by Lane Hart
The winner of the challenge is Zeke, a former high school swim team captain. His time is right around two minutes and forty-five seconds.
“I can’t wait to take you out tonight,” Zeke says as he stands in front of me in nothing but a speedo. All the guys had to wear one so that the female viewers could get a good look at their very athletic, very sculpted bodies. Zeke’s floppy brown hair is still dripping wet. So, when he flips it back, I get sprayed with the chlorinated water in my face. Zeke, of course, laughs before he starts apologizing. He grabs a towel and starts mopping up my face while the camera captures every second of the exchange between us.
“Hopefully we’ll both stay dry during dinner,” I tell him.
“We’ll see,” he remarks with a suggestive wink before he heads back over to the line of men, who are pouting because they didn’t win today’s event.
“Next time, guys!” I shout to them before I wave goodbye.
“And that’s a wrap for now,” Ryan, the producer, says. “Gentlemen, you can all get back to the house. Zeke, get showered and put on your dress clothes. Mercy, you’ll need to change into an evening gown. I’ll have Randy bring over a few choices, but I’m thinking blue is your color tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” I agree.
Abe strolls over toward me; and when he’s about three feet away, he starts removing his cut. It hits the ground, and then he pulls his shirt over his head.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a laugh.
“Time me,” he says with a nod of his head toward the pool.
“Abe, seriously?” I ask, glancing around at all the people still hovering around us. But then Abe is untying his boots to take them and his socks off. I gasp when his jeans come down. Since he’s not wearing anything underneath, I end up staring at his big, swinging cock for way too long before I remember that we have an audience and the prudent thing would be to shield my eyes. “Abe!” I yell at him.
“Are you filming this?” I vaguely hear the producer ask the camera man, and see that they’re following Abe around the pool where he grabs one of the dummy dolls, throws it over his shoulder and then carries it naked to the other end of the pool. Once it’s in place, he goes back to the starting side.
“You timing this?” Abe asks as he points to someone behind the scenes. Apparently, they give him the go ahead, because he dives into the water a second later and quickly crosses the pool. One of his big hands reaches up to grab the dummy by the leg, and then he’s swimming back, only a little slower because he’s using just one thick arm. At the wall, he tosses the dummy up and then pulls himself out of the water, flashing all of us his tan ass.
“Two minutes and twenty-one seconds,” the timekeeper calls out. Abe pumps both of his arms in the air to celebrate his victory, making me laugh. And while he may not have won a romantic dinner with me tonight, there’s no doubt that he just won a pretty good consolation prize for his incredible feat of manliness – my mouth until he fills it with his release.
Grabbing a towel from the stack, I walk over and hand it to him. “You should probably cover up King Kong before he scares everyone.”
“Ha!” Abe chuckles. “So, what did I win?” he whispers as he wraps the towel around his waist.
“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” I reply vaguely before I reach up and squeeze the water out of his beard. The way I’m fisting it is no doubt similar to a way I would hold something else and milk it.
“I’m not a very patient man,” he says.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be well worth the wait,” I tell him.
“Ah, Mercy,” Sofie, one of the set techs, calls out to me. “Your mic is still on.”
“Oh, right,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush. I try to replay our conversation back to see what it would sound like to someone listening. It must have been somewhat naughty if Sofie felt the urge to warn me. Hopefully she won’t share that recording with anyone else, or I’ll be screwed.
Chapter Eighteen
Abe
“Oh, fuck, yes, Red,” I groan as my dick disappears into Mercy’s wide-open mouth.
Unable to remain standing, I tug on Mercy’s hair to pull her forward as I walk back, keeping my cock in her mouth until I’m able to take a seat on the side of my bed. It’s almost midnight. We just got back from recording her fucking date with the swimming asshole on the show that I beat, and I need her mouth to make me come so bad I can’t stand it.
“Suck me, suck me, suck me,” I chant as she does just that, moaning and bobbing her beautiful, red head like she can’t get enough. The only problem is that I can’t see enough of her. As soon as we got to my room, she was unzipping my pants; and that’s as far as either of us got. Now I want to see her gorgeous body. Grabbing the front of her thin summer dress with both hands, I jerk on either side of the material until it shreds down the middle, baring all of her to me, including her pussy since she gave up wearing panties and bras except for the ones on set after some of hers were stolen. While I hate that fucker for doing that to her, I have to say that I’m happy as hell that she’s decided not to wear any more to avoid feeding his sick obsession.
“Rub that pretty pussy for me while I fuck your mouth,” I tell her, and she does it right away, lowering one hand between her thighs and touching herself with two fingers. The sounds she makes around my cock while pleasuring herself have me even closer to blowing my load.
While I had planned on letting her get my dick wet with her mouth before I fucked her, that plan is slowly fading away the longer she’s on her knees.
“I’m gonna come,” I warn her through gritted teeth when it’s impossible for me to hold off any longer. Her response is to take me deeper into her mouth, so I give up the good fight and give her everything I’ve got. Mercy swallows what she can before she pulls back and finishes me off with her hand. She closes her eyes and lets my hot bursts of pleasure land on her face.
