12. Mercy
Mercy
Over the next few days, my life goes back to normal.
Sam is too busy to hang out, citing football practice for the upcoming championship game, and Kane doesn’t attend class again.
If I’m lucky, he’ll stay away for good, but I have a feeling that his absence is only temporary.
Zane also keeps his distance, disappearing into thin air after our last meeting.
It’s like I’m boy-free again.
I should be happy. No more imminent threat of death or orgasms or anything else remotely dramatic. I’m back to being regular old Mercy Morningstar, college senior without any friends.
So why does it feel like my chest is filled with lead?
When I text Sam, his replies are short and to the point. He insists that yes, we’re still on for our date Friday night, but he can’t come over before then. I don’t have a way to contact Kane or Zane, but I keep looking for one of them to appear from around every corner.
I’m disappointed every time I expect one of them to show up.
The worst part is that when I toss and turn at night, my body’s on fire from the inside.
I’m used to having trouble sleeping. It’s why I’ve invested in my lavender essential oils and a sleep mask.
They don’t always work, but I like to pretend that they do.
Even still, when sleep evades me, I usually sketch or paint or sit outside on the front porch to watch the stars sparkle in the night sky.
Lately, all I’ve wanted is for someone to touch me again.
Who it is doesn’t seem to matter. My mind flits between Sam’s guttural groan as he comes to Reaper’s massive cock in his hand, and worst of all, Zane has slipped into my fever dreams, his voice rasping in my ear as he tells me what a dirty little virgin I am.
I throw my bedsheets off and hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties, nervous to take them off.
The cool breeze flowing through the open window makes me shiver, but it does nothing to satiate the raw need burning through my system.
I glance at the window, remembering how Zane broke in before. He could do it again. I guess any one of them could if they really wanted to. Zane tore Sam’s old baseball bat out of my hands before I could even take a swing. It’s not like I could fight any of them off.
But would I even want to?
Clenching my fists, I toss my head back onto my pillow.
I don’t know what I want anymore. The lack of sleep and inability to talk to anyone is driving me insane.
What are they doing? Is Kane still mad at me for what happened in the cemetery?
Is Sam having second thoughts about our date? Does Zane regret touching me?
The thought of Zane sends another wave of heat through my body, and I can’t take it anymore.
Pulling my panties down my legs, I flatten my heels on the bed and slowly slide my hands down my stomach.
I don’t touch myself that often. Something about it doesn’t feel right, like I’m doing it wrong.
It feels good up until a point, and then it’s like…
there’s a block in my brain, or there’s too much pressure down there, or I feel like I have to pee.
None of which makes me feel like a goddess of her sexuality.
But if I pretend that my fingers are Zane’s?—
A gasp escapes past my lips as I slide my fingers over my clit.
Whoa. That’s… wow. Biting my lip, I rub up and down slowly, closing my eyes to picture Zane better.
The stubble on his chin tickles my neck, and his hot breath crackles in my ear.
Something electric zings up my spine, and I muffle my cries as my hips start to move on their own.
This is wrong. Wrongwrongwrong. Zane doesn’t want to have sex with me, so I shouldn’t?—
I’m going to make you come on my fingers, Kitten.
I whimper. Liquid heat spills from my center, and I gently glide my fingers across my entrance. I’ve been burning up every night this week, ever since all three of those men showed me something new.
Kane let me grind on him, and then he masturbated because I turned him on.
Sam not only showed me his dick, but he let me stroke it with him and showed me what he likes.
And Zane—I curve my finger and try to hit the same spot he did. My heart races as I plunge my fingers inside my pussy, desperate for the same friction, the same tingling pleasure, the same crescendo?—
I grind on my hand, but it’s not the same.
Frustrated, I try different positions. Arched back.
Curled on my side. Lying on my stomach. Ass in the air.
Hips flat to the mattress. But nothing works.
The pressure and heat build, but there’s nowhere for it to escape. I can’t release it. I don’t know how.
Tossing and turning becomes an understatement. Sweat pools beneath my back, wetting my sheets. My pussy throbs, and I grab my breasts in a desperate attempt at relief. Nothing works, and I don’t know what to do.
…but I know someone who might.
Grabbing my phone from my nightstand, I pull up Sam’s contact info.
He was nice enough to teach me about how he finds pleasure, so…
maybe he can tell me how it works… for women?
Even that sounds ridiculous in my head. I might as well call my sister, but it’s two A.M. I can’t bother her with something like this.
She’ll know what’s going on, and that’s embarrassing!
Then again, if I text Sam…
He’ll probably figure it out, too.
I’m between a rock and a hard place, and neither of them are going to get me off.
Just when I’m about to give up, my phone vibrates.
Can’t sleep?
I stare at the text message for a long time, not knowing who it’s from. My thumbs hover over my screen, but I decide not to answer. They probably have the wrong number.
Neither can I, but it’s your fault.
Someone’s being a very bad girl.
My breath catches as I read and reread the messages. I must read them half a dozen times, and I’m still stunned. Who’s texting me?
Who’s watching me?
Jumping out of bed, I cover myself with my bedsheet and cross to the window.
Moonlight covers the yard with clouds blowing past to obscure its light.
I stare out the window for a long time, looking for whoever is spying on me.
