Losing Lola (Mercy's Angels Book 5)

by Kirsty Dallas

  “Gabriella, es que se?”

  “Sí, Abuelita, soy yo.”

  Gabbie stepped forward into the open arms of the old woman and hugged her tight. When she stepped away, the woman had a fierce grip on Gabbie’s hand and tears in her eyes.

  “Abuelita, I’d like you to meet my friends, Lola and Drew.”

  Drew’s smile was kind as he reached out a massive, pawed hand that engulfed the woman’s frail one. She held it with the same fierceness that she held Gabbie’s and brought it right up to her cheek and grinned.

  “Un amigo de mi Gabriella es un amigo mío,” the woman murmured affectionately.

  “Es un placer conocerte,” Drew said respectfully, and I acknowledged that Spanish was another of the languages he apparently spoke.

  I had no idea what they were saying, but I knew it was Gabbie’s first language. Then the older woman’s cloudy gaze settled on me.

  “Bienvenido a mi casa, dar a la abuela un abrazo.” She held out her arms.

  “I don’t speak Spanish,” I quietly explained as the tiny woman brought me into her small, wispy body that smelled like lavender.

  “It’s wonderful to meet one of my grandbaby’s friends. She has not brought anyone to me since Jase passed away.”

  The joy in Gabbie’s face fell at her deceased husband's name, but her grandmother didn’t give us time to dwell on it. She hauled me into the large house as Drew and Gabbie followed.

  “We were hoping to use the barn, Abuelita.”

  “Sí, sí, the barn is yours, you use it whenever you need to. Are you hungry?” she asked, pulling us through the large open plan home toward the kitchen.

  “Starved. Do you mind if we get cleaned up first? It’s been a long day.”

  “Go clean up. I have leftover vegetable and chorizo paella. I’ll heat it up.”

  Gabbie pulled off a key from a hook by the back door and gave her grandmother a kiss and a hug before leading us out onto the deck. Hidden, not too far away in the tree line, was another building, sitting in the shadows of the trees. Gabbie led us towards it, following a quaint little path around what I assumed would be a beautiful garden in the light of day.

  “We can bring Ripley around back. There's a driveway that leads right up to the barn.”

  “Once we get settled, I’ll move it,” Drew said, his big warm hand holding mine in a sure, firm grip.

  Gabbie unlocked the very modern door on the large barn. When she said we’d be staying in a barn, I pictured an old weathered building and assumed there would be hay involved, perhaps even a tractor. This was nothing like that. It was sturdy, tall and wide, with quaint little windows running along a full-length porch.

  Once inside, Gabbie flicked a switch and the room lit up. It was gorgeous, with slightly worn wood floors and a big sectional sitting in front of a fluffy rug and an old wood heater. On the other side of the room was a rustic looking kitchen with plenty of counter space and a small table to one side.

  “Bathroom is right through there, up those stairs is my room,” she pointed to the small staircase that led up to a loft, “and over on that side, through that door, is a guest room where you can both bunk down. Or Drew can take the sofa,” she added with a wink.

  “Wow, I didn’t expect this.” I remarked, ignoring the sleeping arrangements for now. I’d become comfortable sharing a bed with Drew, but sharing it while someone else was under the same roof embarrassed me for some absurd reason. “It's so warm and fresh. It doesn’t look anything like a barn.”

  Gabbie’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “My husband designed it. It was our home away from home, our real home.”

  Drew and I stood in an awkward silence for a moment, neither of us quite knowing what to say.

  “I’m familiar with the land. I’ll do a perimeter sweep tonight and move Ripley ’round back. Tomorrow I’ll show you around.” She was talking to Drew as I walked around the barn . . . house, and took in all the little things that made it Gabbie’s home. An empty vase sat on the wooden countertops, a cooking timer in the shape of a cow rested beside the stove top, magnets on the fridge, one which read, ‘I love to cook, so you can’t expect me to clean, too.’ The only picture was one of Gabbie and her grandmother, sitting in a wooden frame on a small book shelf. After a careful inspection of the kitchen and living area I realized there were no pictures of Gabbie’s deceased husband, Jase.

