Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Mercer
We got looks at the store. Stares blatant enough that I became aware of how rarely anyone noticed me otherwise. Darby didn’t shy from the attention. His sunny disposition held steady and was further bolstered when I found the nerve to take his hand again.
We grabbed marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars—the classic s’mores starter kit—and loaded them into the Victory’s saddlebags before finishing the ride to my house.
Once there, Darby whisked the toaster oven straight into the kitchen and set about unboxing it, leaving plastic bags and foam packing scattered across the floor.
I thought about telling him what happened after he’d fled Bingo. It hadn’t been as bad as he likely feared. People were surprised, sure, but the ones who mattered—Earl, Jack, and Ava—had shown nothing but kindness.
“Poor thing,” Ava had cooed.
“Better go after him,” Jack added.
“And don’t forget his prize!” Earl tagged on while shaking his head. “Damn beginner’s luck.”
But I let it lie for now, busying myself unwrapping the crackers and chocolate while stealing glimpses of Darby fiddling with the controls on the toaster oven, having forgone the user manual in favor of a game of trial and error.
The disparity between this and his stage persona was vast. All the dolls used different names for work versus play, but I had never considered them as separate identities.
Some weren’t as divided. Elliot and Colt both seemed to be “you get what you get” situations, with personalities relatively unchanged whether on or offstage.
But the others seemed to try a little harder to hide.
Once Darby had mastered the toaster’s controls, he wrapped the rack in foil, not wanting to “ruin the newness” of Oz’s gift.
Then we loaded up the s’mores and let them cook.
I leaned against the counter while Darby stooped in front of the oven, watching the process through the glass door.
His tail swished, and I realized how much of an effort it must have taken to keep it still as long as he had at Bingo. It was even more animated than he was.
The oven worked just fine, and Darby beamed at the sight of golden marshmallows and chocolate bars melted into puddles. We carried our spoils, along with a couple of beers I dug out of the fridge, to the living room sofa.
“Molly loves s’mores,” I said once we’d settled in with our plates balanced on our knees.
Darby took a bite, trailing marshmallow goo from the cracker to his mouth. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” I smiled as he licked his lips clean. “She’d beg for them whenever I was home between deployments. Didn’t matter if it was July in the desert heat or pouring rain—we’d light up the firepit in the yard and toast marshmallows until she fell asleep in my lap.”
I leaned back, beer bottle loose in my hand. “She burned every one she cooked. Scorched black. I convinced her I liked them that way so she didn’t feel bad.”
The memory tugged at something tight in my chest. “She was six the last time we did that. I remember thinking if I could capture that moment—her sticky fingers, her giggles, the smell of woodsmoke in her hair—I would’ve. Just bottled it up and took it with me overseas.”
I gave a soft laugh and shook my head. “Closest I came was putting marshmallows in my pack once. By the time I landed in Kabul, they were a brick.”
Darby’s tail flicked across my shin. He looked pensive, paused while his s’more went cold on the plate. “You miss her,” he said.
I nodded. “All the time.”
“I miss my mom,” he said. “She was my best friend. Braver than anyone I’ve ever known. Life was hard for her, but she never let it show to me. She made it feel like we had our own little world, just the two of us.”
His gaze grew distant as though watching a movie in his head. “She could sew too. Made me the prettiest outfits with lace and ruffles, ribbons, bows. You’d think it’d be wasted on a boy, but she never cared. She said pretty was for anyone who wanted it.”
He tilted the bottle in his hand and watched as the amber glass caught the light.
“She loved me; that’s what I remember most. No matter what anyone else thought or said, I always had that.”
“Is she…” I hesitated, hoping he understood what I wasn’t bold enough to say.
He gave a somber nod. “Long time ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
“I died too, Mercy. Also a long time ago.” His lips quirked like the joke was bitter on his tongue. “It’s okay.”
The silence hung, heavy but not unwelcome. I’d learned to sit with heavy things. Loss and grief were close companions during the time after my discharge. I visited them less frequently as time wore on, but I still knew them well.
Lifting my s’more, I took a bite. Sweetness hit first, followed by the smoke of the chocolate. Comfort food in its purest form. My jaw worked while I tried to think of anything worth saying, something that wouldn’t sound trite.
