Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Darby
So maybe I had a little crush.
It had happened before. Some sugar daddies were better than others. They smelled good, looked good, and even felt good… I wasn’t always successful at not getting attached.
Mercer wasn’t a sugar daddy, but what he lacked in funds, he made up for with other qualities I was finding increasingly difficult to resist.
After Bingo night, we hung out a few more times.
Mostly before work, where Mercer made a habit of showing up earlier and earlier.
Once or twice, he brought snacks for the dolls to share.
It was bribery at its finest, but I applauded him for it.
Plus, it gave the others something to talk about besides my unsubtle efforts to locate Mercer during every shift, serving him drinks or bumping him with my hip every time I walked past. My favorite move so far had been catching his chin with the tip of my tail and turning his head as I strolled by.
I could have sworn I felt the heat in his skin when he noticed the extra sway I put in my step just for him.
When I wasn’t working, I was thinking about the things I’d seen that night I spent prowling around his house.
The place felt hollow, like an oyster without a pearl, and that was a problem I sought to remedy.
And after I did, if he felt compelled to reward me with the modestly sized package he kept in his pants… how could I refuse?
So maybe I was also a little horny.
I usually had more than enough dick to sate my appetite, but I’d been turning down offers of late, claiming I was tied up with club business and the burden of my managerial role.
Really, I’d been tied up with thoughts of what Mercer might look like in the fatigues I’d found stashed in his guest bedroom closet. Or better yet, halfway out of them.
As my Uber driver turned down Mercer’s street, I pushed those thoughts aside.
Work first, then play. And the small mountain of home furnishings I had loaded in the hatch of the SUV equated to quite a lot of work.
I was ready to get started, though. Like Oprah on an interior design special, I was going to shower Mercer in all of my favorite things.
My fingers drummed against my knees, and my tail flicked with impatience at the sluggish neighborhood speed limit. The moment the car rolled up the driveway and shifted into park, I was already halfway out the door.
“Mind popping the hatch?” I asked the driver. “I’m gonna grab us a helper.”
Without waiting for his answer, I bounded up the walk, light on my feet as I made my way to the front door. My hand hovered over the bell for a moment before I pressed it, counting on Mercer being home.
The door swung open, and there he was—surprised, but unmistakably happy to see me.
“I didn’t know you were coming by.” Mercer’s gaze slid past me toward the car. “And you brought… What’s all that?”
Stepping aside, I swept my hand toward the boxes and home furnishings the driver was unloading onto the driveway.
“Thought I’d surprise you,” I said, backpedaling slowly in an effort to lure him out of the house. “I had a few extra things from the Dollhouse renovation. The boys have shit for taste, so I figured I’d find a more grateful home.”
“Extra things, huh?” Mercer asked, skeptical but following my lead.
I pranced down the drive to the rear of the vehicle and waited, giving my hips a side-to-side shimmy.
When Mercer came around the back of the car, his brown eyes widened at the stacks of items packed inside. “Darby, I can’t accept this,” he protested as the driver handed him a sack of throw pillows.
“Think of it as a bonus.” I reached past him to snag a box of candles then tilted my head. “Managers are allowed to reward their employees, aren’t they?”
“Maybe.” His brows drew together. “But this is a lot.”
“I’m a lot,” I retorted.
We froze for a moment, bathed in sun and heat while a battle of indecision raged across Mercer’s face. I half expected him to command the driver to pack everything up and send it away.
I decided not to give him the chance. As soon as his hands were empty, I crowded close, hooking my fingers through his belt loops and rocking my body into his in a way that was nothing short of suggestive.
Mercer’s cheeks flamed as I tipped my chin back, hooded eyes catching his.
“Please let me spoil you, baby,” I cooed.
It was something one of my sugar daddies would have said, and the realization started me giggling. I pulled away from him, grinning wide. “Oh my god. The tables have turned.”
“What are you talking about?” Mercer still looked flustered, his skin stained pink from my advance.
“You’re the sugar baby now.” I shot him a look as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That makes me obligated to shower you with gifts. It’s like… a law or something.”
He gaped a moment more before I stooped to grab a zippered bag of bedding and thrust it into his arms. “That’s for your room.” I nodded to the picture on the outside of the package. “Is it the right green?”
Mercer glanced at the photo then at me, and something tender overtook his face. The battle was over; a white flag had been raised.
“It’s perfect,” he said.
I bounced on my toes then scooped up a pair of table lamps and breezed past him with a grin.
“Then quit standing around, sugar baby. We’ve got work to do.”
The afternoon flew by as Mercer and I moved through the house together, unrolling rugs across bare floors, tossing pillows onto couches, and hanging art on walls.
Mercer worked methodically while I flitted about, pointing out where everything belonged.
Slowly, the space filled up, crowding out the emptiness one tchotchke at a time.
I saved his bedroom for last—possibly on purpose. We’d finished making the bed, and Mercer tugged the last wrinkle from the comforter just in time for me to fling myself backward onto it.
The mattress caught me with a bounce, and I spread my arms wide, grinning at the discovery that even stretched out, I couldn’t touch both sides.
Luxury. At the Dollhouse, we crammed twin beds into crowded rooms. Though I did upgrade Ozzy to a California twin.
