drink, dance, eat, and have a good time. Like he and Mark had that fatal night.
Finally, he broke from the crowd and bolted for the cement steps leading to the streets above. Curses followed his thudding footsteps.
Once on the sidewalk, he raced like an Olympic runner. His arms and legs pumped hard to close the few blocks distance.
No traffic at the intersection. Luck might be his lady for the night.
Then he came upon it. The spot of the incident, where Mark died and his own life changed forever.
He ran even harder, if that was possible. His blood pulsed in his ears, his heart pounded as if it would burst. But his heart had already been ripped apart by the happenings of that hateful night.
Police sirens, ambulances, a jail cell. Recollections flashed as he forced a hard dash and ran past the ditch where his dreams had died.
Up ahead, neon lights swirled out the letters Starry Night Club in a twinkle of fake blue stars. He urged his legs to work harder, faster. They ached. His muscles protested, burned. The humidity hugged his skin like a glove. His lungs fought for air as he spurred himself to keep going. For Mark. For himself. For his sanity.
He dodged a man and woman, arm in arm, who were leaving the restaurant next to the club.
Headlights flickered in the parking lot up ahead. The red Caddy's engine roared. He was so near he could smell the exhaust fumes. The glow of taillights glittered like eyes in the night as the car pulled out right in front of him. He gulped for air. A spurt of adrenaline shot him forward. He was near enough to touch the red metallic paint on the rear fender of the sleek car as it slipped through his fingers.
He stood gasping, bent over, wet with perspiration while the car disappeared before his blurry eyes. Sweat mixed with tears. Frustration settled in. He railed at himself. He should've been here.
Instead of seeking solace in Mercy.
* * * *
Mercy had never been dumped by a man in quite this way before.
She brushed gravel from her panties and the back of her dress as she got to her feet.
Just what had been Sinner's problem?
She was certain he hadn't come. And neither had she. At this rate she was never going to reach the illusive big ‘O’ or fulfill the sexy fantasies she'd read and dreamed about.
She groaned. What did she expect fooling around with a man called Sinner? Orgasmic Nirvana?
Damn. She straightened the ivory skirt of her dress, rubbing at a spot of dirt near the hem. At least her dry cleaner would be in ecstasy when she got another twelve bucks closer to her retirement Mecca in Boca Raton.
Who the hell did Sinner think he was with his strong arms and tantalizing mouth and the promise of an orgasm that had been so close her clit quivered even now? She rubbed her legs together to rid herself of the notion of him inside her, hot and stiff.
Exhaling, she let off some of her anger along with some of her steamy, sexual frustration. She really should look into buying a vibrator. She'd seen an ad in the back of this month's Women's Way magazine for The Magic Wand. Came in iridescent colors, too. Hard, shiny, satisfying.
But she did so want her first orgasm to be with a flesh-and-blood male. And Sinner looked to have so much manly experience.
Not to leave out his largest potential, the one he'd tucked into his pants at the last minute before he took off.
Mercy finger-combed her hair while she blocked out all the other firsts she'd wanted to experience with Sinner. At least she'd gotten her condom fantasy out of the way. While meandering a less-than-enthusiastic pathway back toward the Starry Night Club and Cindy, she shook her head. Cindy wasn't going to believe how Mercy's seductive evening had ended.
As she passed by the man pushing his fragrant cart, he waggled a handful of colorful, beribboned flowers at her.
"No. No, thank you.” She waved him off. Life wasn't so bad that she'd resort to buying her own flowers just yet. Although she could picture it happening after she bought the purple, shiny vibrator.
"The gentleman paid,” he explained. “He said to give the corona to the blonde lady in the pale dress.” The vendor persisted, forcing a headpiece of brightly colored flowers in hot pinks, deep yellows, and vibrant blues into her hand. Satin streamers in matching hues danced on the hot, humid night breeze.
The corona looked like something from a sixties love-in, and Mercy wasn't feeling too loving at the moment. “That was no gentleman,” she mumbled, wanting to rub her butt as a reminder of her fall but refraining.
"The headwear is worn to celebrate fiesta, love, life,” he said gaily.
With a polite smile, she accepted the halo of flowers but she'd be damned if she'd wear it.
And why had Sinner bought her flowers after dumping her right after the most erotic sex act she'd ever performed?
She'd been practicing that condom trick with a banana since she'd seen the video on late night pay TV last month.
Her anger sped up her footsteps as she wove in and out of the passersby. Soon she found herself at the base of the steps to the balcony. Looking up, she didn't spy Sinner. Wherever he'd been headed, it wasn't the balcony.
What would she do if she spotted him inside?
She climbed the stairs, her sandaled soles tapping each step. She had no choice, really. Self-respect dictated she whap him up alongside his head an
d the devil with whatever happened afterwards.
As soon as she entered the lounge, she scanned the crowded dance floor before checking out the rest of the room. She didn't see the culprit, only Cindy at the bar. Friendless.
Mercy edged onto the blue leather stool next to her friend. “Where'd your coworkers go?” She glanced up and down the dimly lit bar.
"Obviously Sister Doria knew about junior executives when she said early to bed and early to rise makes a person wealthy and wise,” Cindy said.
Mercy nodded. “Did junior-exec-Jay leave, too?"
"Jay included. He didn't offer to walk me home, drive me home, or see my home.” She sighed before saying in a gush, “Oh, you missed your uncle by minutes. He said he had to leave town but hoped to see you before you left for home. An emergency. A sick friend.” She jangled a set of keys from a leather star initialed with a P. “The key to his place. He insisted, even though I explained you were staying with me."
Mercy tucked the key into the pocket of her dress. Great, now she had to worry about her finances until her uncle showed up and she could talk to him. If he even showed up before her vacation ended. Borrowing money wasn't so impersonal that she wanted to discuss it long-distance over the phone. She heaved a sigh. What else could go wrong?
Flopping her circle of flowers onto the bar, she groaned. “I need a drink."
"Your uncle said to ask Lenny for anything we want. He's the good-looking, good-smelling one.” She pointed to the buff, auburn-haired bartender, who was busy whirring a pastel blender drink and who would've been a hunky prospect if it hadn't been for Sinner.
Despite his despicable behavior toward the end of their romp, Mercy couldn't get Sinner off her mind. Or perhaps because of his behavior.
Cindy nudged her, and Mercy met her friend's eyes in the bottle-cluttered mirror behind the bar. “I see the vendor hit you up for flowers. But you're supposed to wear the posies in your hair not throw them around like a game of ring toss."
"I'm not wearing any halo from a man called Sinner.” Mercy waved to get Lenny's attention. The bartender flashed her a toothy smile and signaled he'd get to her next.