When I glanced over, Darby was watching me. His gaze dipped to my cheek, pinpointing something I couldn’t see. Before I could ask what it was, his thumb swept the side of my face, then he held it up, sticky with melted marshmallow.
“Missed a spot.”
He offered it out like he expected me to suck it clean. My mouth watered instinctively, but we’d barely kissed, and it felt like a leap to go from that to licking his fingers while imagining they were other things.
A truth I’d been holding onto rose to the surface of my mind, demanding daylight. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“I haven’t ever been with another man,” I said, voice low and sheepish.
Darby’s eyes searched mine, his expression unreadable. Then he drew his finger back and stuck it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around before popping it free.
“Do I look like a man to you?” he asked. His tone was feather-light, but his gaze cut deep.
“No,” I replied. “Not entirely.”
His tail twitched against the cushions. “So only partly. Which parts?”
It was hard to pin down an answer. Sometimes it was the clothes, sometimes the pose, sometimes the lighting. Darby was not fully man or woman, but he was always exactly what he wanted to be—a beautiful body with a clever brain.
Apparently, I hesitated too long because he filled the silence for me.
“How about this. You like me, don’t you, Mercy?”
“Yes,” I said.
His smile spread. “You think I’m pretty?”
“Yes,” I admitted again, a little hoarse.
“Which parts?”
My tongue darted across my lips as my eyes roamed over him.
Where the hell was I supposed to start?
Before I could choke on it, he caught my hand and guided it in. “Show me. Like this.” He pressed my palm to his chest, right between the faint bumps of his pierced nipples, visible through the thin denim of his dress.
I let my hand rest there, marveling at the thud of his pulse beneath my palm.
How could he be so calm when my heart was hammering?
I swallowed, trying to keep steady as I moved toward his face. White strands of hair slipped between my fingers, soft as I curled them around his ear. Then my thumb trailed down, brushing across his cheek and catching on his bottom lip.
His eyes burned into me as I traced down the side of his throat with my knuckles, feeling the flutter of his swallow. Then I traveled lower, skimming across his chest.
His dress rose and fell with every breath as I took in the shape of him. My hand slid over the plane of his stomach to the curve of his hip. It fit into my palm too well, and the feeling made my cock jump against the seam of my jeans.
Darby caught me looking, caught me wanting, and his mouth curved into a wicked smile.
He plucked the forgotten s’mores plate off my lap, grabbed his own, then lurched forward to deposit them both on the coffee table.
When he spun back empty-handed, I hardly had time to register the intent in his eyes before he climbed into my lap.
The hem of his dress rode up indecently high as he straddled me with his smooth brown thighs bracketing my hips. His weight settled, and his heat sank straight through to my steadily growing erection.
Without a word, he caught my wrists and guided them around him then pressed both my palms to his ass. The bunched fabric filled my fists while my fingers stretched to the bare skin beneath.
Darby shifted and then rocked against me. His voice was a husky purr against the thunder in my ears.
“I’ve already had my legs around you, Mercy, but it feels different facing you.” His orange eyes gleamed as he rocked again. “Feels a little… more.”
A groan slipped between my bitten lips.
I’d seen him give lap dances like this—watched other men with an envy I never dared confess. But now it was my turn. His gaze locked onto me, his body caged mine, and his smile turned sharp as he bore down harder, pulling another helpless sound from my throat.
This one took the shape of his name.
Immediately, his sense of mischief melted into something far more sincere.
“Yeah, baby,” he coaxed. “Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”
My chest heaved, but my tongue was stuck. Words were impossible with his thighs gripping me and his hands braced on my shoulders.
How could someone so small be so all-consuming?
I gave up trying to speak and instead hauled him close to crush my mouth to his.
He hummed happily, and I opened to invite him in. His tongue slid against mine, pulling me deeper until I was dizzy.
All the while he moved on me, hips rocking and sparking delicious friction along the length of my cock. I groaned into his mouth, fingers clutching at his ass, urging him nearer despite the fact that he was already pressed tight against me.
He broke the kiss long enough to nip at my bottom lip then dove back in, swallowing the sharp sound that tore out of me as he rocked harder. My head fell against the back of the couch, and he chased me there, tongue laving over mine, stealing my breath.