The Fighter Duet: Two Full-Length, Red-Hot New Adult Fighter Romances (35 page)

I’m standing in the shadows in my jeans and black tee, hands thrust deep in my pockets as I stare at her massive home. Mercy sure is a princess. Just then, a light flickers on inside a small shack on the opposite corner of the lawn. It looks like an old greenhouse. A person is inside, moving around, and naturally, I’m curious. I cut around the tree line to investigate.

For a few minutes I watch her through the dirty windows. Mercy’s inside the shack wearing loose jeans and a white, button-up shirt. Her long hair is tied up on her head in a messy bun, and she’s so focused. She carries a large bowl to the other side of the room and seems to be mixing with a wooden paddle.

Creeping closer, I stand just outside the open door and watch as she lifts out a lump of clay the size of her head. With a loud
THUMP!
she drops it on a wheel then leans forward and wets both of her hands as it starts spinning.

Straightening, she puts both hands on the mass, and with confident movements, she quickly begins the transformation. It goes from shapeless lump to compact mound with amazing speed. Then she repositions her hands, and it starts to grow into a vase. I’m impressed by how good she is at this.

She sticks her entire arm inside the neck of the vessel and does something. A wavy ridge immediately appears on the outside, creating an interesting, swirling design. A small line is between her dark brows, and I’m distracted by the focus in her shimmering blue eyes. She’s so fucking gorgeous.

Sitting back, she stares at her spinning creation for a few seconds before taking both hands and pressing down on the thin lip. The entire vase crumples flat.

“Oh, no,” I say aloud, and she jumps with a little squeal.

“Koa!” She shuts off the wheel and stands, picking up a red towel and wiping her hands. “You startled me.”

“Sorry.” Stepping into the greenhouse, I motion to her piece. “You ruined it.”

“I didn’t like the way it looked.” She crosses to where I’m standing, wrapping her arms around my neck with a smile. “I can start over.”

I slide my hands up her small back, mentally noting she’s not wearing a bra. Leaning down, I nip her full lips with mine. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

A little laugh, and she shakes her head. “That’s my dream. I’m still getting used to calling myself that, though.”

“You’re clearly an artist.” Releasing her, I walk over to the shelves holding bowls and vases in different shapes and sizes. A small, glossy cup is tan on the bottom and sea green at the top with a matching spoon. “How long have you been doing this?”

She’s following me quietly, and when I look at her, she gives me a nervous smile. “About two years. I took some classes at the studio in town.”

I pick up a bowl that has jagged, gold lines down the side. “What’s this? Gold?”

“I didn’t make that,” she lifts it gently from my hand. “See these lines of gold? It’s a Japanese technique called
kintsugi
. Basically, you repair broken pots using 14-carat gold.”

She traces the fissure with her slim finger. “It makes the cracks beautiful, and it adds value.”

“It’s better because it’s been broken.”

“Right!” Her eyes are shining when she blinks up at me. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Is this what you want to do?”

She nods. “I want to move to San Francisco and get my own place. I want to be a designer and make and sell my own pieces.”

Another pot is shaped like a sleeping cat with a curled tail. “Cute,” I say with a grin. “I think you’ll be very successful.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Her chin drops and she crosses back to her workstation. “No one’s ever said that to me before. My sister wants me to stop wasting time and get married. She’s even picked out the perfect guy to play the role of husband.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Me either.” She exhales heavily as she sits on the small stool in front of the wheel, gathering the spoiled vase into a large lump and dropping it hard on the spinning platform again.

“Can I watch you work?” I pull up a small stool beside her, and she glances over her shoulder at me.

“Want to learn to make a bowl?”

“Sure.”

“Scoot forward. Give me your hands.”

I’m behind her, so I reach both arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder. Every breath is a hit of her soft perfume. It’s little flowers.

She dips her hands in the water and dampens my palms before cupping them around the spinning lump. “Apply pressure, but not too hard.”

The wheel spins, and I allow her to guide my movements using her palms on the backs of my hands. I confess, I’m not looking at the clay as much as I’m studying her small hands on mine, the smooth skin of her slender arms, the deep V in the button-up shirt she’s wearing.

