Page 14 of Blast from the Past

Chapter Eight

Shane Blake

Since Mercy crashed into me after my fight on Thursday night, it has been one hell of a roller-coaster ride. It’s hard to believe it has only been two days since she stumbled back into my life but that’s how it goes. You never know what lies around the next bend. Now, I have the girl I have loved for the better part of eight years on my lap and in my arms, and she is kissing me like our lives depend on it.

Pulling away I stare at her. “I’m confused.”

She laughs and her laughter makes my heart beat faster, knowing that even though I make her angry and crazy, I can also make her happy.

“I don’t care if you have a kid,” she says with a smile. “As long as you’re not cheating on her with me, I really don’t care.”

“I would never…”

“I would hope not.” She cuts me off. Again.

She presses her chest against mine before kissing me once more like she can’t help herself. But I am vividly aware of the fact that she is only wearing a t-shirt and panties. Even after everything we have just discussed it is imprinted in my mind.

The sight of her, sleep-rumpled and wearing so little clothes, had me hard as lead the moment she walked into the kitchen. Now, having her against me like this, I can’t fucking think straight. All the blood in my body has fled my brain and is currently pumping through my cock.

“Mercy…” I pull away and gaze into her eyes. “You need to get dressed.”

“Huh?”

I smile. Her lips are swollen from our kisses, and she seems a little dazed. But I know I need to do this right. I never want her to think I only want her for sex.

“You’re half dressed,” I say, my voice sounding like I have been chewing gravel.

She looks down at what she is wearing before looking back at me. “Does it bother you?” She frowns. “Is this about my scars?”

Someone said or did something to make her feel self-conscious about her body. It’s why she got the ink. I know for a fact that getting a tattoo over scar tissue hurts like a motherfucker and it’s not a small piece she has. It’s also detailed as fuck. It took many hours to get a piece of art that intricate on her skin, and she went through a lot of pain to get it.

“Not at all,” I say, slipping my hand beneath her t-shirt and caressing the area I know the tattoo with the red roses is meant to conceal. “This only means you’re a survivor. A fighter.”

A loud sob leaves her, and I don’t know whether it’s my words or my touch that has set her off again. I can count on my hands the number of times I have seen Mercy cry. And I swear she has cried more in the past twenty-four hours.

“Babe, I need you to tell me what’s wrong,” I say softly.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you crying?” I am confused as fuck.

“I don’t know.” She hiccups, and I laugh. “You just keep saying all the right things and it’s fucking with the girly side of my brain.”

More laughter leaves me, and I hug her close. This is good, this is all I have ever wanted.

Mercy.

Happy.

Lifting her off my lap, I steady her in front of me before trying again. “You still need to get dressed.”

She watches me closely, her gaze scanning over my entire body until it lands on my erection. I don’t try to hide it, I’m not ashamed that she turns me on.

“What if I don’t want to get dressed, Shane?”

“I didn’t come here to get laid,” I argue.

She lifts her t-shirt above her head before dropping it to the floor. “But wouldn’t it be a fun bonus?”

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