Chapter Seventeen

 

Mercy

 

I woke up clutching a pillow to me that smelled like Abe. For a split second, I panicked when I realized he wasn’t in bed, but then I remembered we’re in his apartment at the MC’s clubhouse and that he’s probably close by. I opened the door to take a quick peek…and found a hall full of tough-looking men in leather heading right for me. Since they had all stopped in their tracks, it didn’t seem polite to just slam the door in their faces. Besides, I wanted to see how Abe would react, if he would introduce us or treat me like I was just a random woman he was sleeping with.

Now I’m trying to figure out if he always looks like he wants to kill the men who look at the women he’s fucking.

I don’t have a chance to ask Abe; because as soon as he hauls me into the room and shuts the door, he’s bending me over the bed and ripping his shirt off of me. At first, I have no clue what he plans to do to me, not until I suddenly feel his tongue between my thighs, which his hands spread wide. I cry out in surprise and in ecstasy. Abe knows how loud I am, so does he want the other men in this place to hear me screaming his name?

Apparently he does, because after the first time I shout his name in gratitude for making my body tremble with pleasure, I’m rewarded with a smack to my ass. It’s not hard enough to hurt, so I’m pretty sure it’s a reward for giving him what he wanted.

Once his fingers penetrate me, though, I say so long to the English language and become fluent in mind-fuckish. Abe doesn’t give me any warning before his cock slams inside of my wet, throbbing pussy and takes me higher than I’ve ever been.

When Abe’s quick, hard thrusts finally end with a long grunt, neither of us move, even though most of his weight is pressing me into the mattress. The sounds of our heavy breathing echoes loudly in my ears.

“Sorry,” Abe eventually says.

“For what?” I ask through the pants. “Your talented tongue, fingers, or cock?”

He’s silent a moment before he answers with a short chuckle. “All of the above, along with the ass slap.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “It was great. Every second. Just not sure what I did to deserve it.”

“You were too gorgeous to be standing in our hallway wearing nothing but my shirt,” he replies.

Smiling even though he can’t see it, I ask, “Are you always so…possessive with your other beard riders?”

“Hell no,” he grumbles. “I’ve watched my brothers fuck most of the same girls I’ve been with and never gave two shits.”

Ew. Do they really do that? “You guys…share?”

“Oh, yeah,” Abe answers before he finally moves off me so that my lungs can fully expand again. He stretches out on the bed on his back, and I force my weak limbs to crawl further up the mattress so that we’re face to face. “The girls upstairs are community property. They know that when they walk through the door,” he informs me.

“Would you share me?” I ask.

“Fuck no,” is Abe’s instant response before his brows furrow. “Why would you ask me that? Is that what you want?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “Just wondering why you would share the other women but not me.”

“Because you’re better than all of those girls put together,” he says. “And because I don’t want another man to take my place.”

“As my bodyguard?” I ask, to see if he’ll answer the question about what we are exactly. We’re not dating, so we’re either fuck buddies or friends with benefits.

“Yeah,” Abe answers simply. I wait for him to give me a more detailed explanation of our brand new and somewhat odd relationship, but he doesn’t even after several silent minutes. I guess that means he doesn’t think we’re doing anything more than fooling around.

“Can I, um, use your shower?” I ask to break the silence.

“Go for it,” he replies.

Scooting off the end of the bed, I grab Abe’s shirt I was wearing before he discarded it and head for the adjoining bathroom, even more confused. Why I thought he may want more than to just sleep with me, I’m not entirely sure. But at least now I know the score.

 

…

 

Today on set, there’s a competition for the sixteen remaining guys. In four heats, four men are supposed to jump into the mansion’s pool, swim to the other side, grab one of the dummies that each weigh as much as I do (which is incredibly embarrassing), then swim back with it and pull it out of the water. The one with the fastest time wins a private dinner date with me. The dummy represents me, of course; and this little contest is supposed to show me which man I could count on to rescue me if I were drowning.

