Page 33 of Merciless King

“Ride them, sweetheart. Ride my fingers.”

I clung to him, moving my hips without thought, doing whatever felt good. He thrust them in and out of my body, those skilled fingers repeatedly brushing the sensitive bundle of nerves inside while working my clit with his thumb.

It hit me hard and fast, racing up on me like I’d never experienced. I pressed my open mouth to the smooth hot skin of his shoulder, kissing and sucking while I worked my hips and cried out. Riding his fingers through it. I felt a gush of moisture between my thighs as it reached its peak.

Van groaned and cursed and worked me faster, deeper, and I screamed, the sound muffled against his skin. I was shaking, clinging to him. He slowed his thrusts, reading my body, giving me exactly what I needed, knowing to ease back as I shuddered against him.

I was panting, a dead weight against his body, when he lifted me again and carried me down the hall. I wanted to go to his room, but he deposited me in the spare bed. I could barely keep my eyes open. I wanted to make him feel good, too. “Van…”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, stopping what I was going to say with a quick, hard kiss. He tugged the covers up over me and strode out, shutting the door quietly behind him.

8

Van

London sat beside me, staring out the window as I drove through the streets toward her store. We’d already dropped her bags back at her apartment. She’d tried to get me to leave, said she could walk to work, but I wasn’t ready to…fuck, I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

After last night, what I’d done—no, I hadn’t fucked her, but I’d wanted to more than I’d wanted anything in my life. Somehow I’d stopped myself from taking her. But turning her away after the way she’d come to me, flushed and turned on and so fucking brave, how could I say no? I didn’t want to, despite knowing I should.

I knew what that took for her to tell me she wanted me. Yeah, fuck, London had blown me away. Christ, the way she’d looked up at me, lips parted, nipples straining against her tank, thighs squeezed tight together, I’d wanted to slam my mouth down on hers and take her over and over until neither of us could walk.

After I’d made her come on the couch—because there was no way I could get her off in my bed and not slide inside her, no damn way—I’d laid her down in her bed and walked into my room, shut the door, and used her juices still coating my fingers to slick over my dick as I jacked it.

I woke this morning still wanting her.

My head was full of her. Shit, I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when I pushed my fingers in her pussy, the way she went wild, how beautiful she looked when she came for me, coating my fingers, giving me everything.

I wanted her still. I didn’t think I’d ever stop wanting her.

Which meant my theory of getting her off but not fucking her had been monumentally flawed. It sure as hell didn’t feel less complicated to me.

She turned to me. “So how long can they keep Ferida in custody?”

“They have footage of him wearing the murdered pizza worker’s clothes and of him walking into your shop, how long he was in there, running down the street afterwards. He’s not going anywhere. The hair the police collected at the scene will match this fucker’s DNA and prove he attacked you and murdered that guy as well. I promise you, London, he can’t get to you.”

She didn’t say anything else until we pulled up outside her store. I had to double park. Still, I went to climb out, to walk her in, but she reached over and curled her fingers around my forearm, stopping me. She shook her head. “I’m good from here.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, but she needed to know how fucking special she was. “London…”

She smiled so wide and beautiful, whatever I was going to say died in my throat.

“Thank you, Van.”

I shook my head. I wished she’d stop thanking me.

“You’ve been there for me when I had no one else.” She blushed, but for once she didn’t look down or hide her beautiful blue eyes. “And last night…it was the best night of my life. I’m so glad I got to share that with you. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Van King.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips to mine. I sat there, stunned silent for a moment. When I finally leaned in to kiss her back, because I couldn’t not, she was pulling away. I wanted to tug her back so bad I almost did.

“Goodbye,” she said and climbed out of the car, walking away without looking back.

I sat there for a hell of a lot longer than I should, fighting the urge to go in after her.

But in the end, I did what needed to, for London.

I drove away.

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