Chapter 50
Chapter fifty
Sawyer
“You’re warm enough?” Mercer nuzzles into the crook of my neck.
I giggle when his stubble grates against my skin, then shiver when he doubles down and rubs his face back and forth.
“Stop!” I screech, feet kicking. He’s giving me goose bumps, which does nothing to ward off the chill in my bones.
He settles, drawing the thick plaid blanket around me tighter. “Answer me, Ms. Davvies.”
I smack his arm. “I would if you’d stop tickling me, Professor Eden.”
Grinning, he plants a kiss on my forehead. “We can go inside if you’re too cold.”
Noah has to be up earlier than we do, so he went in about an hour ago. He insisted we take our time, and Mercer was keen to stay out here a little longer, so I let him go.
Right here, in this man’s arms, is exactly where I need to be.
“Sweetheart,” Mercer starts, the hesitation in his tone putting me on high alert. “I took three pictures with Noah’s phone. Should I delete them tomorrow?”
Comfort and ease shroud me. I’m so deeply grateful for Mercer’s personal brand of aftercare.
I shake my head and peek up to meet his eye. “No. I want Noah to have those. But I definitely want them on my phone, too.”
With a salacious smile, he hums. “I wouldn’t mind having them either. Just wait until you see how good you looked speared on his cock.”
I clench my thighs, wincing slightly when a little ache rolls through me. For as good as I may have looked, I will definitely be feeling the effects of this weekend for a few days.
“Thank you for asking,” I add, craning back and planting a soft kiss on his neck.
“Always,” he assures me. “And know that if you ever change your mind, I’ll make sure the photos are permanently deleted, no questions asked.”
I believe him. And I appreciate him so damn much.
If only the other man in my life had the same regard for my autonomy and safety…
I emit a little sigh, then shiver as I try to push out thoughts of Tytus from my mind.
“You’re sure you’re not too cold?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I love this weather.”
A hum rumbles out of him. “I love it, too. The colder the better.”
“I would have never guessed, what with your warm, sunshiny personality,” I quip.
He snorts. “Fair shot. Fall has been my favorite for as long as I can remember. This is when the orchard comes alive. When Noah and I were growing up, the hubbub here always served as an easy excuse for me to stay all weekend.”
I snuggle into his chest, picking at the fringed edges of the blanket we’re buried under. For as deliciously chilly as the evening has been, it’s starting to feel downright cold.
Noah insisted on extinguishing the fire before he went inside. Only a few embers remain, which Mercer swore he’d take care of, even promising to take a picture of the doused firepit before we head in for the night.
Head tilted, studying him, I ask the question that’s been on my mind all day. “Have you two always been this close?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Considering. Eventually he shakes his head.
“What’s happened here this weekend—the intimacy, and all we’ve shared with you—that’s not something we’ve ever explored before.”
“It’s really fucking hot,” I quip.
He gives me a reserved smile, the look quelling my enthusiasm.
“I don’t think it’ll go much further, just so you can manage your expectations.
Noah is open and clearly interested in trying new things with us.
But if something on a deeper sexual level was going to happen between the two of us, I reason it would have by now. ”
“And what about before me?” I ask. “Were you best friends in high school?”
He shakes his head. “We were joined at the hip in elementary and middle school. We drifted apart a bit in high school. Or more like I drifted. Noah always had a knack for being there when I needed him.
“We weren’t as close in college either. He played football, and he spent most of his free time with Meg. We became more intentional about our friendship after they got married and he had taken over daily operations from his parents.”
My chest aches with affection and gratefulness but also a little envy. “I feel a little like an outsider when you talk about your history together.”
“No,” he says, his tone firm. “You’re part of us now.”
His words are an extra layer of warmth to combat the chilly night air.
Emboldened by his declaration, I peer up at him.
I hold my breath, weighing my options. I wasn’t going to ask…
not now, when I’ve shattered his trust and we’re just starting to find our footing again.
But when I saw his thighs up close and personal tonight, new questions flooded my mind.
It’s hard not to want to learn everything I can about Mercer Eden.
“Noah told me about his tattoos today.”
Surprise and delight dance across his expression as he fiddles with a strand of my hair. “Did he tell you he cried?”
“He did.” I bark out a laugh. “And he told me you had to hold his hand because Meg couldn’t stop laughing.”
