Merciless

by Sybil Bartel

  His eyebrows drew together, and he clipped out a question. “Like what?”

  I fought the urge to grind into him and lost. My hips dancing in a rhythm all on their own, truth spilled out. “Needy and aching, and so, so hungry.” Every word making my mouth dryer, I licked my lips.

  His frown disappeared and his mouth landed on my neck. He swirled his tongue to torture me further. “Feels much better without clothes, sweetheart,” he whispered. “But if you wanna come, you need to give me permission to touch you, beautiful.” His thumb pushed back my shirt sleeve, and he stroked the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist.

  My breath hitched and I froze.

  Every muscle in his body went stock-still.

  Faster than I could blink, everything between us changed as his gaze shot to my wrist.

  The dark, hooded look in his eyes from only seconds ago disappeared, his expression shut down, and his nostrils flared with false understanding.

  Holding my wrist up, his gaze cut from my albatross to me as he swept his thumb, gentler this time, across angry, scarred flesh. “What is this, Brookelyn?”

  I stared at my ruined hope.

  I stared at the puckered, red lines etched across my wrist.

  X.

  His initial.

  Nathaniel Xavier Lewis.

  Nathan.

  Otherwise known as X.

  My one and only lover. The man who’d destroyed my life.

  “It’s a scar,” I whispered, kissing my night of escape goodbye.

  MY BRAIN REACHED FOR EVERY plausible scenario. Any scenario that didn’t mean this woman had tried to take her own life, but I came up short. My dick, still hard as fuck, not getting the message that it’d been red lighted, throbbed in my jeans.

  “Why?” Ignoring the urge to adjust myself, I threw down the question like I had a right to know the damn answer.

  She pulled her hand back, and at first I didn’t want to let her go. But I had to. Shit was filling in, and it was a picture that was more than I could deal with in a handful of hours.

  She crossed her arms and dropped her gaze. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Then why not tell me?”

  For the very first time since meeting her, she let herself show emotion. She smirked. “You don’t want to know.”

  Shit. Did I? “What if I said I do?” I hedged.

  She shook her head. “You don’t want to know, otherwise you would’ve simply said that.” She moved around me and reached for the bag from the restaurant. “We should eat. The food’s probably cold.”

  I took the bag from her and dumped it back on the counter. “I want to know.”

  “You said you were hungry.” She still wouldn’t look at me.

  “So did you,” I countered.

  She ignored what I was implying, and her chest rose with an inhale before she looked up at me. “Then we should eat.”

  Her expression locked, her body language clearly saying don’t fuck with me, she’d done a one-eighty from the woman in my arms who kissed me like she was starving. And goddamn it, I wanted to know why.

  I tucked a wild curl behind her ear. “Does this have to do with the asshole at Dax’s bar?”

  For once, I could read her expression. She looked like she was fighting for patience. “How many times are you going to keep asking about something that didn’t happen?”

  “As many times as it takes for you to tell me the truth.”

  “You’re not telling me the truth,” she fired right back.

  My eyes narrowed. “About?”

  “Why I’m really here.”

  She said it with such skepticism, I fought a smile. “You’re tougher than you look.”

  Surprise actually showed on her face, and the tension of a few seconds ago was gone. “I don’t look tough?”

  I chuckled. “Hundred percent tough, woman.” I put my hand on the small of her back because it felt right and grabbed the food. “Come on, let’s eat.”

  We sat at the table, and it was as if we’d eaten together before. She wasn’t shy about trying some of the food I’d ordered, and an easy silence settled in as we both opened boxes and containers and plated our food. We were a few bites in before she broke the silence.

  “What do you do in the Marines?”

  I took my time finishing my bite. My occupation wasn’t always well received.

  “You’re hesitating,” she observed.

  “I am,” I admitted. “I was.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “Until recently, I was a spotter.”

  She took another bite of her pasta. “A spotter?”

  I stared at her. “For a sniper.”

  Her chewing paused for only a fraction of a second before she nodded and swallowed. “And now?”

