Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 74315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
As we walked into the large warehouse and the lights turned on, I felt the first smile of the day turn up the sides of my mouth.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” I breathed, taking in the walls, fake rocks, ropes, and blinds.
“Heh,” Foster said. “You’re going down.”
I pointed my finger at him and said what I knew would rile him up. “Bring it, Fat Boy.”
With that, the lights went nearly black and we all scattered.
A smile took over my face as I listened to Foster’s outraged curse.
“I’m not fat, fucker!”
***
Michael peeled off his shirt, smearing paint from the bottom of his chin to the tips of his hair.
His body came into view, and my mouth dropped open.
I’d never actually seen him with his shirt off. He was always sure to wear a long sleeved t-shirt of some kind.
I was surprised as fuck to see tattoos and not scars or something with the way he was meticulous about not showing any of his skin.
“What the fuck, dude?” Foster shoved me to the side.
I shoved him back, and we got into a slight tussling match that landed with Foster on the floor and me straddling his chest.
I took a leftover paintball out of my pouch at my side and slammed it down onto the top of Foster’s head, totally drenching his curly blonde hair with bright pink paint.
“Fucker,” Foster twisted and threw me off of him.
I grinned. “You look good in pink.”
He threw a paintball at me, but it didn’t burst.
Nonetheless, I bent down to pick it up right when the phone in my pocket rang.
“Are we done here?” I asked Luke.
He nodded. “Yeah, got a hot date?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
And I did. With a woman that wanted something from me that I wasn’t sure I should give her.
Something that I wanted more than anything in the world.
Something that had the potential to change both of our lives.
Chapter 7
Sex is like an Olympic dive. Head first.
-Coffee cup
Miller
I walked up Mercy’s front walk with determination. Determination to tell her no. Determination to tell her she was making a mistake.
But the moment she opened the door, eyes puffy from crying, I knew I wouldn’t say no, and I probably never could have.
My hand went up to her face, cupping her cheek in my large, work roughened palm.
A palm that had held the gun that had taken many a men’s lives. A palm that had killed multiple men. A palm that hadn’t ever had anybody touching it that had meant something more to me than a passing glance.
And Mercy was much more than a passing glance.
“Do you know what you’re asking me?” I asked softly, pushing her inside and closing the door.
She nodded. “I know it’s disgusting to have sex with me. The results of the blood tests came back showing that I was clean of all diseases. I know what I’m asking you is wrong. But I can’t. I have to have that option. I don’t know if I’m pregnant, but if I am… I need to know that it might not be his. I need to know that there’s every possibility that it’s yours. My brain needs that out.”
My stomach dropped.
“Honey,” I said, leaning close until our foreheads touched. “Having sex with you doesn’t disgust me. It makes me hot. It makes my palms burn to even think about them running over your silky, smooth skin. But I don’t think you’re ready. I don’t think you’ll be ready for a long time. I’ll wait for you. This,” I gestured between her and me. “This is something good, and it has the potential to be something much more than just a friendship. I don’t want to taint that by moving too fast.”
Her head dropped forward until she was resting her forehead against my collarbone. “Please.”
Every shield I’d erected on the way over here fell, and I knew I would do it, I just needed to make sure this was what she wanted first.
“What if you’re not? What if, in how many ever days, you get your period and all’s well?” I asked, truly wanting to know the answer.
She turned around and ran her hands through her hair.
“When you think about having a baby, you think about two loving parents, making that child out of something special. You think about two consenting people, who although they may not love each other, chose to make that decision to have sex. What if, when the baby grows up, he or she will hear about everything that happened to me? What will I tell her? At least, if we do this…there’s a slim chance that I really won’t know. That the baby could’ve possibly been conceived the right way,” she said desolately.
“The baby might look like him and you’ll know anyway. It might all be for nothing,” I played the Devil’s advocate.
She shook her head. “You’re both tall with blonde hair. Both of you have blue eyes. Please. Just once.”
I looked at her, really looked at her. “If we do this…I’ll always be a part of your life. Part of the baby’s life. Are you ready for that?”
I refrained from saying ‘If there is a baby.’
She shook her head frantically. “I couldn’t ask that of you.”
I moved forward, pressing into her, letting her feel the hard length of me. Hoping that it’d scare her into changing her mind.
“You didn’t ask that of me, I told you. There’s a freakin’ difference,” I snapped.
She shrugged, leaning a little closer to me. Making sure I knew that she wasn’t running away. “I could go find someone at a bar right now. I could do it, but I don’t want just anyone. I want you. I will, though, if you won’t. I can’t live with thinking he was the one to make me pregnant. I need that cop-out. I need that escape.”
I pushed her until she fell back on the couch and I looked her over.
When she went to sit up, I followed her down until my body covered hers.
“You will not do it with anyone else but me,” I snarled, and then slammed my mouth down on hers.