His grip on my legs tightens. “He talked to you about her?”
Pride rushes through me. Not in a self-important way. But in a genuine, grateful sense. “He did. Not a ton. But enough for now, I think.”
That’s the trickiest part of becoming a safe space for another person. It’s imperative to tread lightly and handle their heart with even more care.
“You’re changing him for the better.” He brushes my hair to the side and places a kiss on the pulse point below my ear. Without moving his lips away, he adds, “You’re changing me, too, Little Nuisance.”
A shiver of lust dances up my spine.
These men are changing me as well. In the most beautiful and unexpected ways.
I could easily spin in Mercer’s lap, straddle him, and lose myself to the carnal pleasure I’m guaranteed to experience every time we’re together.
But we’ve already gotten lost in each other tonight. Our physical connection has never been stronger. It’s the emotional depth of our dynamic that needs work.
Bravely, I whisper, “Will you tell me about yours?”
He drops his head to my shoulder and groans.
“You don’t have to,” I blurt out.
Sitting straighter, he adjusts his hold. Then he homes in on me, his expression stony. “Yes, I do.”
“Wait.” I place one hand on his chest.
He captures it and blows on my fingertips to warm them before kissing the center of my palm.
“Before you begin,” I say, “tell me what I can do to support you. I can move to my own chair and give you space, if that helps.”
He shakes his head, then rolls out his neck and shoulders. “Just let me get through it,” he says, his voice gruff. “And please don’t think less of me in the end.”
My lungs constrict painfully. How could he think I would? “Never,” I vow.
He cocks one brow in challenge, like he doesn’t believe me.
Holding his gaze, I lift my chin, committed to being fully present for his story.
His voice is low, dark when he finally speaks. “Do you know who Colton Saint is?”
Frowning, I search my memory, but come up empty, so I shake my head.
“He’s the lead singer of Lullaby Alibi.”
Oh. I’ve heard of them.
“We were neighbors growing up,” he continues. “Our families were close. Our dads spent most weekends together, drinking beer and watching games in the garage.”
I don’t think he realizes it, but his body has gone tense.
“Neither of us was into sports. We were into music. He was into skateboarding and guitar. I was into anything he deemed cool. Before the world idolized him, I thought Colton hung the moon and all the stars.”
“You loved him,” I surmise.
He nods. “I did. And I’d venture to say that he thought he loved me, too, despite all the toxicity and damage he caused.”
My hackles raise. I hate where this is going. I’m never listening to Lullaby Alibi again. “What happened?” I hedge.
“Life happened.” He sighs, then let’s a few moments pass before continuing.
“Colton was my first kiss. But he didn’t want anyone to know.
We were young. I thought he was still coming to terms with his sexuality.
I was patient. I was willing to wait. I wanted so badly to be with him.
” His hold on me tightens. “I twisted myself into any shape he wanted, became every version of myself I thought he’d like.
But in doing so, I suffered irreversible self-harm.
By my sophomore year of high school, he ignored me in public and even joined in when other kids made fun of the way I looked or dressed. ”
I gasp. “That’s awful.”
Mercer shrugs. “I was scrawny, kids are cruel, and I wore the same Blink-182 sweatshirt every day for three years. Besides, that’s not the awful part of the story.”
Unease stirs in my stomach as he ducks his head and breathes me in, like he’s siphoning strength from me.
“I—” He sighs and roughs a hand over his face.
“I let him use me. I wanted him to use me—to need me. I gave in and ran to him, over and over again. He’d make fun of me in physics class, and he’d torment me on the bus ride home.
But then he’d send a text. Or an instant message.
He’d convince me to meet up in his garage after school, before his band came over to practice, while our parents were still at work.
I let him use my mouth. My hand. My ass.
” With a trembling hand, he plays with the ends of my hair.
“I let him use me for years, hoping that one day he’d see me as more than a vessel. ”
“How long did it go on?” My words are reedy, but I do my best to keep the pain out of them.
“Too long.”
For a moment, he’s silent, like maybe that’s as much as he’s comfortable sharing tonight, but I wait him out.
“I started cutting the summer after sophomore year. At first, I cut my wrists. But the wounds were too obvious, and I was afraid someone would see and think I was trying to kill myself.”
Lips pressed together, I hold back the question I’m desperate to ask.