  “Sniper.”

  Slow, like she was processing, she lifted another bite to her lips, but paused. “That sounds… dangerous.”

  I read between the lines. She meant lethal. “It can be.”

  “You must have had a lot of training.”

  That and on-the-job experience. I nodded noncommittally. “What did you do before you worked for Dax?”

  “More of the same.”

  “Family?”

  “Dad.”

  “He local?”

  She half shrugged, then took a bite to avoid answering.

  “You see him often?” If they were close, why the fuck was she at a dump of a motel instead of being at home?

  “No.” She put her fork down and glanced at my plate. “You done?”

  “Yeah.” I wasn’t.

  “Thanks for dinner.” She stood, picking up our plates. “You bought, I’ll do dishes.”

  I stood with her. “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. I closed the pizza box and put the lids back on the other dishes. “You in a hurry to get to your new place?”

  “Why?” She turned the water on and scrubbed the plates.

  “There’s a Jacuzzi downstairs.”

  She glanced at me like she was trying to gage if I’d lost my mind. “It’s ninety degrees out.”

  I smiled. “You’d be surprised the shit you miss when you’re downrange.”

  “You missed sitting in hot water in ninety degree heat?”

  I missed anything that got rid of the fucking sand and dust. “Yep.”

  Her focus went back to the plates. “I don’t have a suit.”

  “Go in your underwear. Or one of my T-shirts. The Jacuzzi is on the opposite side of the building from the restaurant, and no one ever uses it.” I leaned against the counter and cocked my head so I was eye level with her. “Come on. I even promise to put your clothes in my dryer after.”

  She didn’t say no, but she didn’t say yes either. She bit her bottom lip and rinsed the plates and silverware before washing our two water glasses.

  Not bothering to point out I had a dishwasher, I picked up a dish towel and one of the plates. “I’m not hearing a yes.”

  “I should probably get going.” She set the glasses on the drainboard and shut off the water.

  I dried the second plate and used my only trump card. “You’re gonna let a guy who’s going back to war spend his last night at home alone?”

  “You weren’t alone at Dax’s bar.”

  I dried the first glass and set it on the counter. “A beautiful woman versus Daxon Tyler—no comparison.” I dried the second glass.

  She stood on tiptoe and reached to put the glass away in the cupboard, but she wasn’t quite tall enough. The glass fumbled in her fingertips.

  It was pure reaction. I stepped behind her and caught it before it shattered on the tile floor.

  Then the back of her body was against me and the reaction was immediate. My dick instantly hard, I sucked in a breath of pure fucking female, and she froze.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, every muscle in her body going taut.

  “Welcome,” I rasped, shoving the glass onto the
shelf, telling myself to step the fuck back. But before I could put distance between us, she shocked the fuck out of me for the second time.

  She leaned into me. Her head under my chin, her body tucked in to mine, she put her hand on my thigh.

  “Brookelyn,” I warned.

  Her voice even quieter. “What?”

  Jesus, she was small. “What are you doing?” The top of her head barely grazed my pecs. With all of her wild hair and baggy clothes, I hadn’t realized how fucking petite she actually was.

  Pressing in to me with deliberate intent, she squeezed my quads. “Something I shouldn’t.”

  My hands landed on her hips of their own accord. “Fuck woman.” Spice, floral, female, I breathed her in. “I want inside you.”

  “Then take my clothes off.”

  Jesus Christ. “Don’t fucking tease me. I’ve been downrange too long.”

  “I’m not teasing.”

  Slow, fucking torturous, I ground my jeans-clad dick against her ass then I laid it out. “I’m leaving to go back tomorrow.”

  Her muscles tensed. “Then we’re wasting time talking.”

  I hesitated. “Can you handle this?” I never gave a shit before if women I bedded could deal with me coming and going, mostly going, but this five-foot-nothing wild thing in my arms was different. I didn’t know one goddamn legitimate thing about her, but I knew she was more.

  “Can you?” she countered, indignant.

