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Only this wasn’t any woman.
This was Mercy Martin, the puppy who’d trailed after him so many years earlier. His best friend’s little sister.
He slammed the trunk of his beat up Ford Mustang closed, swinging his government issued duffel bag up over one shoulder. “You want me to beat your ass, Mercy?”
“Only if it’s part of foreplay.” Mercy’s tone was light, flirtatious, her smile bright and inviting, but there was something off about her body language. Her shoulders were stiff, and her eyes were downcast. Her chin jutted out, defiant, like she was fighting him instead of trying to seduce him.
It had been years since he’d been back to his father’s house, years since he’d seen bright eyed Mercy Martin, but some things hadn’t changed. The flowerbeds in front of the house were still full of weeds, and Mercy still picked a fight when she was feeling frisky. Some other things hadn’t changed either.
Mercy still smelled like hot sun and honeysuckle, like late summer afternoons spent hiking through the woods because they knew they wouldn’t be let back inside until dark. He leaned forward, breathing in the familiar scent. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“None of your business, Hunter Green. Now I made you a nice offer.” She licked the sweet cherry lip-gloss off her full, luscious lips. “Are you saying you don’t want me?”
Want her? Of course he wanted her. He was just back from his second tour in the military. He’d dated occasionally on leave, but looking back it had been close to two years since the last time he’d run his rough hands across a woman’s silky skin, and Mercy was a beautiful woman.
She’d always been pretty, even when she was just a knock-kneed kid, but in the years since he’d left home she’d grown from a sweet girl into something spectacular.
She was still tall and leggy, but now her legs were just the way he liked them, going all the way from the swishy little black skirt that skimmed the top of her muscular thighs to her slim calves and neatly turned ankles above her red canvas running shoes. Her cotton halter top was a dark, blood red that curved around her high, perky breasts and revealed miles of golden skin before dropping straight past her waist in soft cotton cascades that he wanted to wrap around his hands.
Her tawny blonde hair tumbled down her back, curling around the edges of her heart shaped face.
Then there were her lips, those soft lips that even bare of gloss were a shining berry pink, desperate to be kissed. Begging to be fucked.
When he’d seen her walking towards his house, her hips swinging from side to side, his breath had caught in his throat. He’d spent years working on his self control, but he was still a man. Watching her walk down the road he’d wanted to take her and bend her over the hood of his car.
Then he’d seen her fierce eyes, a deep liquid gold. Those were Max’s eyes, Martin eyes, Mercy’s eyes. The woman walking off the street and into his fantasies was completely, entirely off limits.
They were so damn close. He could feel every breath she took against the nape of her neck. Her head tilted upwards, and her lips flickered against his. The movement delicate. Warm. A soft kiss shared between friends.
If she was just a friend, why had he gone rock hard in response?
Damn. He sucked in a breath. “You don’t want this, Mercy.” He didn’t know what she was plotting, her mind racing at a hundred miles an hour behind those golden eyes, but her plans didn’t include a battle-scarred warrior with a bad attitude, a bum leg, and a hair trigger temper. It didn’t include a man with his sexual… proclivities… and harsh desires.
She kissed him again. Harder this time. Her hot little mouth pressed against his.
“You’re just a kid.” He could do the math, she was twenty two years old, just starting her life, and his time spent in the Marines meant that he was old beyond his years.
Her tongue darted out, skimming his bottom lip, and Hunter’s breath caught in his throat. The things she could do with that tongue. Her nimble fingers wrapped themselves in his shirt, pulling him close.
“Is that really what you think? I’m just a kid?”
“No, I think you’re old enough to know better.” His hand came to rest against the small of her back, trailing slowly down her spine. His hand lifting slightly before he made it the final few inches to her behind. “Or is it that you want me to teach you a lesson?”
“Excuse me—“ Her mouth went wide as his hand came down, connecting hard with her cushioned ass. Once. Twice. Three times. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I told you I was going to beat your ass.” He brought his hand down again, harder, making her yelp.
Good. Maybe if he punished her, she wouldn’t make the mistake of propositioning another man the same way.
Of course, the lesson might have greater affect if they changed positions. He could turn her over his knee, flipping up her short little skirt and tugging down her panties.
Years earlier, he’d helped Max do laundry and Mercy had worn white cotton panties. Now, she looked like a red silk kind of girl.
It would almost be better if she was still wearing white cotton, all pure and innocent under her new sexy, bold exterior.
It didn’t matter what kind of panties she was wearing, he reminded himself with a growl. She was Max’s sister. His best friend’s sister. Little Mercy who’d thought it was so funny to slip a dead frog into his high school girlfriend’s schoolbag. So damn close, she might as well be his own sibling. One hundred percent off limits.
He spanked her a fifth time, blinking in surprise when she let out a moan instead of a cry. Was she enjoying this? He paused for a moment, massaging her ass, drawing her even closer against him. His hand slid under her skirt, shifting her panties to one side and feeling her wet slit from behind. The action drew them even closer together, pressing the hard length of his erection into the notch between her legs.
He stroked her again, finding the hard nub inside of her. Making her gasp against him. Her arms wrapped against his neck. Her entire body shuddered against him.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Please… please… please…”
“Please more?” His finger slipped inside her almost of its own accord, scraping her velvety interior and making her scream. Damn, the woman was tight. “Or, please stop.” He pulled his hand away entirely, smoothing the back of her skirt down neatly over her ass.
“Don’t stop,” Mercy begged, grinding her pelvis against his. “Please, don’t stop.”
Stopping was the last thing on his mind. Hunter wanted to shove her down. To take her hard against the grass, not caring who saw them. More than that, he wanted to strip off her clothes and bind her to his porch railing. To teach her exactly what happened to headstrong little teases who didn’t know when to walk away.
Her golden eyes gleamed, causing memories to flood back. As a kid, he’d spent more time with the Martins than his own family. She was like his sister.
He pushed her away. “That was a warning, Mercy. Don’t test me, or I’ll make you regret it.”
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