Page 27 of Begging for Mercy
I take a shallow breath to keep from panting. Sweat drips down my neck, and I have a really hard time staying still for her. “Keep stroking and I will be.” I haven’t come from a hand job in years. My own doesn’t count. But every time I hook up with a girl, a handie is a precursor to a blow job or sex. It never lasts long and is only part of the pregame event.
But I might be rethinking my strategy with Mercy kneeling between my thighs.
She strokes faster, the puff of moist air breezing past her lips making me hotter. This isn’t a blow job, and I’m not asking for one, butshit.She would look so good taking me into the back of her throat. Her free hand clutches my thigh as it twitches. “You’re trembling.”
I can’t reply other than to moan, carelessly throwing my head back as it slips free. Her fingers glide over my shaft, caressing beneath the head, grazing my balls—the sound of Mercy spittingaccompanies the wet, warm drip of her saliva down my shaft, and I lift my hips off the desk to guide her hand.Shit. Fuck. Fuuuuck.
Thrusting in time with her strokes, I groan as she brings me to the edge and dangles me over, her spit quickly speeding up the process. “I’m gonna—you might wanna—fuck,” I hiss, jerking my hips as my balls draw up, emptying in steady pulses that send tremors wracking my entire body. Cum shoots out in rapid fire succession, shocking Mercy enough that she gasps.
“Oh!”
A streak grazes her cheek and clings to the edge of her lips, painting her in pearlescent white. I drag in a lungful of air and greedily watch as my cum stripes her chest, too, dirtying her innocence.
I’m glad it was me and not him.
I can’t say that I’m sorry, so I pull my t-shirt over my head and wipe the cum off her cheek. I hesitate to wipe her lips, reluctant to remove my scent from her skin, and she swipes her tongue up to lick herself clean.
“Fuck, Mercy,” I whine, unable to help myself. “Careful with that tongue, or I’ll come again.”
She smiles and gives me the cutest little giggle, the warm flush on her cheeks filling me up inside. I smile back at her. “Clean yourself up, dirty girl, so we can finish up in here.” The room smells like cum, and as soon as Abby finds out, she’ll start trash-talking me behind my back, I know it.
After she’s wiped herself off, she swivels idly in her chair while I reach over her to search for Alejandro instead of the brothers. “Do you want your shirt back?”
I grab the t-shirt and drop it to the floor. “We’ll take it with us.” Sneaking a peek at her, I smile at how focused she is on my arms. Once she realizes that I’ve caught her, she quickly turns her attention back to the monitor.
“What have you found? Was he a student?”
“Nope,” I answer easily. His name doesn’t appear in any student records, past or present. The ones who were similar didn’t match the picture we found on social media of a local missing man. He’s been missing for two weeks, so the search is still ongoing.
I ask the question that’s been on my mind all morning. “Why don’t we go to the police?”
Mercy’s expression flattens. “In this city? You know how everything’s handled behind closed doors. Your father has enough money to hide anything he deems scandalous. I think his precious son inserting himself into a murder investigation would count.”
The mere mention of my father is enough to ruin my post-nut bliss. I click the mouse harder than necessary. “He doesn’t have to know. We could put in an anonymous tip.”
She sighs. “About a body in a cemetery? They’ll think we’re stupid.”
I relinquish the computer to her and drum my fingertips across the top of the desk. “You really want to play their game?” It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, toying with someone’s life like you’re playing a hand of poker. I know that my father trades in important things, too—weapons, contracts, information—but notlives.
Not that I know of.
“They’re going to cheat. They won’t give you an entire year.Us,” I amend, frowning. “They won’t give us that kind of luxury of time, no matter what they say.”
Mercy peers up at me, a frown on her face. “You don’t know that.”
Scoffing, I kick her boot with the toe of my shoe. “You can’t possibly believe that they’ll play fair. They’re murderers.”
“They’re still people.”
“If you tell me that ‘they’re just like us’—”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
I wave my hand to give her the floor. “Okay, then explain.”
She leans back in her chair and scooches it away from the desk. “All I’m saying is that if they wanted to kill us, they would have done it by now.” Scraping a dried white splotch on the side of her thumb, she hums softly to herself. “I don’t think that’s what they’re after. It’s not their end goal.”
“Then why kill Alejandro? Why kill anyone, at all?”
