Energized (3 page)

And he was just taking it.

Then as suddenly as she started, she stopped and stepped back. She was panting as hard as he. He imagined his eyes were as wild as hers. But there was something else. Some strange emotion flitted across her face, then disappeared. “Hey, Marine?”

“Yes?”

“You gonna just stand at attention or are you going to get naked with me?” she asked, shoving up his shirt. Like before, her cheeks went apple red. This time her hands trembled, but she kept touching him.

He tugged off the shirt, confused at her words. “I'm not standing at attention.”

She cupped him right through his cargo pants. “Yeah, you definitely are.”

He hissed in pleasure. Without breaking contact, she sat down on her bed, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to his belly, just below his navel. Her tongue flicked out and drew a wet trail south. He shuddered.

He wanted to rip off his pants and bury himself inside her. Lose himself in the pleasure of her body. Pound into her until the need she created in him was slaked. But she was so fucking tiny, he could hurt her if he rode her the way he wanted.

So he'd be gentle. At least that was his thought until she nipped his belly, and tugged him on top of her.

The moment they were horizontal, her hands were inside his pants, squeezing his ass. She rocked her hips against him. And damn if he didn't grind himself against her. Then his mouth found hers again and there was nothing in the world but this moment. Tasting and touching.

Somehow, his pants were past his hips, bunched at his knees. He was hard as iron and holy fuck! What she was doing with her hands had him damn near ready to explode.

All the sweet hesitancy and blushes were gone. Her touch was out-fucking-standing! His brain clouded and he was awash in sensation. She was squeezing him. Measuring the length of him. Putting the condom on him.

He jerked his head up in surprise. “Where'd you get the condom?”

“From my bathroom. Keep Calm and Carry Condoms.” She laughed, then nipped his chin. “Mind if I finish rolling it on you? 'Cause I'm digging your response to my touch.”

She didn't wait for him to reply but resumed rolling the rubber down his shaft. Hannah squeezed first his cock, then his balls with enough pressure to make Niall arch his back.

Too much.

He flipped their positions, grabbed her wrists, and held her arms above her head. “You're going to kill me if you keep touching me like that.”

She batted her lashes at him. “Guess it's your turn to touch. Because my panties are still on.”

Keeping one hand around both of her wrists, he slid the other between her breasts, down her belly, and dipped inside the waistband of her lace panties. She emitted a small noise of pleasure.

Her eyes were hot gold. Her cheeks flushed as he slid two fingers into her. Just short strokes, until he was coated in her moisture, then he rubbed his thumb against the part of her guaranteed to have her hips moving. She spread her legs wider and rocked harder against his hand.

She was beautiful and open and all Niall wanted to do was bury himself inside her. So when she came against his fingers and yelled, “Inside me, Marine!” He didn't hesitate.

Her panties were off and he drove himself into her in one long, hard stroke. They both shuddered and clung to each other. Her short, unpolished nails pricked his back, even as her slender legs wrapped around his hips.

Then her lips found his. Where their first kiss was all excitement and lust, this kiss was passion and more. His breath mingled with hers and Niall felt something shift inside his chest. Unwilling to examine it, he moved his hips and let the excitement wash through them both again. Hotter and harder, but not too hard, he drove into her. She panted, she arched, and when she finally came, he thought his chest might burst.

She reached beneath him and squeezed his balls until he
had no choice but to let go and empty himself in a blinding roar of passion. Panting, slick with sweat, he shifted on top of her and did what he hadn't thought possible only hours before. He relaxed.

*   *   *

I
N THE MORNING
light, Hannah stood over Niall. Her big, tough Marine had needed something last night. If things had been different, she might have thought he could be the one. But he was just passing through town and her final semester started in a couple weeks. All signs definitely said he couldn't be anything but a night of comfort.

Dang it. She should have seen the sign last night. Hadn't she met him at Heaven's Gate after all? But she refused to regret. It had been the most incredible night of her life. And holy schmoley! She hadn't known sex could be like that. Hadn't known the power that came from being the initiator. Why on earth had she ever wasted her time on her ex and his nice-girls-don't-ask-for-sex rules?

Her Marine had been very responsive. And he definitely didn't have a problem with her being the one to get them started. She smiled at the sunlight glinting off his short black hair.