  The quiet click of the front door as it shut left us in silence.

  “She still grieves for him,” I whispered as I continued to explore.

  “I don’t think you ever stop grieving,” Drew confessed, and I turned to look at him. He held out his hand, and I took it. “Now, I do believe you said something about a shower together?”

  The shower was large and spacious with two shower heads at either end. Drew turned it on and let it heat up, then grabbed two towels from a tall, thin cupboard. He carefully removed his guns before pulling his shirt over his head. My eyes immediately found his stunning chest, a marvel of smooth skin, perfectly sculpted abs, and a trail of dark hair that led into the pants that sat low on his hips. His hands went to the button and zipper, and he pushed them to the ground, standing before me in a pair of boxer briefs.

  Oh my god, what had I been thinking? Tempting Drew with the promise of a shower together was both terrifying and exciting. Being completely naked before him would leave me completely exposed and vulnerable in a way I had never been before. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it.

  “I’ll wait if you would prefer to go first, alone,” Drew murmured. “I’ll go help Gabbie check the perimeter.”

  When he reached for his pants, I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “No, I want to do this. I trust you,” I explained. “I’m just nervous.”

  Drew nodded, then quickly pushed his boxer briefs off his hips, leaving the impressive, silky smooth length of his cock in full view. He turned, ignoring the blush in my cheeks, and climbed into the shower. Reaching for a bottle, he lathered his hands and began washing himself. He acted as if us showering together was the most natural thing in the world, as if we’d done this a million times, and tonight was just another night of many. His casual nonchalance actually made it easier for me to slip out of my shoes, then jeans, and finally my t-shirt. I only hesitated a moment before reaching to unclip my plain cotton bra, then finally lowering my matching plain-Jane panties to the ground. Drew didn’t peek once, busying himself with bathing. I clenched my fists, standing naked as the day I was born, scars bared, heart thumping with anticipation.

  I pushed through the shower door and right under the spray of hot water coming from the second shower head at the opposite end of the cubicle. Drew still didn’t look my way, standing under his own flow of water with his back to me. I wanted him to look. I needed him to just turn around and get it over and done with. Perhaps then the nerves that filled my tummy would settle.

  “Would you hand me the soap?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper. Drawing in a deep breath I pressed my shoulders back slightly and tried to stand with a nonchalance I didn’t feel as I braced myself for Drew’s gaze.

  CHAPTER 27

  DREW

  Trying to be inconspicuous and respectful was pretty damn difficult, because I knew as soon as my gaze rested on her I’d be staring at her breasts like a sex starved pervert. I was a breasts man and I’d been dying to see this woman’s tits for a long fucking time. I knew Lola was scared shitless, and I didn’t want her to be scared of me, not like this. There had been too many long nights wondering what color her nipples were and if her pussy was bare or not. Would her body hold soft curves for my hands to follow, would her pale skin flush under my inspection? Now she was right there, behind me, naked, and I was pussyfooting around like a coward.

  I quietly groaned as my dick hardened. Fuck, I couldn’t get a hard-on now. It would scare her even further. I tried to think of guns, knives, football, ice hockey . . . nothing worked.

  �
�Would you hand me the soap?”

  The water almost drowned out her innocent question, and my entire body went taut. Handing her the soap would require me turning around, unless I just passed it back to her without looking, which I wouldn’t do, because I wasn’t thirteen-years-old and too scared to peek. I grabbed the bottle of body wash and turned. Holy fucking heaven! A long groan was wrenched from my throat as I took her in.

  She was stunning, her long strawberry blonde hair, now wet, hung over her shoulders. I watched the rivulets of water take an enticing path down between her breasts which were small and would fit in my palms as if they were made for me. Her hips were slender, and a small, neat strip of blonde hair covered her pussy. Slender legs that looked a hell of a lot longer than I knew they were finished a body of perfection. There were scars, but they didn’t take away from her beauty; they simply reminded me she was a warrior. My gaze rose back up her body and settled on her eyes, and the anxiety there brought slapped me out of my lustful stupor. Taking a step forward, I squeezed some of the body wash into my hands, then lowered the bottle to the floor.

