Page 55 of The Price of Mercy
Mine-mine-mine.
I come with a groan, the vibration of it coursing through my body. We weren’t supposed to do this bare; she nearly freaked out over the first cream pie, and I doubt a second will soothe her fears of unplanned pregnancy. But it’s too late now; I can’t stop my dick from twitching as my cum spills free. At the absolute last second, I manage to pull out. Not fast enough, since I still cream all over her lips, but at least it’s not buried deep inside her body.
Where it belongs.
My heart flips at the thought of Mercy taking my seed as deep as it can go, my cum painting her walls—her womb—white. I’d knock Mercy up in a heartbeat if she wanted it. Tie her to me. Bind her through blood first, then marriage, if she wants. Fuck. The raw desire for Mercy as my blushing, pregnant bride blinds me, and I bite down on her neckhard, groaning as another thick rope spurts from the tip of my cock and nestles between her warm thighs.
I’ll give Mercy anything she needs to be happy, butthiscraving—to fill her up over and over again until she’s round withmychild—is one hundred percent mine and mine alone. Adangerous wish. Too tempting. Burning inside my body like a demon clawing its way to the surface.
Carefully, I rock my hips and slide my dick through her folds, sweeping my cum as close to her womb as I dare. I absentmindedly rub her clit as I do, too focused on my task of not-penetrating to recognize her breathless little moans, the timid sway of her hips, the way shepushesjust enough for me to?—
Slip right in.
With a groan, I come a second time, filling up her channel exactly as I imagined. Painting her walls, rocking my hips to stroke deeper, pinning her down to keep her still as I carve my way inside her body, carefully extracting every last drop of my seed and securing it safely inside my woman where it belongs.
Not in her mouth or her throat or her stomach.
Inside her overflowing, soaking wet, dripping pussy.
Mypussy.
Mycum.
Mylife.
Chapter 22
Mercy
In theory,cooking a Thanksgiving meal should be a delight—both Sam and I have fond memories of gathering around the table with our families for holiday feasts—but the reality is that I simultaneously undercook and burn the mashed potatoes while Sam’s roasted turkey is bland, pale, and unappetizing. The green beans, buttered and sautéed by Zane, and the fresh bread, purchased at the local grocer and baked by Kane, are what save the meal… if you can call it a meal at all.
Zane stares at the array of disappointing items set on the dining room table and sighs. “I’ll call the Chinese place. We need an edible protein.”
As he disappears into the kitchen to use the landline, Sam tears off a piece of turkey and pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly enough to make me cautious. Once he swallows, he chases the bite with a full glass of water. “That might be best.” Coughing, he drinks my glass of water next. “Somehow it’s both blandandsalty.”
With a grin, Kane smacks Sam on the back. “No sweat. We always order takeout. Zane’s been humoring us with cooking, but I know he’s been itching for a reason to give them a call.”
“Chinese food must be your favorite.” This will be the third time we’ve had Chinese all week. I don’t know how many more wontons I can eat without turning into one.
“It’s the only place that delivers up here.”
Of course it is.
Frowning, Sam stands. “I can pick it up. It’ll be faster than waiting for delivery.”
“I’ll come with you!” As I push my chair out, Kane’s hand clamps down on my wrist.
“Where are you running off to, Siren? You’ve spent all day with Sam…” He brushes the pad of his thumb against the inside of my wrist. “Don’t you want to spend time with me?”
A shiver runs down my spine, quickly followed by a wave of warmth. I’m both anxious and eager to hang out with Kane, primarily because he seems desperate to find ways to push me and Zane together. If he’d give me time to adjust to the idea of wanting yet another man—especially one who has harbored ill intent for me for weeks—then I’m sure things would progress smoothly.
Instead, it’s like he’s prying our mouths open and shoving medicine down our throats.
Pushing out his own chair, Kane grabs my hips and pulls me into his lap. His arms wind around my waist as he exhales into my back, relaxing once I’m settled in his arms. “Stay with me, Mercy.”
Sam stares at me long and hard before turning away. “I’ll be right back. Don’t—” He swallows. “Don’t do anything while I’m gone.”
Kane’s chuckle rumbles through his chest. “What could we possibly?—”
