Oh Have Mercy!

"Nearly three months." I shrugged. "I was fired from my last job because of personal issues."

"What was your last job?"

A conversation was the last thing I'd expected to have, especially not in the Cognac room. What was the guy's game? "I was an event planner. Specifically, a corporate event planner for Pearson, Longman, and Price."

"That's an extremely well-known firm."

I smirked. "Thanks for stating the obvious."

"How long were you there?"

"Two years. I moved from Pear Financial in London for the position."

His eyes widened, but I couldn't see his other facial expressions in the dim light. "You have quite a portfolio...if you're being honest," he said slowly.

"I am."

"So you're working here because...?"

"I was fired, like I said. Personal reasons." I was getting seriously weirded out. This felt a lot more like an interview than a lapdance. It wasn't like I'd been the top corporate event planner in New York or something. I'd been on a team, part of senior staff for sure, but pulling off those kinds of events took detailed planning, coordination, and about a million spinning plates in the air at any given moment. I'd loved my job--the challenge, the high stress, and massive success. I'd been fantastic at what I did until Durrell. Until the proposal and the wedding and the fucking baby. One shot after another had affected my work in micro fissions until, all at once, the plates fell and there was no picking them up and putting them together. Fired. Black listed. Shamed.

No one but two bit firms who tried to have my services for free would hire me, and if they did offer it was below the going rate and made waitressing at a gentlemen's club better monetarily.

"I'm sorry--and correct me if I'm wrong--but you did request a lap dance, right?"

He leaned away and shifted defensively. His accent thickened, "That is correct."

"But you don't want one?"

"I wouldn't mind one," he began, "but it's not...expressly the reason I wanted you back here."

That sounded a little too serial killer for me. I rose and started to move away from him. "Look, whatever sick game you want to play, I'm done. Stalkers aren't my thing."

He rose a second after me as if drawn up by a string. "Pardon?"

The darkness was annoying me. I couldn't see his features. Striding across the room, I flipped on the light switch and blinked rapidly as the room came into view. Ugh, no wonder the lights were off; someone desperately needed to clean up. Chancing a glance up, I looked at the man and nearly choked. He was hot and...Asian.

Silky black hair was cut close to his head with a small cowlick in the front that fell over his left eye. Strong chin, defined cheekbones, tilted eyes that were slightly bigger than average. A suit stretched over his body, navy blue and crisp, accessorized with shiny black oxfords and silver cufflinks. The jacket was open, revealing a pressed white shirt that reflected minute silver stripes in the light. He didn't wear a tie and a patch of smooth pale skin was displayed. The guy wasn't skinny or super short. If I'd still been in my heels we'd probably have been eye level, but as it was, I had to tilt my head to look at him.

"Something you want to say?"

My eyes snapped to his, a pretty shade of brown with a flare of beige close to his iris. Everything about the guy appealed to me, and considering I'd 1) sworn off men because of Durrell, and 2) Asian men had never particularly interested me, that said a lot.

"Your face." No wonder I graduated cum laude, I was brilliant! "What I mean is you don't look like what I'd thought you'd look...like..." The sentence trailed off, spinning with my other inanities in the world.

Forcing my eyes closed, I squeezed them tight and thought about where I was, what I was wearing, and why I'd been called here. He hadn't paid for conversation but a lap dance, and even if that wasn't what he wanted, I'd feel a hell of a lot better if that was all we did.

"Lights on or off?" I asked, eyes still closed.

There was a scuttling sound and I think he moved closer to me. "Come again?"

I forced my tone to sound professional. "I understand that you would like to talk to me, but you paid for a lap dance. I'm not inclined to give you anything more than that."

"What I paid for," he said slowly. I got the impression it wasn't because he didn't understand what I was saying, but rather he was figuring out his response.

My eyes popped open when I caught his scent again and I nearly took a step back. The guy was very close to invading my five feet of personal space. There were cameras in the room, and I knew that if the man tried anything security would break the door down and have me out before I could scream for help. But I didn't feel like I was in danger.

"A lap dance," I supplied, unconsciously wetting my lips. "You paid for a lap dance."

A smile curled the sides of his lips. "It was free."

"Regardless, lights on or off?"