That man needed every inch he could get.
While I sprawled, Mercer stood over me wearing a look caught somewhere between bemused and baffled.
For the first time all day, I felt self-conscious in my Juicy tracksuit, like I was underdressed for my own show.
But this was a mission of practicality before pleasure, and if my clothes were a problem, I was nothing if not skilled at getting out of them.
“You know…” Mercer cleared his throat, still studying me like he wasn’t sure what to make of the scene. “I can pay you back.”
I gasped, scandalized. “Absolutely not. As your oh-so-generous sugar daddy slash manager, I must refuse.”
Mercer chuckled before lowering himself onto the corner of the mattress. He was favoring his leg again, and I noticed his hand drifting toward it, chasing a hidden hurt.
Rolling onto my stomach, I scooted closer to him. I surveyed the faux plant on the dresser, the brass figurines gleaming on the bedside tables, and the full-length mirror stationed in the corner, then rested my chin in my hands so I could peer up at him. “You like it, though, right?”
Mercer’s gaze softened the way it had when he’d first seen the bedding. “Yeah, I like it.”
He glanced around the room, and I wondered what he thought.
What he might have been too polite to say.
Was he glad I’d come or did he resent the intrusion?
After half a decade together, the dolls were used to me running the show both off and onstage.
I wasn’t as sure about Mercer, and he might not have been as sure about me.
“You’re good at this,” he said at last. “You make people feel comfortable.”
A laugh chased my sigh of relief. “Strange praise considering how often I make you blush.”
Color splotched up his neck again, proof of my point, and he scrubbed a hand over it. “Did you do this kind of thing before? When you were…” He trailed off, searching for the right word.
“Alive?” I lifted a brow. “Human?”
He nodded, and I shook my head.
“Nothing like this,” I replied. “My life’s been a lot of the same. I’ve always been a professional.”
His forehead furrowed. “A professional?”
“A whore, Mercy.”
The word landed between us like a stone in water. Mercer absorbed it quietly then asked, “Always?”
I nodded. “I was born into it.”
The wrinkles on his face dug in deeper. “How does that work?”
“Birth control’s never been foolproof,” I replied, my tone flat and matter-of-fact. “Accidents happen. Mama made the most of it, though. She made a place for me. Madam did too.”
Mercer went a little pale, and his eyes drifted from mine. “I’m glad they were good to you,” he murmured.
I felt the need to chase his attention, so I pushed up and got my legs under me. Creeping forward again, I found a new seat beside him on the edge of the bed.
“The patrons were good to me too,” I added, but the reassurance was hobbled by the truth that tumbled out after. “Most of them, anyway.”
Mercer’s eyes angled back toward me. “What about when you were younger? When you were a kid?”
My laugh came out too loud in the otherwise stifling quiet. “Nothing changed, Mercy. I earned my way as soon as I was able.”
He swayed back like he needed the distance to see me whole. “You mean you…” His throat bobbed. “As a child?”
I’d thought I wanted his focus, but now it felt too pointed, sharp and digging into my most tender parts.
I wasn’t often asked to explain myself. Most people didn’t want to know.
I could have sprouted from the ground like any other less-than-human thing.
Or been crafted in whatever circle of Hell belonged to deviants and hedonists.
My clients wanted me pretty, clean, and available. Whatever came before didn’t matter.
Still, Mercer’s scorn—his judgment—burned into me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snapped, stiffening my spine. “We had to eat, didn’t we?”
He flinched, abashed and suddenly tripping over himself. “Sorry, that was… that wasn’t for you. I’m just…” He trailed off, clearly thinking more than he could say until he forced out a simple, “I’m sorry.”
The fight bled out of me on a slow exhale, and the strain in my shoulders eased. “Don’t be. I was loved. Cared for. I didn’t want for anything.” I gave a tight smile. “Still don’t.”
I let the words hang for a moment, then leaned closer as my expression softened. “Besides, the job has its perks. I know my way around a body. Mine. Yours…” I placed my hand on his thigh, skating slowly toward his zipper.
I’d had plans for this day, and I wasn’t about to let them be spoiled by an untimely pity party. Decorating had been fun, but that was only half my agenda. Now that the house was stuffed full, I was due the same courtesy.
My fingertips dug in, pressing at the crease where Mercer’s leg met his groin. He didn’t move or push me away, but his silence spoke volumes. The burden of what we’d just discussed lingered like a wall between us, an obstacle to the intimacy I craved.
He was tempted. I heard it in the quickening of his breath and saw how his pupils swelled, but his restraint was stronger. His guilt for the sins of men I’d long since forgiven. Forgetting was a little bit harder.
I inched nearer, draping my tail across his shoulders and using my free hand to capture his face. The stubble that had thankfully returned scrubbed against my palm as I matched his gaze to mine.
“You said I make you comfortable, right?” I murmured. “Why don’t we go back to that?”
His mouth worked before he stammered. “I-I don’t want to… take advantage. It sounds like…” He swallowed. “I’m not sure people have always appreciated you.”
“Oh, Mercy,” I whispered, stroking his bristly cheek with my thumb. “People appreciate the hell out of me, and I’m about to show you why.”