Even in sleep, he seemed rigid and formal. She'd worried the night before that he wouldn't let go of his pain long enough to enjoy himself. And that had been a big reason why she suggested sex in the first place. He was so sad, so buried in the pain of his past that he'd been little more than a vessel of hopelessness when he'd sat down at her bar.

Her phone beeped in reminder. She'd promised her mother she'd meet her for breakfast. Mom and Daddy had something important they wanted to discuss. Probably going to try to talk her into going to grad school again. Not that she would. She had two passions, painting and being an electrician. And grad school wouldn't help with becoming an electrician and she couldn't afford to pay for a master's degree in art.

She cleared the reminder and gave herself one more minute with her Marine. Just a little more time to soak in
his quiet, masculine beauty. He lay facedown tangled in her tie-dyed sheets. One leg jutted off the side of the bed, as if he were ready to jump at a moment's notice. She'd have to paint this scene. Later.

Forcing herself away from the bed, she grabbed a sticky note from her desk. Scribbling her phone number and name on a sheet, she stuck it on top of his folded clothes.

She wanted to kiss him good-bye, but then thought better of it. Instead, she ran a hand through his silky short hair and yelped in surprise when he clamped a hand, none too gently, on her wrist.

Niall lifted his head and blinked the hazy look of sleep from his eyes. When his gaze fell on his hand shackling hers, he immediately released her. “Sorry.”

“It's all good.” She surreptitiously rubbed at the ache. “I gotta go. Feel free to use my shower. Lock up when you leave.”

He blinked at her. Confusion in those lovely green eyes. “You're leaving? What time is it?”

“It's six in the morning. And yeah, I'm headed out. I promised my folks I'd help set up breakfast at the church this morning. Maybe I'll see you later?”

Okay, that had been slightly pathetic because she already knew he was leaving. But a girl had to try. And seeing him again would be a great excuse to put off that conversation with her parents.

Niall twisted and sat up. The sheet fell to his waist, affording her another glimpse of his incredible body. And suddenly helping at the church or talking to her parents didn't seem all that important. No. Wait. Those things
were
important. Darn it.

“It sounds cliché and gauche to say thank you for last night,” he said, his voice still raspy from sleep. “But thank you.”

He lifted her left hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, sending her pulse dancing. And sending messages to nerve endings nowhere near her wrist but much farther south.

Could you orgasm from a guy tonguing your wrist?

Before she could find out, he let go.

With the morning sunlight streaming in through her thin
curtains, Niall appeared bathed in a lovely red light. It made her feel warm and safe. It also made her want to crawl back into bed with him. So she backed to the doorway. “I left my number on the sticky note on top of your clothes. If you make it back to Fincastle, give me a call.”

Niall rose from the bed sporting a healthy morning erection that had her seriously rethinking her exit strategy. Then she stopped thinking altogether when he crossed to her. Cupping her face in his hands he pressed a light kiss to her lips. It was gentle and soft and reminiscent of the closeness they'd shared last night.

All too soon, he released her and stepped back. The sadness that had been in his eyes when he had come into the bar last night returned.

Not a good sign.

Despite the knot in her belly, she kept her tone light when she said, “See you around, Marine.”

She wasn't surprised when he replied, “Good-bye, Hannah.”

THE FOLLOWING JUNE

Tidewater, Virginia

Y
OU SHOULDN'T DO
this . . . Sinner. Freak. Whore!

But she wasn't a freak. She wasn't. She was Mercy. And she had to silence the voices in her head that screamed at her. Voices that sounded remarkably like her mother's.

She grabbed her head and sank to the floor. The handle of the chef's knife she clutched in her left hand banged against her temple but did nothing to quiet the storm raging in her mind.

“Be quiet, you bitch. Be quiet, you bitch.” She chanted and rocked against the plywood framing of the house under construction. Crickets and spring peepers competed with ocean waves in the distance but even they didn't silence the fucking bitch's words ringing in Mercy's head. The voices, always so full of condemnation and ridicule, like her mother's. God, how she hated that woman.

Even dead and buried beneath the rosebushes she'd adored, the bitch came back to taunt her just when Mercy had found her calling.