And, fuck, it makes me feel like an asshole for treating such a beautiful, classy woman in such a vulgar way. When I finish, I fall backward on the bed with my hands behind my head to stare up at the white speckled paint on the ceiling. From the corner of my eye, I see Mercy get up and go into the bathroom to clean herself off.
When she comes back in the bedroom, I feel the mattress dip when she climbs up on it. And then, she’s curling up beside me with her head on my chest while fingernails slip under my shirt to graze up and down my stomach.
“Why do you let me fuck you like that?” I ask her.
“Like what?” she replies innocently, even though I’m sure she knows what I mean.
“Like a dirty little slut or whatever you called it the other day.”
“Because I like it that way,” she says. “I like how you aren’t afraid to be a little rough and dirty with me, unlike the other men I’ve been with.”
“You shouldn’t be treated rough or dirty,” I tell her.
“Why not?” she asks. “If that’s what I want and what you like too? It’s hot. At least it is for me…”
“Yeah, it’s hot,” I agree. I’ve never come as fast as I do when I’m with Mercy. So why do I feel guilty when I do the same thing to her that I’ve done to other women?
Because I care about her and don’t want her to be like the others – nothing but a good time and then it’s over.
“What’s wrong, big guy?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I respond. It’s not like I can ask Mercy to quit the show after they’ve started filming it. She just met me. And, for one reason or another, I’m not the type of man she thinks is “Mr. Right.” Mercy’s just slumming it with me, the convicted felon and outlaw, because the sex is great. In a few weeks, she’ll have to pick a guy. And once her perverted stalker is caught, she won’t need me in her life. She’ll go on to marry some banker or lawyer and have a slew of kids while I’ll be still stumbling through life like I’m not sure where I belong.
…
Over the next few days, I watch jealously from the sideline
s while lesser men flirt and carry on with my woman. They compete in more events with each other to win alone time with Mercy. My least favorite would be the one where she’s blindfolded and has to try and guess which man is which based on nothing but running her hands over their faces, arms, chests and stomachs.
Despite the stupid candlelit dinners and shit, at least I know that every night I’m the one who gets to take Mercy to bed and fuck her. Afterwards, I hold her for a few minutes before she falls asleep and rolls away from me.
That part at the end of the day is what gets me through the torture of seeing her surrounded by other men. Oh, and I fucking love when she sends guys packing, eliminating them from the competition.
Too bad I can’t be whatever kind of man it is that she’s looking for. I try to figure out exactly what that is while I watch from behind the scenes as the contestants are dwindled down to four.
Is it because they’re pretty boys? I’m not exactly hideous, I don’t think.
Are they rich? Probably, but Mercy doesn’t seem like she cares about money all that much. Even though she has no clue, I actually have a decent sized bank account.
Is it my size? I’m bigger than the other men for sure, not just in height but more muscular too. Does Mercy prefer small men? Nah, I doubt that.
So, I guess all I’m missing is the part where I don’t ever want any kids or have the brains that these four last men standing have. The fuckers all told her they want lots and lots of kids. Also, they definitely had me on the giant crossword puzzle thing they had to complete with only Mercy’s favorite things as clues. I knew them too; it just took me a little longer to fill in the board with letters once the show stopped filming.
The truth is, I dropped out of high school when I was fifteen, the year our mother killed herself. Since Gabriel was only thirteen, he went into the foster system without me. I went to the streets instead because of my juvie record that no one wanted to deal with. Before, I had been stealing food and smalltime shit to feed us and give Gabe gifts for Christmas and his birthdays. But after our mom died, I started stealing cars for a local chop shop in Charlotte to get by while I tried to find out where my brother was living. Then, when I found him, I got busted and lost my freedom, leaving Gabe to fend for himself yet again. I made a stupid mistake, and I regretted it for the entire eighteen months I was locked up and all the years since.
Is my criminal record and stupidity the reason Mercy only wants to keep me around as her bodyguard and to fuck me until she finds the man she wants to marry? Being big enough to kick someone’s ass and fucking are really the only two things that I’m good at. I know it, she knows it, and so does everyone else.
Chapter Nineteen
Mercy
“Mercy, can I see you in my trailer for a minute?” Ryan, the producer, asks after we finish shooting my last elimination before the finale. Only three men remain, Roman, Vincent, and Zeke.
“Sure,” I reply before I quickly catch up to him before he gets to the steps of his trailer.
“Need me in there?” Abe asks when he suddenly steps in front of me before I climb the stairs.
“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you,” I say with a smile and reassuring pat on his arm.
And while I’m trying to play it cool on the outside, I’m so freaking excited that tomorrow morning we’re all headed to the airport to fly to Vegas for Sasha and Chase’s wedding. Not just because I’m her maid of honor, but because I’ll get to travel with Abe. Thankfully, Sasha could wait a few days for the show’s filming break so that I could join them.