His eyes widened slightly. "You're really going to do this?"

"I really am."

"Is talking to me so bad that you would rather take off your clothes?"

Well, when he put it that way... "One," I began, ticking off my fingers, "I will not be taking off my clothes. And two, I don't know you. So yeah, I'd rather grind on your lap than tell you my hopes and dreams."

Tension ferried between us, thickening with the seconds. Finally, he nodded curtly, spun on his heel, and went to sit back on the couch. "You may choose to have the lights on or off."

The song changed to Angel of the Small Death and the Codeine Scene--one of Mikey's new favorites. Hozier's beginning "Hmm, m-hmm, hmm" floated around the room like the revving of an engine. Breathing out a sigh that wasn't quite relief and held a heavy tinge of disappointment, I reached behind me and flipped the light switch off.

CHAPTER FIVE

Deok-su

Feisty. That was the only word Deok-su could use to describe the woman in front of him. Feisty and beautiful.

He wasn't sure what attracted him to her or why. When the owner had offered him a free lap dance, "Mercy," had been the only name to slip off his tongue. Black women never attracted him, and doubly so with the attitude she seemed to dole out in spades. She was lovely--there was no question about that--but it was more than just looks.

Perhaps Lemair spiked my drink with something. Deok-su came to this conclusion as the room was flooded in darkness and a deep voiced musician floated like perfume through the air. He watched the waitress-turned-temporary stripper breathe in deeply before walking over to him again. This time though, the trepidation he'd felt from her was gone. She walked like a woman on a mission, fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides, back straight, eyes narrowed with focus.

"Mercy," he whispered, unsure if she heard it or not. Even if she did, he doubted she'd take notice. It was obviously a stage name, and Deok-su found himself wondering what her real name was.

The woman got close to him and leaned down to plant a hand on either side of his hips. Her breath tickled his ear. "Have you ever had a lap dance?"

Not like this. Closing his eyes, he leaned back into the cracked and stained booth. Every hair he had was on edge, attuned to the slightest movement from the woman above him. Her heat surrounded him, peppermint scent cooling him slightly. "No."

She pulled back and he felt the space on either side of him shift. "This'll be a new experience for both of us then," she murmured, placing her hands on his knees and spreading his legs.

Would she go down on him? No, no, that wasn't part of the lap dance. But damn, he wished it was. When he opened his eyes again, her hands were to the ceiling, hips swaying to the musician's voice and guitar, eyes trained on his face. Light caught her corset every so often, bouncing off and highlighting sections of dark skin. Breasts shaking, she tilted her head back, spread her legs, and moved to the quickening beat.

The sound changed, slowed, and she turned, bent, and gripped her calves. Her ass was perfect, round and high, just begging to be slapped hard. Fuck, he wanted to smack her ass while he pounded into her from behind, heard her gasp, moan, scream as she came tight and wet and perfect around him.

Deok-su's hands clenched in his lap, short nails digging into his palm. Women didn't affect him like this, especially not half-clothed ones. There was no mystery to her body, no secrets he could find and explore. She dipped low, shoulders brushing his knees and tilted her head back to look at him. There was a look of confusion and lust on her face as she tilted her head back on his lap, like she couldn't believe what she was doing while at the same time she wanted to do more.

Mercy shook her head and her curls brushed the seam of his pants, making his dick jerk painfully. And that mouth--fuck that mouth. Thick, wet lips, high cheeks that would hollow as she blew him and then swallowed his cum. He knew she would, knew her hair would brush his thighs and he'd wrap it around his fingers and tug while she drank.

"Shibal," Deok-su bit off violently.

"Say something?" Mercy purred, using his legs as leverage as she climbed back to her feet.

"Nothing." That I want to repeat.

Deok-su watched her shrug. She stepped back, brought her shoulders to his chest and her ass to his crotch. Then she started to grind. Hard. And fuck if he didn't almost lose his mind.

"You need to stop."

She didn't. "If you need to come, go ahead. Most guys do anyway. Just keep it in your pants."

The way she said it, so flippantly, made him angry. Setting a hand on her waist, he stilled her movements. Decorum said he shouldn't touch her, that he didn't have the right. In every other case he would agree. Deok-su had never touched a woman without her permission, but he couldn't help Mercy.

