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Didn’t exist in my life.
I lay on the concrete, Mercer’s pained body between me and the bowl. Elbows pushed me up, and I licked my lips. My fingers stretched across Mercer’s body, heading to the dirty water. My tongue glossed my lips again, the thirst too much.
Mercer’s tight grip wrapped around my wrist, his fingers touching. I was foolish to think he was asleep.
I sank back to his side, dread swirling in my stomach, wondering when we would get a drink or even more of the dry fruit that offered a little moisture to our tortured tongues. Mercer zeroed in, propping himself up on his arm as he twisted to his side, his face twisting, too...with pain.
“Draw me circles?” such a vague ask. But I needed something…anything, a touch, a hug…to comfort me.
A smile almost cracked the healing cut on his lip. His hand landed on me, shadowing my leg and not stopping until he crept under the hem of my—his—shirt and reached the curve of my hip. His fingers danced on my skin, and goosebumps rose up in worship.
“How old are you?” I wondered, needing to talk, needing to know more about him.
Two fingers appeared behind his head, sticking up above his wild hair and looking something like devil horns.
His other hand tapped my hip eight times before waltzing around and around again.
“Twenty-eight?”
He nodded a single nod. A second later, he did it again, asking me.
“Twenty-two. Siblings?”
His head didn’t nod this time. It shook, his dark hair falling into his face. I brushed it away, careful with his injuries. “Me, either.”
Fighting the urge to lap at the bowl, I licked my lips again, my mouth too dry to ask another question.
Mercer neared me, his fingers brushing my hair back. He looked into my eyes, seeing something beyond the redness of pain and the fear in my blown pupils, and then he looked to my mouth, my tongue on my lips again.
He moved closer, his hand slinking from one hip to another, pulling me, without injury, into his heated body. He tugged down my hem as the shirt lifted, revealing my ass to the pervert, who was no doubt watching this with his hand on his tiny dick.
His tongue pushed mine out of the way, coating my lips in moisture. He slipped into my mouth for a second, our eyes closed and bodies lax as I took everything he offered, and I enjoyed it for the seconds it lasted, my fingers on his face, pulling him closer, deeper. Needing him closer, deeper. Needing him so badly because he was all I had.
My mouth no longer felt dry as he pulled back, his eyes opening a second before mine blinked in his image.
My tongue was wet...I had what I needed, but I wanted more. I wanted the moments back when he made me forget that we lay on a cold concrete floor, with him bruised for refusing to cut open my chest. We were just a man and a woman, lost to the moment.
And now, he was gone, even with his hands still on my body and my chest pounding against his. My mouth had nothing, was empty of him, but the stolen saliva still sat on my tongue.
It wasn’t enough, and as I gazed up at him and he mouthed the words, “Get some sleep,” my heart felt empty, too.
Chapter 6
Mercer
Amewling sound shook me from my sleep. I rolled to all fours, dazed, confused, and aching like fuck.
I glanced around, not knowing where I was because my brain hadn’t woken up yet. The concrete hurt my knees as I searched for the noise, praying it wasn’t the animal I loved.
And then I saw Feebee, and I realized where I was.
I wasn’t in my bed or asleep on my sofa with a ginger furball resting at my feet. I was still in this fucking cell.
My gaze stretched across to her.
Her petite body hunched over itself, splashes of red dropping to the floor, her blunt haircut not showing me where or how she was bleeding. I edged forward in a crawl, closing the gap between us. Carefully, I touched her arm, guiding her to me.
And there it was. A heart carved into her chest. An angry red design so much deeper than mine would have been.