But I don’t see a flicker of light or any signs of movement. It’s like I’m alone…
But then my phone vibrates again.
I unlock my phone with shaking hands.
Tell me how wet you are, and I’ll help you.
Help me what?
Come
You want to come, don’t you?
You’ve been trying for hours.
I’ve been waiting patiently.
But I can’t wait any more.
Let me help you.
When I take too long to reply, another message arrives.
We can come together.
I shut my bedroom window and climb back into bed.
Ok. What should I do?
Touch yourself. Tell me how wet you are.
Nerves flutter in my stomach. I must be crazy to sext a stranger, but if this week has taught me anything, it’s that I’m tired of playing it safe.
Once I lie down on my back, I lift my knees and spread my thighs.
Already, I can feel my desire dripping from my slit.
It coats the groove where my pelvis meets my thighs, and I rub my fingertips over my folds, unable to stop my body from trembling.
Beautiful, Mercy, fucking beautiful
How wet are you?
Dipping my middle finger inside my pussy, I whimper. Using voice to text, I tell him that I’m dripping down my thighs. The message sends, and I close my eyes to play with myself a little more.
You fucking tease
What? Squinting at my phone, I nearly scream at the little speaker icon.
I didn’t send a voice-to-text message.
I sent a voice message.
Don’t stop now
Turn your microphone on
I want to hear you moan as you slide your fingers inside your pussy
My core clenches, turning my desire into a deep ache. I hesitate to record anything else. The first one was an accident—but any more means that I’m okay with this.
I’m okay being a bad girl.
A dirty little virgin.
I turn on the voice recording feature before I can talk myself out of it. Swirling my fingertips over my clit, I let myself moan. Pleasure rocks my body, and I catch myself panting as I curl my fingers deep inside of me. I almost forget to hit send.
Fuck, you’re gorgeous
Do you want to see me?
I’m rock hard for you, beautiful
Before I can reply, a picture pops up. A huge, veiny dick fills the screen, its tip shiny in the flash. The hand grasping its base is wrapped tightly around the shaft, the hair at the base neatly trimmed.
Dirty blonde.
A massive cock.
Enough confidence to sext me in the middle of the night—no, to watch me first. I glance around the room for cameras, but I don’t see any of those dome things or a webcam anywhere.
video message
Oh, God.
My heart skips a beat as the video plays.
The man strokes his cock with slow, steady movements, his breathing fast as his palm glides from the very base up past the tip.
I watch, fascinated, at the subtle curve to the left and the way his skin pulls up over part of the head before he strokes back down.
The video ends, and I watch it for a second time.
Don’t stop
I won’t come without you
Slip your fingers back inside your pussy and use your other hand to play with your tits
Rub your nipple with the tips of your fingers and thumb
Or you can pinch it
Whichever feels better
Let me know
I follow his guidance and slide my right hand between my legs while reaching up with my left.
At first, I don’t feel much from rubbing my nipples, but once I pinch them between my fingertips, my back arches off the bed.
I quickly turn on my microphone and record my next moan, whimpering as I think about him jerking off to the sound of my voice.
Is this something Zane would like, too, or is he simply not attracted to me at all?
My bubble of happiness deflates, and I let my nipple go and remove my fingers from my clit. I still ache, but only part of it is from my pussy.
Is Zane asexual?
It’s okay if he is. It might even make me feel better.
No. Did he tell you that?
Not in those words, but…
I wasn’t sure.
He said something about not having sex with people. I thought guys like him had sex all the time.
Unlike virgins like me, but I leave that part out.
Guys like him?
You know. Hot. Dangerous. Bad boys.
Like you.
Sex means different things to different people.
It’s not the same for him as it is for me.
Why are you curious?
I think about my response.
He says that he doesn’t want to have sex with me. I guess I’m used to that. But I got mixed signals. I’m probably overthinking it.
Forget I said anything
I’ll never forget anything you say.
Do you want to have sex with him?
I don’t know. Is that a bad thing?
No, it means you’re human.
Want to know what I think?
Sure
I think
Anyone would be lucky to have sex with you
Because it means that you trust them to take care of you
It’s the same with Zane.
Closing my eyes, I picture Zane towel-drying his hair in my bathroom. He trusted me enough to take his shirt off and come into my bedroom. Or maybe he’s just not scared of me. But he shared something about himself—something personal. Isn’t that a type of trust?
Do you trust me, Mercy?
Am I talking to Kane or am I talking to Reaper?
Three pulsing dots appear on the screen, then disappear. A minute passes before they appear again.
What if I’m both Reaper and Kane?
Then I don’t know how to answer.
Probably not.
After all, Zane or Reaper bugged my bedroom. I don’t want to guess what could come next.
No more texts come through, and I turn my phone on silent before putting it on my nightstand.
I’m still warm and wet between my thighs, but now I don’t know how to turn my brain off.
My thoughts circle the drain, spinning from the concept of trust to what it could mean for Zane, back around to Kane and his sexual advances, then all the way to Sam and our upcoming date.
If I asked, I know that Sam would have sex with me.
I trust Sam. He’ll be good to me. He’ll be gentle and sweet and treat me like a princess.
But I don’t know if I want to be someone’s princess anymore.
I might want to be someone’s dirty girl.
A fucking tease.
Or a little bit of all three.