Page 12 of Lily and her Mercenary (CHANGING OF THE GUARDS)
Lily
R oyal showed up just as I was about to get in the shower, with a bag in one hand and Mabel’s carrier in the other. “Here are some new clothes and toiletries,” he said, holding the bag out to me.
“Thank you. That was thoughtful and sweet of you,” I smiled as I took it from him.
“Don’t thank me.” He jerked his head towards the door that stood open a crack.
Already having a quick shower, Ryker stood outside, leaning against the balcony railing, his eyes scanning the parking lot below.
“He texted me the size of what he thought would fit you. You would be in camo and combat boots if it were up to me.” He put the cat carrier on the bed.
“This little fluffball is way too attached to you.”
“Sorry,” I said, hand at the back of my neck. “I know she’s dead weight on the run. I can’t just leave her.”
Royal’s expression shifted at my words. A softer, more understanding look was now on his face. “You’re both fine,” he said, with no hint of sarcasm.
As soon as he left to join his brother outside, I took Mabel out and buried my face in her fur. She smelled like motor oil and dusty roads. “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered, tears in my eyes. I settled her down with a tin of cat food and a litter box nearby, then headed to the bathroom.
In the shower, I let the hot water wash away what felt like days of grime, filth, and fear.
Standing under the spray, I thought about Ryker.
The way he looked with rain-slicked hair in that alley, eyes full of promises he shouldn’t have made.
The way he kissed me was like I was the last thing he wanted to lose.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, I found him standing at the window, peering through the blinds. He turned, relief washing over his face when he saw me. “Royal’s making a supply run. I think we’re good here for a few days.”
I modeled the t-shirt and snug jeans from the bag. “You know my style better than I do. Thank you.”
Ryker whistled and moved closer, taking in the sight of me, newly clean, a little raw, but still standing.
“Nice jeans,” he said, voice low and approving. He brushed his fingers against my cheek, touching the place where the bullet had grazed me. “Does it hurt?”
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
He tilted my chin up and kissed me softly. “They won’t get that close again,” he said, and I almost believed it.
They’re coming for you.
The shooter’s words echoed in my mind, cold and relentless. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. “Are you sure we’re safe here? They always seem so damn close.”
“For now. But we’ll keep moving,” he replied. “They won’t catch us.”
His certainty was like a lifeline. I grabbed it with both hands and hung on.
I don’t know if I leaned in or if he did, but our lips met—soft, desperate, my breath catching in his mouth.
He braced a hand on the wall behind my head, the other sliding around my waist and hauling me closer.
My knees buckled all the adrenaline of the past week shrinking into this one dizzying moment.
His hands found the hem of my t-shirt and pushed it up, leaving a trail of goosebumps and fire in their wake.
“We shouldn’t,” I managed, even as I lifted my arms and he stripped the fabric over my head.
Forgoing my bra and underwear after the shower, I wore nothing underneath my clothes.
His eyes darkened with the realization and roamed over every inch of bare skin.
“I know,” he murmured against my collarbone, “but right now I don’t care.”
His mouth was everywhere, skimming my neck, my shoulder, my breast. I shuddered as he found the spot just below my ear and bit down, gentle at first, then not.
His tongue darted out, soothing the sting as my hands went to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons.
He brushed my fingers aside and ripped it open, sending the buttons flying.
I laughed into his mouth, and he caught the sound, swallowing it, deep and hungry.
Our bodies pressed together—skin on skin, heat against heat.
His hands gripped my hips, urging me back until the backs of my knees hit the wobbly motel bed.
We toppled onto it, breathless, tangled, and for a moment, it might have been funny if every nerve in my body wasn’t on high alert.
Scared, wanting, and needing him all at once.
He propped over me, his eyes searching mine. “Are you sure?”
“God, yes,” I breathed, pulling him down.
He kissed me hard, grinding his hips until I arched up to meet him.
The thin jeans did nothing to dampen the friction.
He slid a hand between my thighs, his skillful fingers searching out my clit through the denim.
I gasped, and bucked, and he echoed the sound with a growl, biting my shoulder as I reached for his belt.
My fingers trembled with urgency as I undid his belt one-handed. He kicked off his jeans and boxers as I shimmied out of mine, and then we were skin-on-skin, nothing between us but sweat, heat, and hunger.
My fingers traced the planes of his torso, memorizing his warmth.
He responded in kind, his palms grazing the swell of my breast, eliciting a soft gasp as he circled my nipples, his thumbs coaxing them to a tight bud.
I arched into his touch, moaning when he closed his lips around one.
The soft tug of his mouth as he suckled sent me spiraling.
Then, with a deliberate glide, he slid a hand down between my thighs. His fingers found me insanely slick with wanting, and he moved them in a gentle, coaxing rhythm that had me pressing my head back into the pillows and biting my lip.
I tangled my legs around his waist as he toyed with my clit while he entered me slow and steady.
A patience I didn’t know he had, as if he wanted to memorize every second, every gasp and shiver.
The cheap motel sheets bunched in my fists as he untwined my legs from around his waist and gently pressed them wide and higher.
He paused, glancing down at my swollen pussy, slick with want and I have never felt so exposed in my life until that moment.
“Before we continue, I need to know how deep you want me to go,” he said, almost respectfully, as if I were the one to set the rules. My mouth went dry, but I forced words out anyway. “As deep as you want,” I breathed.
He grinned. “Good answer,” he said as he pushed in, slow at first, thumbs digging into my hips, his cock filling me, stretching me in a way that hurt so damn good I forgot to be embarrassed about the way I moaned for him.
Not softly, not prettily—just raw, hungry, helpless.
He moved with that same careful slowness, building a rhythm I had no defense against. With every thrust, my body arched, my hands pushed against the headboard as if somehow that would make me closer to him.
All the while, his name spilled from my mouth.
He took me with such intensity as if he had to fuck the fear out of me, make me believe he could keep me safe even if the whole country was hunting me down.
It didn’t take long before the pleasure began to build, intense and all-consuming until I thought I’d split open.
When it hit, I shattered. I screamed while clawing his back, coming so hard it left me shaking because I didn’t want it to end.
He held me through it, never breaking rhythm, riding every wave with me, despite my body freezing in time as he pounded into me.
When he let go, I rode the wave with him, as he buried his face in my neck and came with a desperate groan, his whole body going tense, then loose.
For a few moments, we just lay there, tangled, covered in sweat.
Finally, he rolled off and pulled me to his side, pressing his lips to my hair. “You okay?” he whispered.
I let the question settle in my bones, feeling the fading ache between my legs as my pussy contracted, and the beginnings of the bruises on my hips where his hands had gripped me.
The rest of the world—Matheson, guns, my sister that I barely remembered, would still be there in the morning. But for now, in this scuzzy motel, for the first time in a long time, I felt safe in his arms.
I turned and kissed his jaw, slow and grateful. “I don’t know how, but you make me feel brave,” I said.
Silently, he stroked my back, as if he were thinking about what I said.
“We’ll keep running,” he murmured. “Until we don’t have to anymore.”
“Promise?”
He kissed me again, soft as a secret. “Promise.”