"Draw on me with your fingernails. That looks like it feels good." At her hesitant movements, I resume the conversation while preening under her touch. "I'll never make you eat anything you don't like. Fruit's good to me, but I can't stand spinach unless it's finely chopped. What’s your favorite number?"
"I don't know. I've never really thought about it. I guess any number that ends in a five or a zero."
"Any particular reason for just those two?"
Her fingers falter. "I like the completion it represents."
"Fingers," I remind her, tucking away her explanation for later. "I’ve never really had a favorite number but I do now. Three." The number of the tiny freckles on her neck. "Favorite color?"
"Ah...soft gray."
"Mine is—hmm. I need to look to be sure." I tilt her chin up. "Yep. Just as I thought. Green. Green with the faintest hint of gold mixed in."
A faint blush colors her cheeks. I'll wear her down one way or another.
I place a hand on her bare calf and creep inexorably upward as the swing sways ever so slightly. Her legs are very toned, but shorter than mine, of course. If she ever runs, I'll be sure to give her a head start to even the odds a bit. The muscles underneath my hand tense, and as I travel closer to the hem of her dress where it falls mid-thigh, her fingers jump from my shirt to my forearm.
"Please. Don't."
I stare at our connection for a long second and then flip my hand around to link our fingers. My eyebrow arches. "You don't want my touch?"
Mercy cringes, no doubt scrambling for the least offensive response. "Please..." she begs again.
"Have I hurt you?"
"You drugged me and—"
"No. In this moment, here and now, have I hurt you?"
"My throat. Yousquee—"
"I placed my hand around your neck, yes. But I didn't restrict your breathing in any manner. Now I ask again. Have I hurt you with my touch?"
"No," she quietly murmurs, the sweat from her palm transferring to mine.
I'm trying to be understanding, but frustration heats my voice. Does she not comprehend the fact that she’s mine and I would never hurt her? "Did I not tell you when we walked out here that I don't want to hurt you? That's not my intention at all. Yet you recoil from me like I have the plague. That doesn't make me feel good, Mercy. And I can't make myself feel better the way I normally would, out of consideration for you. Can't stretch you out on that big bed of ours and fill your sweet cunt with me yet.
"That's fine, though, because I'm willing to compromise with you. I won't go any further than your knee if you give me a kiss. A real kiss. Not a little peck. I want one with tongue. You do this for me, then we'll just sit here and relax. But if you don't kiss me like you mean it, my hand's going to slide up a lot higher and play between your legs."
My ultimatum hangs heavily in the air. I wonder what her response will be. If she'll choose a short time of uncomfortableness for a perceived reprieve or if her inability to act on a decision will win out.
Either way, I win.
"Your favorite number is five, you said? Since you like it so much, I'll give you five seconds before I decide for you." I release her hand and watch her eyes dart back and forth at my countdown. "Five. Four. Three. Two. O—"
Mercy's lips smash against mine. I don't know how far she's gone with other guys—and I don't want to think about her sweet lips on any other man—but she's unskilled.
Severely so.
Unless she's putting me on.
I push her back and lift her chin. "Is this you giving it your best, Mercy?"
A hint of tears shines in her gaze. "I'm trying!" she cries out. "I've only...only two people."
She's only been kissed by two people? Including me? Jealousy wars with surprise, pinching something deep inside me at the very thought of another man's lips on hers. But pride fills me, too, because there won't be any more men.None but me.
Our teeth clink together as she attacks me, awkwardly opening her mouth to stab her tongue into mine. I don't mind the excess saliva, but it's clear I'll need to take control of this kiss. Teach her to seduce me with her movements.