From where I sit, as the shirt falls forward, I can’t miss the way her bare breasts sway with our movements. I’m growing less interested in pottery by the second.

“Not bad,” she says softly, and I glance at our hands now covered in light brown clay. Despite my lack of attention, she’s managed to craft a shallow bowl from the lump.

“That’s pretty good,” I say with a smile.

My mouth is beside her cheek, and I kiss her neck, just behind her ear.

“Oh!” She exhales a breathy sigh and does a little jump. Instantly our bowl collapses into a spinning mess.

“Shit.” My voice is a low rumble. “Sorry about that.” I’m sorry about the bowl, but I’m not at all sorry I kissed her.

“You weren’t paying attention anyway.” Mercy’s fingers thread with mine, pushing the clay down and off them.

“You’re right.” I kiss her neck again, lower this time, right at the top of her shoulder, and her back melts into my chest. “I was distracted.”

“You were looking down my shirt.”

“Let’s skip bowls and go straight to breasts.”

“That’s a different type of art.”

“Mm,” I growl appreciatively. “Your breasts are definitely art.”

Her chin lifts, and I cover her mouth with mine, parting her lips so I can find her tongue. I kiss her deeply, moving my hands under the hem of her shirt and up the front to cup those breasts, sliding my thumbs across her hard nipples.

“Koa,” she gasps, arching her back and breaking our lips apart. “You’re getting me dirty.”

“I like it when you’re dirty.”

She pivots in the chair so we’re facing each other, and I reach down to pull her thighs on top of mine, drawing her onto my lap. Our mouths reunite, and now my hands are sliding up her bare back, spanning her shoulders as I plunder her sweet mouth.

Her hands are under my shirt as well, and I feel her fingertips tracing the lines down my back. Little noises ripple from her throat with every touch. Breaking our mouths apart, I look into her hazy eyes.

“Stand up,” I say softly. She complies, and I unbutton the loose jeans she’s wearing, pulling them down her hips along with the scrap of lace thong.

Grabbing her ass, I pull her to me and plant a deep kiss right between her thighs, sinking my tongue into her clit.

“Oh, yes!” Her hands are instantly in my hair, pulling as I move my tongue faster over that little bud.

I’m holding her ass, and she’s sitting on my hands as her thighs fall open for me. I lift her, pulling her closer, tasting and nipping until I feel her muscles begin to jump with every move. My erection is straining against my zipper, and I quickly lower her to unfasten my fly.

“Look at that,” I tease as my dick pops out, eager to sink into her beautiful body.

She laughs, but then her expression turns naughty as she drops to her knees. I can’t move as I watch her. Looking up at me, she grasps my shaft in one hand and guides the mushroom tip to her mouth, closing her full lips around it giving me a firm suck.

“Shit, Mercy,” I groan, automatically leaning forward. It’s fucking way too big for her pretty little mouth, but I give her credit for trying. I’m in heaven, even if she’s only able to suck off my tip.

I lightly touch her cheek, closing my eyes as she goes down, pumping my shaft with her hand, flickering her tongue all over me. I’m about to come, but I want to be inside her for that. I reach down and catch her under the arms.

“Get up here,” I groan. “Ride me.”

She grins, wrapping her arms around my neck as I pull her thighs over mine again. “You’re insatiable,” she says, kissing my lips.

“I can’t seem to get enough of you.” My arm is tight around her small waist, and I reach down with my other hand to guide her closer to me, sinking all the way, balls deep.

“Oh, god, Koa.” She holds me a moment as I rock into her, then she leans back and looks in my eyes. “I want to taste you.”

“It’ll all be over if you do that,” I say leaning forward to claim her mouth. I’m moving her hips on me, so close to coming.

“Only for a little while.” Her eyes flash, and we both laugh. It’s true. I’ll be ready to go again pretty fast.

Her fingers are in my hair, and she pulls, moving my chin to give her access to my neck. Her small, lynx-fangs slide out and the moment she pierces me, I clench in orgasm.