  “Don’t be flippant, you know what I mean.” Fuck, I could already smell her desire.

  Defensive, offended, she gave me only a piece of the puzzle. “I didn’t try to kill myself.”

  I exhaled, and shit I never thought about, shit I couldn’t afford to think about, clouded my judgment and I said the last thing I should’ve. “I’ll be back in three months. For good.”

  Her other hand landed on my opposite thigh, and her fingers dug in for purchase. “Doesn’t change the here and now.”

  Fuck, I wanted to bury myself inside her. “You’re not hearing me.”

  “I don’t think you’re hearing me.” She spun in my arms and repeated herself. “Here and now.”

  Intuition flared. “You got someone else?” I was an idiot for asking, and an even bigger fool for letting the seed of jealousy sow. But goddamn it, for once I wanted something more to come home to than an empty condo and a mother who didn’t remember having a son.

  Practical, unemotional, she asked the only real question. “Would it matter?”

  Fuck me. I was a pussy if I said yes, and a damn liar if I said no. No way to win, I dropped it. “Then give me the words.” My demand should’ve been a warning, because I hadn’t fucked in ages and this woman didn’t know what the hell she was getting into. But it wasn’t. It was a challenge, pure and simple. I wanted to wreck her sweet body and leave her too fucking spun to think about any other man for three months.

  “I already did.”

  “No,” I corrected. “You told me to take your clothes off.” Which wasn’t a green light for fucking. Not the kind I wanted to do.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Can you fuck me with them on?”

  She was lucky I had fucking restraint. I could’ve ripped her shit off in two seconds flat and had my dick in her with or without her underwear pushed to the side. “You’d be surprised by what I can do.”

  “Clever.”

  Not the answer I was looking for. “Words,” I growled.

  She grabbed the hem of my shirt. “Fuck me.”

  I WAS DONE TALKING.

  I wanted him.

  It was suicide and stupid and cruel, but I didn’t care. In that moment, I just didn’t fucking care. I wanted to feel something other than the shit I’d been living with. And I wanted that something to be him. One night of escape where he fucked me with the look in his eyes he had right now—that haunted, determined intensity. I wanted to know if it translated to a mind-bending, soul-crushing, make-me-forget-my-own-damn-name orgasm.

  And I wanted to know now.

  I grabbed the hem of his shirt and shoved the material up. “Fuck me.”

  His cut muscles tensed as my fingers ran up his washboard abs. “Jesus, woman.” He yanked his shirt off one-handed and threw it on the ground. “You know what you’re getting into?”

  No. “Yes.” His masculine scent everywhere, I licked his hard nipple.

  His huge hand gripped a handful of my hair. “I’m warning you, it’s not gonna be pretty.” He leaned over and his stomach muscles rippled under my hands. “Not the first time,” he added, biting my neck. “It’s been too long for me.”

  Selfish satisfaction that he hadn’t been with anyone in a long time mixed with heart-stopping desire as goose bumps raced up my spine and wetness surged between my legs. “I don’t need pretty.” Nothing in my life was pretty.

  Holding my hair out of the way, he sucked on the skin he’d just bitten. “Tell me I can fuck you hard.”

  “So hard.” I bit him back.

  A low growl vibrated his chest, and he let go of my hair a second before he yanked my shirt over my head. His gaze cut to my black lace bra, and he inhaled sharply. “Jeans,” he ground out, stepping back.

  Aching with need, there was no hesitation in my decision. I wanted this man to see me naked because I didn’t know how to flirt. Flirting was for carefree women who could afford to smile at life, and I wasn’t that. Not even close. I didn’t have pretty words for this Marine. I had actions. So I toed out of my boots and slid the stiff material down my legs. My eyes on his, I pushed my jeans and pink socks off, then rose back to my full height.

  His nostrils flared as his heavy, dark gaze slid down my body.

  Each rise of his chest as he took me in was a heady wave of anticipation. As if he were caressing my body with his inhale, his exhale followed the ghost touch, and a sweet lick of heat hit me as his breath teased my skin.