Abe’s dark eyes narrow in disapproval of me being alone with another man, but Ryan is great and I’m pretty sure he’s gay, so he doesn’t have to worry about me. Randy, his assistant, is usually by his side, just like now.
“Come on in and have a seat,” Ryan says when I pull the door shut behind me.
He sits down on one side of the table, so I sit on the cushion opposite him while Randy hovers near the door, playing on his phone, ready to jump as soon as Ryan asks him to go fetch something.
“I wanted to talk to you about a possible extension on your contract,” Ryan starts.
“Really?” I ask in surprise since we’re taking a week break for me to make my decision, and then the show is over, other than the reunion episode that happens after the show airs.
“Yes,” he replies with a smug grin. “Randy, where’s that contract?” he asks his assistant, who quickly goes over and starts digging through a stack of documents on a side table. Apparently finding the right ones, he brings them over to Ryan.
“Thanks,” he says to his assistant before he flops the papers down in front of me. “I’ve spoken to the three finalists, and each of them has also agreed to the extension in the event that you pick them in the finale.”
“What would be the extension?” I ask, thumbing through the wordy documents that I’m too tired to read right now.
“So, I’m not saying that we would have to film the wedding, but we would want to film several months of you two living together, maybe starting to make some of the wedding plans. What do you say? I can offer you double the money from the show’s original contract.”
“Wow,” I mutter since that is a lot of money. “But I would have to actually live with the man I choose?”
“Yes,” he answers. “When the cameras are off, you could have separate bedrooms for all I care. While they’re rolling, though, you would have to appear a happy couple in love, which means you wouldn’t be able to date anyone for another six months or so.”
“Six months?” I repeat. Sure, to most people that’s not very long to have to be roommates. If that were all it was to it, I would sign the papers right now. But it’s not. I would have to stop seeing Abe for good, or at least for six months. I could be wrong, but I don’t think the big guy would wait around for me while I played house with another man for half a year. That is if he even wants to keep seeing me after the psycho stalker is caught. At least he stopped showing up at my house after the second night. Still, Abe and I have been driving back to sleep in his apartment instead of taking any chances. Sure, it’s a little small, but it’s cozy and I feel safe under the MC’s protection.
“Your rent, utilities and all other living expenses would be covered,” Ryan adds. “It’s all in here,” he says, tapping his finger on the top of the documents.
“This is a great offer,” I tell him. “Could I have some time to talk to my agent and think about it over the break?”
“Absolutely,” he agrees. “I will need an answer by the time we shoot the finale so that I can start making arrangements.”
“Good, that should give me plenty of time,” I say in relief. Plenty of time to figure out what Abe wants, I think to myself.
“Great,” Ryan agrees. When he moves to stand up, I do the same, grabbing the papers up from the table to study later. “Any big plans for the week off?” he asks as we start for the trailer door.
“Yes, actually. My best friend is getting married in Vegas,” I reply with a smile.
“That sounds like a good time,” he says, then opens the door for me to leave.
“Yeah, I can’t wait,” I agree. As soon as I start down the steps, I see Abe waiting for me in the exact same place I left him. He’s like a human statue. Sometimes I’m not sure how he stays so still and patient.
“See ya, Ryan,” I say when I start to head back across the yard to cut through the production set.
“Have fun in Vegas. Just not too much!” Ryan calls out with a grin. “Cameras are everywhere!”
“What was that about?” Abe asks, eyeing the papers in my hand.
Rather than explain it before I even make a decision, I say, “Just contract stuff. No biggie.”
Honestly, how things go with Abe on our trip will probably help me decide whether or not I agree to the extension. If he tells me that he wants more, then I would turn it down. I’m just not sure if he’s the type of guy to ever want more. Sure, Sasha’s man i
s in the MC and is settling down, but the two of them have been in love since they were teenagers. I really doubt that any of the other bikers are seeing anyone seriously.
…
Abe
I get the feeling that whatever paperwork Mercy came out of the producer’s trailer with is more important than she’s letting on. I’m not sure why she dodged the question when I asked her about it, or why I go and snoop through her things when we get back to my apartment and she’s in the shower, but I need to know what they say.
I gently pull the papers from inside her purse that’s sitting on my desk and unfold them. Again, my lack of education catches up with me. It’s a bunch of legal terms I don’t really get, but going through the pages, it looks like they want Mercy to live with the man she picks at the finale for six fucking months.
Is she actually considering signing this horse shit and moving in with one of the assholes that have been fighting over her like little kids? I knew she had to pick someone at the end of the show, but I thought it would end there and then she and I could really be together. Not just in my bed, but out in the rest of the world.
If she’s going to live with one of them, then there’s no fucking way I’m going to stick around and watch that bullshit. It makes me think that I was right, and Mercy’s only sleeping with me to take a walk on the wild side before she picks Mr. Right and settles down with him to start a family. There’s even shit about their engagement and wedding in the damn paperwork and an insane amount of money for an additional extension if Mercy gets knocked up. The thought of her going off the birth control shot to fuck some douche bag from a stupid television show to have a kid makes my pulse start to pound throughout my entire body.