I cheer on each heat as the guys struggle to haul the heavy dummy while trying to stay afloat. It’s sort of funny to watch them putting the dummy in a headlock, or some even trying to lie on top of it, using it as a floatation device.

Between the first two heats, I make the mistake of glancing over behind the scenes to Abe. Of course, his eyes are on me. Noticing me locking gazes with him, he arches one dark eyebrow as if to say that he has no doubt that he could win a race against these chumps. After they’re all finished, I just may let him give it a go.

The winner of the challenge is Zeke, a former high school swim team captain. His time is right around two minutes and forty-five seconds.

“I can’t wait to take you out tonight,” Zeke says as he stands in front of me in nothing but a speedo. All the guys had to wear one so that the female viewers could get a good look at their very athletic, very sculpted bodies. Zeke’s floppy brown hair is still dripping wet. So, when he flips it back, I get sprayed with the chlorinated water in my face. Zeke, of course, laughs before he starts apologizing. He grabs a towel and starts mopping up my face while the camera captures every second of the exchange between us.

“Hopefully we’ll both stay dry during dinner,” I tell him.

“We’ll see,” he remarks with a suggestive wink before he heads back over to the line of men, who are pouting because they didn’t win today’s event.

“Next time, guys!” I shout to them before I wave goodbye.

“And that’s a wrap for now,” Ryan, the producer, says. “Gentlemen, you can all get back to the house. Zeke, get showered and put on your dress clothes. Mercy, you’ll need to change into an evening gown. I’ll have Randy bring over a few choices, but I’m thinking blue is your color tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” I agree.

Abe strolls over toward me; and when he’s about three feet away, he starts removing his cut. It hits the ground, and then he pulls his shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?” I ask with a laugh.

“Time me,” he says with a nod of his head toward the pool.

“Abe, seriously?” I ask, glancing around at all the people still hovering around us. But then Abe is untying his boots to take them and his socks off. I gasp when his jeans come down. Since he’s not wearing anything underneath, I end up staring at his big, swinging cock for way too long before I remember that we have an audience and the prudent thing would be to shield my eyes. “Abe!” I yell at him.

“Are you filming this?” I vaguely hear the producer ask the camera man, and see that they’re following Abe around the pool where he grabs one of the dummy dolls, throws it over his shoulder and then carries it naked to the other end of the pool. Once it’s in place, he goes back to the starting side.

“You timing this?” Abe asks as he points to someone behind the scenes. Apparently, they give him the go ahead, because he dives into the water a second later and quickly crosses the pool. One of his big hands reaches up to grab the dummy by the leg, and then he’s swimming back, only a little slower because he’s using just one thick arm. At the wall, he tosses the dummy up and then pulls himself out of the water, flashing all of us his tan ass.

“Two minutes and twenty-one seconds,” the timekeeper calls out. Abe pumps both of his arms in the air to celebrate his victory, making me laugh. And while he may not have won a romantic dinner with me tonight, there’s no doubt that he just won a pretty good consolation prize for his incredible feat of manliness – my mouth until he fills it with his release.

Grabbing a towel from the stack, I walk over and hand it to him. “You should probably cover up King Kong before he scares everyone.”

“Ha!” Abe chuckles. “So, what did I win?” he whispers as he wraps the towel around his waist.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” I reply vaguely before I reach up and squeeze the water out of his beard. The way I’m fisting it is no doubt similar to a way I would hold something else and milk it.

“I’m not a very patient man,” he says.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be well worth the wait,” I tell him.

“Ah, Mercy,” Sofie, one of the set techs, calls out to me. “Your mic is still on.”

“Oh, right,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush. I try to replay our conversation back to see what it would sound like to someone listening. It must have been somewhat naughty if Sofie felt the urge to warn me. Hopefully she won’t share that recording with anyone else, or I’ll be screwed.