Chapter 9 Sawyer
Chapter nine
Sawyer
Mercer stalks forward, stepping into my personal space as I hover near the door, ready to bolt.
I keep my gaze cast down and smooth out my skirt, then fiddle with the buttons on my cardigan to keep myself from reaching for him.
I’m the one who’s asking for space. It’d be unfair to ask him to hold me now.
Nevertheless, I’d give anything to sink into his embrace right now.
Mercer only inches closer, crowding me until my back hits the door.
With one hand on my cheek, he warns, “You have one week.”
I open my mouth to counter his argument. A week might be okay, but it might not. I don’t know how long it will take Tytus to cool down and see reason.
But before I can form the words, he brings his finger to my lips, silencing me.
“One week, Ms. Davvies. That’s all I can tolerate. I’m too obsessed to stay away longer.”
I can’t fight the smile behind his finger, thankful for the first moment of levity in hours.
Though when he speaks again, the lightness is quickly overshadowed. “I’m not kidding about the timeline, sweetheart. Seven days is already far too long for me to keep my distance.”
He rests his forehead against mine, then nudges my nose with his.
“I don’t want Noah to know what’s going on,” he murmurs, his tone gentle but firm.
Noah.
My heart twists and shame seeps in. How is it possible that this is the first time I’ve thought of him in hours?
“I assume Tremblay is unaware of what’s transpired between the three of us?”
“Completely,” I assure him.
“Good.” He pecks me on the lips. “Let’s keep it that way. I don’t want to give that man-child any more ammo.”
I scowl up at the use of man-child, though I don’t bother arguing.
“Noah’s heart is still so tender. I can’t fathom explaining to him why you’ve pulled back and why the fuck I’m honoring your request and just going along with it.”
He’s right.
This is so wrong.
I can’t even begin to wrap my head around the potential fallout of my actions.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the space between us.
I don’t have time to play the victim, either. Yes, this is happening to me, but I’m also allowing it. I’m complicit. I’m requesting that Mercer also bow to Ty’s demands.
“One week,” he murmurs. “And know this: I may be extending grace for now, but that in no way constitutes my approval of the actions of this boy.”
Heart aching, I nod. “I’ll get through to him. I just need a little time. What we share… it’s complicated. Ty must have been shocked when he stumbled upon us. He’s clearly struggling right now.”
Mercer’s gaze narrows.
“I know that’s not an excuse,” I insist, tilting my chin up. “But I think he’s hurt more than anything.”
He shakes his head, cupping my face in his hands like I’m the most precious gift in the world.
His touch is everything.
Soft but sure. Impassioned but loving.
It’s the antithesis of how Ty gripped me earlier.
Emotion catches in my throat as the comparison catches me by surprise. Am I really choosing to go along with my friend’s delusions when this man is standing right in front of me, making his support so abundantly clear?
The very last thing I want is to pull back. I’ve never felt as seen or as cherished as I do when I’m in this man’s arms. Yet I’m the one telling him we need space.
There’s a pregnant pause in which Mercer watches me expectantly.
I can sense exactly what he wants me to do.
It’s what my heart wants, too. But it would be irresponsible to throw caution to the wind, risk both our jobs, and gamble with Ty’s temper.
So instead of leaning into his touch, I back up slightly and offer him another half-smile.
With a deep exhale, he straightens, kisses my forehead, and looks me directly in the eye.
“If you believe it’s okay for hurt people to hurt people, you’ve got another think coming, Little Nuisance.
I’m far too old and have spent too much time in therapy to let that line of reason justify this situation. ”
I grin, relishing his use of my nickname. It’s the first time I’ve heard it all day.
“I’m impressed that you got the phrase right,” I tell him playfully.
The number of people who say ‘another thing coming’ always irked my dad.
“I’m not making excuses,” I add, draping my arms over his shoulders.
“I just know Ty well enough to know that poking the bear will only make it worse. He needs time to cool down.”
Mercer closes his eyes and deflates, resigned.
I scrape my nails against the short hairs at his nape, savoring this quiet moment together, knowing it’ll be our last for a while.
“Be warned, Little Nuisance, that I have no intention of playing fair.”
Alarm bells blare in my head, making my breath catch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He opens his eyes and homes in on my mouth. “It means that I’ll take every opportunity to get a moment alone with you. You can also expect additional meetings to appear on your calendar by this afternoon. Attendance will be mandatory.”
A little thrill of excitement flares to life inside me. “I look forward to the increased workload, Professor.”
I pop up on my toes and bring my face closer to his. But before I can kiss him, a calendar reminder chimes on his desktop behind us, snagging my attention.
I glance over at the clock and drop back down. Shit. I’ve got to go, too.
“I’m going to kiss you properly now. Don’t you dare try to fucking stop me.”
Without giving me a second to comprehend his words, he smashes his lips against mine, urgent and insistent, and cradles the back of my head.
Heart racing, I open for him, eagerly welcoming his tongue.
He drags his nails along my scalp, sending ripples of want through me.
Our kisses turn desperate—wanton and needy.
He kisses me with an intensity that makes it difficult to breathe. He takes and takes and takes, the stress of the last few hours fueling him.
Neither one of us is okay right now.
I’m powerless to do anything but receive.
This is all I want.
Giving up control to him. His domination. The assurance he gives me with every stroke of his tongue. The reminder that I am wanted and welcome and safe.
I trust him enough to give myself to him completely, with total disregard for my boundaries.
Because he’s so attuned to my needs and so responsive to my limits, I don’t have to worry that he’ll cross a line. Mercer would never take more than I can give.
An ache blooms in my chest at the thought.
He wouldn’t push.
But someone else will.
Passion has transformed into desperation when another calendar alert reminds us that our time is up.
Panting, he pulls away first. “One fucking week,” he says, his eyes wild, his lips swollen.
He turns abruptly and collects his things. As he storms out the door, my heart cracks around the edges.
I lift my fingertips to my lips, committing his kiss to memory.
Tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them away, desperately trying to convince myself that this is okay—we’ll be okay—and that we didn’t just say goodbye.