  “Turn around,” I whispered, my voice much harsher than I intended.

  Lola didn’t flinch or back away, though. She turned and presented me with her flawless back and the gentle curve of a stunning ass. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched me as I placed my hands on her shoulders and began to lather up the soap. She was rigid, her body humming with fear, and that didn’t sit well with me.

  “I’m just gonna wash you, Mouse. I want to take care of you. No funny business, I promise.”

  Her mouth quirked into a small smile, and she relaxed by a mere fraction. My hands ran the length of both arms, coming to rest on her narrow waist which reminded me how small she was in comparison to me. They coasted back up her smooth skin until reaching her neck where I pulled her hair over one shoulder. I washed her back, and my hands rested on her hips for a moment before I lowered to my haunches and washed her legs. Her skin was the smoothest path my hands had ever taken. I never wanted this moment to end. I could worship this woman until the end of days if she would let me. Encouraging her to lift her feet one by one, I washed them before standing.

  “Turn.” It was all I could manage, that one syllable word was gruff and hard when I wanted it to come out smooth and controlled.

  Turning, she glanced up at me through eyelashes full of water. The anxiety was no longer there; instead, a soft look of lust filled those amber eyes. Pushing her hair over her shoulders, I started at the top, my hands gentle on her neck, then I ran them back down her arms. Kneeling, keeping my gaze on hers to watch for any sign she might be uncomfortable, I placed my soapy hands on her chest. I felt the ridges of her scars and unable to help myself, I leaned forward and kissed one of them. I wasn’t sure, but that might have drawn a tear from her already damp eyes. My hands then dipped lower until they traced the tips of her light pink nipples, then cupped the small mounds and rubbed the soap into her milky skin. Lola’s cheeks heated, but there was no fear. Probably spending longer than necessary on his part of her anatomy, I reluctantly left to bathe her tummy, thighs, and legs. Then my gaze landed on that neat little strip of hair between her legs.

  “If you want me to stop, tell me.” The words were guttural and raw as they left my lips. My cock so painfully hard I couldn’t ever recall feeling such rampant need.

  Watching again for any signs of fear, I allowed my almost soap free fingers to sit on her pubic bone, before sliding them between her feminine lips. How I stopped the groan that immediately built inside my chest was beyond me. She was simply perfect, warm, wet silk, as I glided my fingers through her. When my feathered touch reached her clit, she jolted, and I stilled before looking up and checking her reaction once more.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered, a look of lust and desperation claiming her features. “I’m okay with funny stuff.”

  My lips quirked up at one corner, and I placed my large hand flat on her stomach, giving her a gentle push.

  “Press your back against the wall,” I murmured, gentling my voice.

  She obeyed, taking a few steps back and leaning against the cool tiles. With a hand between her thighs, I encouraged her to widen her stance, then with my thumbs, I pulled her lips open and leaned forward, running my tongue from her entrance to clit in one, long swipe. Lola’s hand fell to my head, but she didn’t pull me away, she simply held on. Kissing her clit, I began to lick and suck, enjoying the warm softness on my lips.

  “Holy shit,” Lola gasped as I sucked on her clit before flicking it with my tongue.

  My free hand then joined in, one finger pressing into her entrance which squeezed me like a vice. Lola began to thrust against my mouth, and my finger pressed forward and retreated in time with her hips. Working her harder, I kissed her pussy like I might her lips: sucking, licking, loving her with everything I had. The moment her muscles tightened around my finger, I knew I had pushed her over that magical edge and she came hard on my hand.

  “Oh my god,” she groaned, her body shaking almost uncontrollably.

  My lips still on her, I pulled my hand away and held her steady so she wouldn’t fall. Once she began to still, panting hard for air, only then did I remove my mouth. I ignored the uncomfortable tightness in my groin and watched Lola as her dreamy gaze fell to mine.