She didn't scream or move away. No, she froze, half-standing, half-sitting on his lap, hair in his face. Against himself, Deok-su reached up his other hand and pushed her hair away from her shoulder. She shivered at the contact.

What am I doing? he wondered as he brushed his fingertips along her neck and shoulder.

Whatever the fuck I want for once, a voice growled from deep within him. One he didn't recognize but felt attuned to nonetheless.

Placing a gentle finger under her chin, he turned her head to face him. She stared back at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. Her chest rose and fell heavily, and he felt his do the same.

"What do you think you're doing?" She addressed the question to his lips.

"I'm not quite sure." He leaned in close until only a few centimeters separated them. "You should push me away."

"I know." She leaned closer.

He followed. "Now."

Her lips lifted at the corners. "Later." And she kissed him. Peppermint fire and feisty as hell.

There was a brief moment of panic, hesitation, when all the reasons he shouldn't have sex with a stripper in an American club came roaring back to him. Getting caught. Getting a disease. Unwanted pregnancy.

But then she parted those lips--fuck, those lips--and he didn't care about anything. Nothing. Except his fingers in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, and his dick in her pussy. He needed more.

His hand firmed on her hip, yanking her fully onto his lap so the cleft of her ass hugged his erection. Mercy gasped and he deepened the kiss, moved the hand at her chin around to her cheek, splaying his fingers so he covered part of her neck and face.

She wasn't sweet. The peppermint rolling around his tongue bit, like he'd eaten a candy cane then chased it with a cool glass of water. Deok-su pulled back and looked down at the woman. There couldn't be any hesitation in her gaze, no fear or reluctance.

Wide brown eyes darkened to nearly black as she regarded him. She blinked a few times, thick lashes coated with mascara leaving smudges against her cheeks. Flushed, smeared, she looked wild and untamed.

"Do you want this?" he asked, tightening the fingers at her hip.

She closed her eyes and turned her head back around, coating his face and mouth in curls that smelled like roses and almonds. "I-I'm not sure."

"I won't take you against your will."

"No one's crying foul play here."

Ever so gently she ground herself on him, and he just about lost his mind. "This does not end with kissing," Deok-su rumbled, not sure if the words were completely in English. "I will fuck you."

That made her shiver. For a second he wondered if she'd drawback, say that her night would end with kissing, and then leave him with his balls strung up and his dick laying flat against his stomach.

But she didn't. She reached for his hand at her hip, entwined their fingers, and dragged their joined hands across her abdomen. Spreading her thighs, he felt the lace of her barely-there knickers tickle the pads of his fingertips. "I think," she said, moving their hands lower until he felt the smoothed, waxed heat of her pussy, "that I'll be fucking you just as hard."

His middle finger speared her cunt on the last word. She gasped and arched into his hand, her neck falling onto his shoulder. Her palm began to sweat over the back of his hand as she pushed his fingers deeper inside her.

He'd never had a woman use his hand to masturbate. And fuck if it didn't feel great. She was all wet, clenching muscles and sharp gasps. For a few minutes he let her have his hand, let her use it any way she wanted as he watched her expressions. Watched her brows furrow in concentration, her teeth bite down on her bottom lip until it turned white and her cheeks flush scarlet.

"I'm close," she gasped, arching, shaking, sucking him deeper until his finger-fucking was audible in the room.

Deok-su was close to the end of his rope. His hand was drenched, his dick so hard, and he was sweating badly. "Come."

She let out a shaky laugh as she withdrew his middle finger, grabbed his index finger, and pushed them both together, high and fast, inside herself. "Don't have to tell me. Already there."

Arching hard, she dug the heel of her palm into the back of his hand, groaned and shook. The shaking was the worst, like a vibrator on his dick. Mercy didn't just come, she fucking exploded. Nails dug, teeth clattered, and a sound between a groan and a scream leaked from her lips.

"That," she panted, "was great. Thanks."

Deok-su could care less about her appreciation, all he wanted was her pussy clenching his dick hard. His fingers were needy, bruising against her skin as he tried to touch all of her at once. Laughing softly, she pushed away from him and climbed to shaky legs.