  “Turn,” he ordered, his voice gravel rough.

  More aware of my black lace thong than I’d ever been, an unwanted memory surfaced. Only one man had ever seen me this naked, and he’d always told me my ass could bring a man to his knees, but I didn’t want to think about him right now. I didn’t want to tarnish this one moment I was selfishly taking for myself. Pushing my past deep, ignoring the nerves trying to settle in my stomach, I turned.

  The Marine behind me uttered a guttural curse and dropped to his knees.

  Actually dropped to his knees.

  “Fuck, woman.” His warm, calloused hands grasped the back of my thighs. “You are so fucking gorgeous.” His lips closed over the swell of my ass, his hands kneaded, and he swirled his tongue.

  Oh God. My stomach fluttered, and desire leaked past my thong. I turned at the waist and my breath caught. Never in my entire life had I seen anything so erotic as this muscled god of man kneeling behind me and savoring my body like I was his.

  I forgot about my past.

  I forgot about everything.

  “Garrett.” His name escaped my lips like I had a right to say it, like I had a right to take from him. I didn’t, but I was already almost naked and I wasn’t going to back out now.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, kissing along the edge of my thong. “You’re too beautiful not to be touched.”

  My heart skipped and the air in my lungs froze.

  Just like that, my past came back.

  His large hands stilled and his eyes found mine. “What just happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Your muscles tensed.”

  I could lie. I could make my muscles relax and wipe my expression clean. But this man was on his knees and he would be gone from my life tomorrow. What did it matter what I said?

  “It was your words,” I admitted. “They reminded me I spent a long time not being touched.”

  “Why?”

  Instinct, self-preservation. If I didn’t get too close to anyone, then they wouldn’t get hurt. “Many reasons.” Too many to tell. “None of which I want to talk about.�
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  Rubbing from the inside of my thighs toward the crease where my leg met my body, he pressed hard against my muscles as he held my gaze. “You like this now?” he asked, respecting my privacy.

  “Yes,” I breathed, tension easing out of me.

  “And this?” His hands ran down my legs then up the backs of my calves, where his thumbs circled behind my knees.

  My eyes fluttered shut as I allowed myself to savor every second of his erotic touch. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Good.” His warm lips coasted across the swell of my hip. “Grab the counter,” he ordered, working his hands up my legs.

  His massage felt so good, and he was so different than the one man I’d ever been with, that I didn’t hesitate in following his demand.

  Curling his fingers around my hips, he hooked his thumbs under my thong. Kissing up my ass, my back, his tongue swept across the bottom of my ear.

  His thumbs gently pulled at the lace on my hips. “Still a green light?”

  The heat of his chest at my back, his hard length pressed against my ass, the musky, masculine scent of him everywhere, I wanted more. Turning my head, I gave him my mouth and my answer. “Yes.”

  His lips crashed over mine, and he plunged his tongue in deep.

  The moan that crawled up my throat vibrated my vocal chords so hard it tickled my neck.

  Gripping a handful of my hair, he angled me into his kiss and shoved my underwear down my hips. A second later, his thick fingers were gliding over the wet crease between my legs, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  “More,” I pleaded. “Touch me.”

  Parting my aching core, he gripped my hair tighter. “So wet,” he spoke against my lips. “So fucking wet.” He eased a finger inside me.

  My back arched and my hips jerked. My thighs, caught by my thong, couldn’t spread any wider, and I both moaned in sheer desire and growled in frustration.

  Adding a second finger, he pumped deep inside me as the base of his hand rubbed against my clit.

  Holy shit. “Yes,” I hissed.

  His head bent and his mouth closed over my throat. Swirling his tongue, thrusting his fingers deep inside me, he whispered against my ear. “I want to feel this tight pussy come all over me. My mouth…” He licked my neck. “My fingers.” Twisting his fingers, he pressed deep inside me against a spot that made both my back bow with a twinge of pained shock and my core quiver for more. “And my cock.” He ground his hard length against my ass.