  “Wow,” she murmured, and I grinned, standing. When Lola’s small hand wrapped tentatively around my dick I almost lost my load.

  “Mouse,” I growled, but her undivided attention appeared to be on my straining erection.

  “Let me,” she whispered. “I’ve never . . . you know.” She spared me a nervous glance before looking back down to her small, pale hand wrapped around the darker skin of my dick. Then she began to move, up, down, up, down, a slow and torturous pace, much like I had set for myself the night I had jerked off in front of her.

  Leaning my head against the tiles right by her ear, it was my turn to groan. I reached down and encouraged her to tighten her grip around me; she obviously wasn’t sure what I liked or could take. Clutching a little tighter, she continued to pump me, and while she did, I played with my balls.

  “I like watching your hands on yourself,” she confessed.

  “I like watching your hands on me,” I panted.

  And I did. I’d probably been a teenager the last time a girl had given me a hand-job, but I don’t recall it feeling anything like this. This awkward, tentative moment was the best sexual encounter I could ever recall having.

  “Harder,” I demanded, and Lola obliged, her grip getting tighter still. “Faster.” Her little hand moved hard and fast, and I thrust into her palm greedily. “When you’re ready, I’m going to teach you so much, Mouse,” I growled. “I’m going to show you how good it can be. My cock inside your pussy is going to be your favorite pastime.” My breathing became jagged and raw as I lowered my lips to her neck and sucked on the skin there. “We’re going to fuck in every position imaginable.”

  Lola’s free hand cupped my neck as her other hand continued to work my cock. The familiar tightening in my spine and balls was both regretful and heaven; I didn’t want this moment to end. My hand left my balls and wrapped around Lola’s hand on my dick as I began to come all over her stomach, a rough groan leaving my lips. Finally, I stilled, my hand still holding Lola’s in place.

  “Fuck, Mouse, I don’t think I can move,” I said with a sigh. Lola giggled and the sound forced some energy back into my limbs. “I’m going to make sure you do that more often.”

  “Hand-jobs?” Lola asked, a sparkle of laughter in her eyes.

  “Laugh,” I growled, taking her lips in a bruising kiss. “And hand-jobs,” I said with a smile as I pulled myself away from her. Looking down at her stomach, I admired the mess I left on her. “I guess I’m going to have to clean you all over again.”

  Lola chuckled and slipped out from under my arms where I had her trapped against the wall. “Hell no. You do that again, and we’ll never leave
this room.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  Lola smiled as she reached for the body wash. “Gabbie will be waiting for us, and her grandmother is waiting to feed us.”

  “I really do hate the voice of reason.”

  “What happened here?” Loa asked, motioning to my face.

  She’d never asked about it, and I never offered an explanation. It wasn’t exactly something I enjoyed talking about. The scar was old, the skin puckered and white. It wasn’t pretty and even a growth of beard didn’t cover it completely.

  “Afghanistan. A suicide bomber tried to drive his van into the facility where I was based. My team was on patrol that night, and we heard the van before we saw it. We took it out before it reached the gates, but the bomb exploded. Suicide bomber was the only casualty, but four members of my team were seriously injured. One of them lost a leg.” My fingers ran the length of the scar. “This was from shrapnel. Does it bother you?”

  Lola shook her head. “Do my scars bother you?”

  “Not one little bit,” I answered without hesitation.

  “Did you like being a soldier?” Lola asked.

  I turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping a towel around my waist as I handed her one, somewhat regretful that her body would soon be hidden from me. “Not really. I didn’t like having my hands tied by red tape and responsibility. The shit I saw over there, and could do nothing about . . .” My voice trailed off as those memories I tried to bury assaulted me. “Kids being hurt, women being raped,” my eyes rose to hers. She had gone still, the towel wrapped around her small arms. “And I couldn’t do anything about it because it wasn’t our mission. I’m not a man to walk by and let shit like that go down, Mouse. I couldn’t do it, so I left. That’s why I got into the mercenary stuff.”