Page 24 of The Price of Mercy
Voices slip beneath the closed bedroom door as two men argue about something. I listen close and quickly determine that Kane and Sam are disagreeing with each other—likely about what to do with me. In truth, I think they want the same thing, but Sam either doesn’t want to admit it or Kane keeps waxing poetic about what it all means. Sex doesn’t have to be complicated. Then again, what do I know?
It’s not like I’ve ever done it before.
A wave of embarrassment washes over me as I replay what Zane said at dinner.
I don’t have sex with virgins.
A frown tugs at my lips. It’s not like I’ve been begging him to sleep with me. It’s the opposite! I haven’t come onto him once. He’s the one with the problem, not me.
Besides, would having sex with me really be so bad?
I brush my fingertips across my lips, suddenly wondering if I reallyamthe problem. All of these scenarios have one thing in common, and her name is Mercy Morningstar. Shit. What if I’m a bad kisser? What if Kane skipped home one day and told Zane how terrible I was at it, so now I’m the last person on earth he’ll ever want to kiss… or fuck.
Groaning, I grab a pillow and hug it to my chest. My eyes and limbs are heavy, and I have to fight to stay upright. It only takes a few seconds for me to slump and close my eyes.
Maybe kissing Zane is overrated anyway.Hecould be the bad kisser or horrible lover in this scenario. Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean that I’m the only one who’s inexperienced. My nose crinkles at the infamous V-word. If I’d gotten rid of it a yearago when Sam and I were fooling around, I’d never have become Zane’s—or Reaper’s—target in the first place.
“I just need to get rid of it,” I mumble, sighing. “Then everyone will stop obsessing over my vagina.”
The hair on my arms rises as a deep chuckle emanates from the darkness. “People will always obsess over your pussy, Mercy.” A shadow moves in the corner of the room. “It’s made of liquid gold.”
Frozen in fear, I watch as a figure materializes before my eyes. The sliver of light shining beneath the door catches on its body as it moves to the bed and kneels on the mattress. Slowly, it descends upon me, pushing me until I fall back onto the pillows. The sweet scent of bourbon fills my nose.
The shadow man—not Sam, I realize; this person is too thin—and not Kane, either; I catch his booming laughter in the distance—which only leaves…
“Zane,” I breathe, pushing up onto my elbows. “What are you?—”
“Shhh,” he murmurs, suddenly dropping his entire body weight on top of me. One of his knees slots between mine, and he dips his head into the curve of my neck. “No more talking.” A warm, wet swipe of his tongue makes me gasp. He chuckles again and nudges the wet spot with the nip of his nose. “You’re annoying.”
Um, what the hell?
Wedging my arm between us, I try to push him off me. “You’re drunk.”
“You’redrunk,” he slurs, sighing into my ear. “No, you’re drugged, but you didn’t eat enough for it to work right. You were supposed to pass out. Not wake up.” He frowns against my neck. “Now I don’t know what to doooooo.”
I push harder against him, but he doesn’t budge. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m too weak or he’s too heavy. “You druggedme?” That’s impossible. Sam switched our plates at dinner. Zane couldn’t have known that he’d do that. Did he drug both of us?
“Lover boy is predictable,” Zane murmurs, “but you?” Lifting his hand, he taps my forehead. “I can’t get inside your head. Which means—” He lifts himself onto his elbows and peers into my eyes. “You’re so annoooying. With your tiny little tits—” His hand wraps around my breast and squeezes roughly. “And your stupid fucking mouth—” He lets go of my chest and grabs my chin, holding me still so that he can spit on my lips. But his touch doesn’t last; he shoves his hand between us and grabs my pussy over my clothes. “And your golden—” His eyes narrow as he digs his fingers in, shoving my panties and the tips of his fingers inside of me. “Wetpussy.”
My anger flares. I drag my mouth across his t-shirt to wipe off his spit and reach between his legs. He’s hard as a rock. Grabbing onto him as best I can through his jeans, I squeeze until he hisses. “You’re a dick.”
“You like it?”
“No, that’s—” I sigh in exasperation. “That’s not what I said.”
“But youdolike it.” To emphasize his point, Zane rolls his hips and grinds his erection into my palm. A soft whine catches in his throat. “I can tell because you’re wet.” His fingers rub my pussy lazily, like he can’t be bothered to put any real effort into it. That’s fine by me—I didn’t ask for a late night hook up.
“I’m not wet,” I snap, growing agitated. “That’s vaginal discharge. It’s normal.”
There’s a pause as Zane processes this. “So you’re always wet?”
“No!” Pinching his dick, I growl. “Are you always hard?”
“Lately, yeah.”
That’s biologically impossible, but maybe for a drunk man, he thinks he’s the exception to the rule.
“But it’s not my fauuuult,” Zane whines, grinding his hips again. He grunts, dropping back down to press his lips against my ear. “It’s yours. And Kane’s. He showed me his art. Henevershows me until it’s done, but this time, he made an exception. For me.” Zane’s bright smile presses into my neck. “Because he loves me.”