“Fuck, yeah,” I groan, filling her as she sips my blood. She only takes a small amount, as we’re not vampires. Still, the sensation is mind-blowing. I’m shooting through space as I fill her again and again with every pulse.

She flickers her tongue over the wound, which will heal in minutes, and she rests her cheek against my shoulder. As my essence moves through her, she stretches, rubbing her breasts and torso against my chest in a way that’s completely erotic.

Tasting is the most intimate act shifters engage in with each other. It reveals who we are, what our base nature is like. In some cases, for example, with mates, it can bind us to one another, allowing us to hear each other’s thoughts and feelings.

She doesn’t say what she’s getting from me, and I don’t ask her. She could get as little as how much I want her or as much as my entire recent history. I’m hoping it’s more of the first. After rubbing her body against mine a moment more, she stands, holding her hand out to mine.

“Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’re covered in clay. Let’s go inside and shower.”

Damn, this girl. “Won’t your relatives… object?”

“Nobody’s home but me and Aunt Penny, and she goes to bed early when Dylan’s out of town.”

I watch as she steps into the jeans again and pulls them over her hips. That scrap of lace is in my hand, and when I stand and pull my jeans back over my hips, I slip it in my pocket. She doesn’t say anything. The button-up is back over her shoulders, but she only fastens the middle two buttons. I’m wondering how every single thing she does is so drop-dead sexy to me, when she reaches for my hand again.

Taking hers, I allow her to lead me across the lawn, straight up the massive white steps leading into their mansion. She doesn’t stop once we go through the door. I look around the expansive foyer. It’s as big as some people’s houses. Dark wood flooring leads to another room beneath the double staircase. It’s all painted wood, columns, and arches, with a round table and chairs in the center.

We go up the right staircase to the second floor. She’s still holding my hand as she leads me down the wide hallway to her bedroom. It’s a beautiful room, with vaulted ceilings of exposed wood. An arched window is off to the side beside a small fireplace, and an enormous king-sized four-poster is against the far wall.

“Sweet,” I mutter under my breath. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen luxury like this.

Mercy doesn’t even stop. She steps out of her clothes, leaving them in a pile beside a tall armoire. Only the sight of her naked ass could snap me out of inspecting this place. She’s gone into her large bathroom, and I follower her.

It’s all beige stone with an elevated, jetted bathtub in the center. Mercy goes to the glass-enclosed shower and steps inside, turning on the water. Three different showerheads begin shooting out streams of water, and curls of steam start to rise.

She turns to me, and my eyes move slowly down her body. “Slip off your clothes and put them over there.” She points to a small closet in the corner of her bathroom.

I follow orders and once my clothes are gone, I walk across the warm tile floor to the shower. “Warm floor,” I say.

She pulls the tie out of her hair, and it falls at once around her like a dark curtain. “Nice in the winter.”

Tossing the hair tie onto the counter, she goes directly into the spray. I watch as the water runs down her body, flattening her hair, making her skin shimmer. For a moment, I only watch as she smooths her hands over her head, arching her back and lifting her breasts. The sight of her, her movements are better than anything I’ve ever seen on film or television.

She stops moving when she sees me watching her and drops her arms, walking to the door and pulling me inside. “Get in here.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me under the spray with her. It’s warm, and I simultaneously relax and heat up when she presses her lips against my chest.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I nod, cupping her breasts in my large hands and smoothing my thumbs over her nipples. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a place this nice. Never with someone like you.”

She places her hands on the ink of my arms, a panther on one, a network of symbols on the other. All remnants of my wasted career. Her eyes hold mine, and I know the truth. When she tasted my blood, she got the whole goddamn story. I don’t know how I feel about that.

“A few nights ago, you slept outside my window. Outside at the tree line.” She tightens her hold on me; her body is flush against mine.

I’m holding her, sliding my hands around to the arch of her back, thinking of all the things I wish I could give her. All the things I wasted when I had them in my grasp. Her statement isn’t what I’d expected at this moment.

“I wanted to be sure you were safe.”

Her expression warms, and she rises on her toes to hug me, moving her body against me the way she did in her little studio. “I’ve never slept so well as I did that night. I didn’t know you were there. I only knew I felt utterly safe, completely protected.”