Page 59 of A Dance Macabre

To dig and dig and dig until I reach our gods and demand to keep her, mind, body and soul.

The collision of our bodies is as brutal and intense as before. Wet lips and silky skin. Clawing fingertips and teeth sinking into soft flesh.

Her sigh turns into a long, needy moan and all I want to do is lift her up so that her legs wrap themselves around my waist, her back slamming against the wall behind us. But my injury smarts at just the thought and I groan in protest, my hand tilting her chin up so I can deepen the kiss.

While her lips never leave mine, Mercy pushes me until it’s my back that is shoved against the half-wall, the edge digging into my hips. Before I can piece together what’s happening, Mercy pulls away, her eyes blackened with desire as she falls to her knees before me.

I am breathless.

Never could I have envisioned such a thing as Mercy on her knees, her fingers curled around my hardening shaft as her lips wrap themselves around my cock.

“Mercy,” I say, her name turning into a low hiss when she swallows me deep into her hot mouth. I barely manage to stay upright, leaning against the edge of the wall, my palms digging into the tiles while my head falls backward in rapt pleasure.

Her free hand cradles my balls and she squeezes them, over and over, the sensation almost too intense when paired with the head of my cock hitting the back of her throat. She chokes and gags but never stops, her cheeks hollowing around my hard shaft and the sound of her is as divine as any melody I could ever play on the violin.

As I find the back of her head with my palm, I grip her hair and pitch my hips forward to feel even more of her around me, I realize she has becomemy ruinin every sense of the word.

Because nothing will ever compare to having Mercy like this.

Peering upward, she slides her mouth off my cock and licks her lips.

Then she speaks, and I am undone.

“I’ve tasted your blood before,” she says breathlessly, “Now let me consume even more of you.” Her hand strokes my cock, her eyes burning with wild flames. “Show me what ruinous desire tastes like.”

I chuckle darkly, thrusting her head toward me. “Your mouth is just as greedy as your pretty little cunt, I see,” I drawl, trying to pretend her words didn’t send me halfway into orbit already.

She opens her mouth for me again, and I shove my cock deep into her throat, her hands now digging into the sides of my hips as I begin to fuck her throat with every morsel of possessiveness I have left in me. She watches from under her eyelashes, her gaze severe but aflame. And it only takes a few more thrusts and the feel of the wet glide of her tongue for me to come down her throat with a strangled groan. The pleasure shooting through my limbs is once again incomparable to anything I’ve experienced before. It almost feels … undeserved.

And maybe it’s because it is.

It’s Mercy cloaked in the forbidden.

It’s having what I can’t have.

A wave of righteous indignation pummels through me, and I lift Mercy by the neck and shove her backward until she hits the wall on the opposite side. Her lips curl into a small snarl, her eyes cutting with irritation, but I kiss her all the same.

I kiss her with such desperation that it’s almost as if her breath, her very air, is what I need to survive. I kiss her like this might be our last.

The hours pass,and still, no one has come to retrieve us. The realization that maybe we’ll be stuck here for the night has somehow managed to wrangle our volcanic feelings into something more dormant. What is left is pointed silence. After the shower, Mercy found a first aid kit and forced me—with quite an effective glare—to let her stitch me up. I’m convinced she took pleasure in repeatedly digging a needle into my skin. Her wound, however, was less deep than mine and only required a few butterfly bandages.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, now having changed into whatever clothes we found in the bedroom wardrobes. Mercy has chosen a black satin set of shorts and tank top, while I slipped into a relaxed pair of loungewear.

“No I’m just …” she pauses, her eyes lingering on the bed, “Tired.”

“Rest it is then,” I say, pulling the covers back and climbing into bed.

Mercy stands awkwardly on the other side of the bed, her face painted with a faint layer of vulnerability. “What are we—” she begins to say but I cut her off, uninterested in having any type of discussion about any of it. Not now.

“Pretend,” I plead.

The word lingers between us as I extend my hand, wordlessly inviting her to bed. She tries to conceal a small sigh, toying with her lips, but eventually, she turns off the lights and climbs in.

I pull her into me before she has time to shrink away. Her head falls to rest on my chest while my arm wraps tight around her waist. I fall asleep with Mercy in my arms, knowing full well that by morning this will all be over.

34

MERCY

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