"Bend over." First time he fucked her he wanted it from behind, to bite her shoulder while he thrust in. The woman made him mad, completely mindless.

"No."

Blinking slowly, he watched Mercy finger comb her hair and adjust her corset so it sat more comfortably on her hips. "No?" he said slowly.

"That's what I said." Her voice was too clear, too steady. She didn't look like she'd just come on his fingers. No, she was completely composed while he felt like a fourteen year-old about to climax for the first time.

"This was great," she continued, turning to face him, "but I still have two sets to do for the night."

She didn't look half as good as she sounded. Bottom lip quivering, brows drawn low, she looked uncertain, like she'd never done this before and was unsure how to act. But in an instant her whole demeanor changed. Whatever insecurities she'd been dealing with evaporated and a coy smile lifted the corners of her lips. Leaning down, she kissed him softly on the cheek, nails scraping his forming five o'clock shadow. "I--I needed this."

She was out the door before he could beg her to stay.

CHAPTER SIX

Deok-su

"When are you coming to visit?" Ms.Weiwei "Call me Victoria" Park asked in her perfectly enunciated Queen's English. If not for her obviously Asian features, his mother would have blended right into British high society.

She liked it that way: playing chameleon. It used to bother Deok-su when he was younger, straddling two vastly different cultures, while being ignorant of the third due in large part to his mother. His father was Korean, but his mother was half-Chinese and half-Korean. However, she'd all but neglected her Chinese heritage, instead diving into her Korean side when she married his father and later assimilating to British life when they moved to London. The fact that they were now British citizens was simply the icing on top of her transformation.

"I'll be in Edinburgh in August."

"That's not London, Devon."

He cringed at the use of his English name, the one he shed after university when he'd been required to return to Korea for his military service. He'd spent majority of his life in England, around rich white boys at one private school or another who'd teased him so thoroughly about his Asian heritage that he'd cast it aside like a flea-ridden coat.

The transition back to Korea had been...difficult. Certain Korean customs and phrases eluded him, and he felt like a stranger in his birth country. Frustrated and aggravated, he'd tried his best to fit into a society that felt foreign to him while inadvertently turning away from the culture he'd more or less grown up in. Twelve years later and he didn't quite feel comfortable in either language or culture.

"Deok-su, Mother," he responded, making his way down the busy street around headphone-deafened cyclists, stop-and-go traffic, wide-eyed tourists, and cellphone ignorant pedestrians. Though, Deok-su supposed, I'm not much different.

His mother glared at him through the video screen, watching Deok-su walk. "Where are you going in such a rush?"

"Nowhere." Tribus.

She huffed before getting down to the reason for this call. Never one for random "hellos,"Victoria Park always had an agenda. "Halmeoni sent me a package."It was one of the few words she used in Korean: Grandmother.

A shiver wracked his body; someone was stepping on his grave. "What did she send you?"

"Simply a few profiles."

"Of?" he grated out, tired of the games his mother loved to play. Where his grandmother was brash and outspoken, never asking but demanding, his mother was coy and silver-tongued, wheedling and manipulating to her end goal.

"Marriage prospects," she said with a wave of her hand. "It's so old fashioned."

"You and father did it."

"No. Your father and I met previously. We knew each other beforehand."

Barely. His parents relationship was exactly the one he was trying to avoid. Where the wife was kept like a rare, priceless gem in the house. So sacred she couldn't do more than perhaps clean or cook, if that. More likely, the type of woman whom his mother would choose for him would be molded after her: a pretty glass figurine. While his grandmother would insist on a women who could birth a football team in a complex where the entire family lived; where the men left to make the money and the women stayed, raising the children and each other while cleaning, preparing the food, and doing whatever other domestic task needed to be done.

For all his mother's seemingly chic British ways, her views on women and their place were created and cemented by Chinese and Korean culture. Deok-su's weren't. Women sat across from him in boardrooms, shook hands as dignitaries and foreign emissaries. Those were the ones he found fascinating. Self-possessed and efficient ones who didn't need him but wanted him--the man--without the money or power. There was something amazing about being with a woman who was on the same level field, who could and would walk away if you didn't meet her expectations.