“Mercy.” Her lover moaned. “What happened?”

His slurred words startled her. And the taunting voices fell blissfully silent.

Mercy smiled her relief. She lowered her hands, tucking the blade behind her back.

Her lover blinked his drug-hazed eyes. Their startling aquamarine color had entranced her when they'd met. Lured her in. But in the moonlight filtering through the open window they appeared bland, less than ordinary. And he looked so much younger than his twenty-six years. The bottle-blond hair that had been roguishly styled at the beginning of their romantic weekend was plastered to the side of his head. His naked chest, ripped and tanned, peeked from the opening of his black button-down shirt.

Mercy wanted to touch him. Again. To taste him one more time, but she couldn't allow herself to be distracted by his deceptive beauty. She loved him too much to go on like this. They'd had two days together, but that was all they could ever have.

“Mercy, darlin'?” He shifted on the plastic sheeting, clearly not quite awake yet. The plastic crinkled beneath him. The drug-hazed expression in his eyes receded and was quickly replaced with fear.

He struggled to move, but Mercy had tied him up while he slept. Panic washed the color from his face. Frantically, he waved his zip-tied wrists and kicked his bound ankles. In his struggle for freedom, he resembled more of a landed fish flopping around than the lover who'd promised her the fuck of a lifetime.

“What the fuck are you up to?” His fear morphed into rage, reddening his cheeks. “I told you. I'm not into that bondage shit. Get these fucking things off me!”

Still she didn't move from her spot. She didn't want to approach him yet. He needed to know. To understand. “I am Mercy. I love you too much—”

“Love me! It was just sex. That's all.” His voice rose with fear and fury. “We got drunk, high, and fucked. That's it. You stupid, crazy bitch.”

“Don't call me crazy.” She pushed to her feet and stomped
over to him. The knife in her hand slapped against her thigh as she towered over him.

“Oh, man! Oh, man! Oh, man. Please. Don't! I didn't mean it.” His widened eyes focused on the knife. He struggled more. Blood seeped from beneath the plastic binding his wrists. Then the tears started. He sobbed like a child. “I-I do love you. You're right. It's love. Put down the goddamned knife. Oh, man. Don't kill me.”

Poor, pathetic bastard.

“Shhh . . . I know you don't love me. You can't. You don't even love yourself. You've got to be stoned or drunk to feel anything. That's not living. Don't cry. I'll take care of you. I love you too much to let you hurt yourself anymore. Shhh . . . Mercy's here.”

She lifted the knife and plunged it into his chest. The blade clipped one of his ribs. Pain radiated from her fingertips to her shoulder. Undaunted, Mercy tilted and thrust harder. The knife resisted momentarily before it slid neatly to the hilt. Death flowed warm and crimson over her hands.

She stared into his eyes until the fear and the life faded from them.

He stared blankly.

Accusingly.

It infuriated her. Embarrassed her. It was the same vapid expression she'd seen too many times before.

Rage burned in her chest and her jarred arm ached more. After all she'd done for him, he had no right to stare at her with condemnation in his eyes.

Stretching out a hand, she closed his lids. Then she pressed a kiss to his forehead. She pulled back and examined the crimson lipstick stain with satisfaction.

There. Much better now.

He looked as he should after being granted her mercy. Peaceful.

Except for the knife protruding from his heart.

She jerked the handle and the body released the knife with a sucking noise. More blood gurgled up and spilled from the hole in the center of his once perfectly chiseled chest.

Shame to have to destroy such a beautiful body. A strange emotion crawled through her as she stared at his handsome face. It poked at her with sharp claws, ripping her apart from the inside. It almost tasted like regret.

Did she have to kill him? Was it truly mercy she granted? Or had she made a mistake? Again.

The questions stole her self-confidence until the urge to plunge the knife into her own chest was almost too powerful to stop.

Mercy turned the bloody knife until the ice-cold tip pricked the bare skin of her exposed chest. She could join him in eternal peace. End her suffering. Grant herself the mercy she gave him.

But what about all the others who needed her? Who would grant them mercy and release them from the evils of this harsh world if she were gone? No one. They'd be all alone and suffering. Like she'd been. So many still needed her.

Mercy should not be denied.