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Talk about throwing ice cold water on a raging flame.
My breath catches in my throat. I try and pull away, but he doesn’t let me.
“No.”
“You mean, ‘Yes, Sir.’”
“I’m not playing your game.”
I shove him, a dark squall of fury whipping through me.
“Ivy.” It’s a warning and I ignore it, trying to push past.
Mercer spins me around, undoes the straps on my dress, then yanks it off me. I stand there, staring at him in my wet panties and the fuck-me heels. He strips off his jacket and tie and pushes me onto the mattress.
The look he gives me is dark and unreadable, but still awakens butterflies in my belly. He lifts each leg and takes off my shoes.
“Who said any of this was a fucking game? It’s very real, you and me. We click. It’s not pretty, it’s not based in hearts and flowers, but it’s real. It’s blood, sex, and bone. It’s dark desire and like understanding like. For as long as I want you, you’re mine, Pollyanna. Mine to do with as I want.”
I open my mouth, but no words come.
“Mine.You don’t push me, you don’t snap back, and you answer my fucking questions. I tolerate you because I need your help, and I want to fuck the life out of your sweet body. So be nice, do what I say, when I say, and maybe you’ll find I can make those orgasms I’ve given you seem like nothing in comparison to what else I can do.”
“Mercer.”
He leans in close, his eyes spitting white hot flames, his voice a low growl. “But I won’t ever forget what you stole from me. Or that you tried to ruin me. And that you’re to blame for Ruby’s death.”
All the air in the room rushes out and I stare at him, numbness invading every limb.
“You’re cruel. Insane.”
“Yes to the first, no to the last.” His gaze drops to my erect nipples. “You aren’t to blame, exactly. Not directly. But if I hadn’t been in prison…”
“I was a kid. I didn’t?—”
“Pollyanna.” He’s about to say something but he stops, rubs a hand down the front of his face. Then he climbs on to the bed and straddles my thighs. “That accusation was a little unfair, but actions have repercussions.”
“I know.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think that if I could do things differently, I would, even if it meant letting you get away with it? I ruined my family. But you helped. You sold my brother those drugs.”
“Maybe we should agree we blame each other.”
“We do.”
He laughs bitterly as he rises up over me and comes down on his forearms, pinning me to the bed. “I’m not a fan of the fact that I want to fuck you so much.”
“So just do it and then I’ll go.”
This is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had. I can feel him vibrating with all the things he wants to say, the things he’s holding back from me. And I’m glad he’s not saying them because I think they might lacerate. Or worse, they might soothe.
Because I want him to have sex with me. Almost more than I want air, food, or water.
He dips his head and kisses me. It’s a kiss different from the other two. This one is dipped in bitterness, but there’s something in the center of it that I don’t understand. Whatever it is, I want it. The cruelty, the strangeness, the anger…it all melts away as I fall into the kiss.
Mercer slips his hand down the front of my chest and into my panties. He thrusts his fingers into me. I gasp into his mouth, the pleasure intense like a blast of light. I start to rock on his fingers, wanting, needing?—
He stops, rolling onto his back, his hand still there, fingers still buried inside me.
“Fuck me. Why do you taste so good? Feel so good?” he mutters.
