Then he reached boldly between her legs and covered her sex with his hand.
She did roll toward him then, burying her hot face in his chest, flushed and breathless and unable to keep still.
“Poor little thing,” he murmured against her forehead. “I know, I know.”
He stroked her until she was slippery, and she bit down hard on her lip when he thumbed her clit with a staggering delicacy, given the size of his hands. Then he entered her with a single finger. He stretched her and tested her. He worked her, in and out, again and again, and it was painful, but the tight spiral of fire in her belly was downright crippling.
“Here, kiss me,” he said, and when she did, his tongue came into her mouth and it mimicked the thrusting of his finger.
On her tidy white comforter, in the bold daylight, Mercy brought her to orgasm, and she twisted against him, her sex clenching around his finger, the pleasure bursting through her in warm waves.
Mercy withdrew his hand and rolled her onto her back, covering her body with his own as she was still coming down.
“You ready,fillette?” He spread her thighs with his palms and settled over her. He kissed her throat and she felt something against her wet sex: his cock, as he aligned them.
Her eyes didn’t want to stay open. She was deliciously warm and satiated. “Hey, Merc?” She passed her hands around behind his neck and down between his heavy shoulder blades, feeling the tension in his spine.
She felt the first pressure.
She tasted the salty skin of his cheek.
“I never asked – not in all these years,” she murmured. “What doesfillettemean?”
She felt his entire body gather, a great wave of energy moving through him.
“Little girl. It means little girl.”
And then he entered her fully on one fatal thrust, and her whole world was pain.
Sixteen
Five Years Ago
“Ava. Hey. Hey, hey, hey. Shit.” Mercy wiped at her tears with the pad of his thumb. “Why didn’t you –shit.”
“No. It’s fine.” Ava laid her hands along his face and tried to get hold of herself. “I’m fine.” She managed a watery smile. “Fine.”
But she could feel the warm blood on her thighs, and it still hurt so badly she could sob.
The first plunge had been hideously painful. It felt like he ripped her apart. Felt like he drove her all the way down through the mattress. He was too big for her – he didn’t fit. And of course she should have known that. He was a big man, in all aspects. And all that magic physical compatibility she’d imagined – it had been just that, imagination. Because he wastoo big for her.
But she’d wanted to be with him, had wanted to return the pleasure he’d given her. She’d wanted him inside her, even if it destroyed her, and so she’d sunk her teeth in his shoulder to keep from screaming, and she’d cried silently as he’d sought release in her body, murmuring in her ear how tight she was and how good she felt to him, praising and encouraging. And it hadn’t been terrible. No, it had been wonderful, in so many ways, because he was her first and he’d loved her, truly loved her, and he’d shuddered when he’d come, and he’d been so very deep inside her, even if the pain was blinding.
He’d pulled back, finally, and he’d seen her tears, the lines of pain on her face, and his concern and shame had been precious.
He flopped to his side and pulled her into him, bundling her close. His big hand at the back of her head held her against his shoulder.
“I shoulda thought of that,” he said. “I didn’t mean–”
“I know you didn’t,” she rushed to assure. “I’m fine. I wanted this.” But when she closed her eyes, the tears slid down her cheeks and she couldn’t keep them in check this time.
Mercy held her, silent and understanding, his hand sweeping up and down her back, soothing her as he traced aimless patterns across her bare skin. When her breathing had evened out, he eased away and rolled from the bed.
Exhausted and lightheaded, Ava lay on her side, watching him, as the sunlight haloed around his massive shoulders, his Roman-coin profile. Denied the chance before, Ava looked her fill, now in the quiet aftermath, fascinated by the unperfected musculature of his abs, his legs; the tan lines and innumerable little scars. If she’d seen his cock before, she would have been more properly afraid. It was smeared with blood, so were his thighs. Her blood.
She sighed against the comforter and let the fatigue take her, drifting in a pre-sleep fog.
Mercy returned a moment later, wearing his jeans, with a warm damp towel from the bathroom for her tender, bloodied sex. He cleaned her with a delicate touch, without a word, and retrieved her clothes from the floor, set them on the bed beside her.
