Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Mercer
Two truths and a lie.
Did he realize he was playing our game, even now?
Darby was loved. Truth.
He was cared for. Truth.
But not wanting for anything? That was a lie.
I saw it in the flash of his eyes. A distant glimmer. A fading hope. He did want something. Deeply. Desperately. And when I found out what it was, I would do everything in my power to give it to him.
Right now, it seemed he wanted me and yes, fuck yes, I wanted him too.
But he’d shared something personal, something deeper than he let on, and it changed the way I saw him. The sex work wasn’t a surprise. I was aware and, perhaps oddly, okay with it. What stalled me was the depth of it—the way it had shaped him and how others had used it to define him.
He was so much more than that, and he deserved more than I could give, but I could try.
Maybe I could show him what I saw in him.
The joy that bubbled out when he let his guard down, the pride about his role at the club, which made so much sense now that I realized that he had clawed his way to it.
Overcoming stigmas and the efforts of the wraith who intended to use him the way so many men had before.
I saw his heart and the way it overflowed with love for the Dollhouse dancers. He adored them. Defended them. Like any mother would.
And somehow, I had fallen beneath the shelter of that same care. I’d become a recipient of the consideration he gave so freely. The warmth he offered like it cost him nothing, when I knew it must have cost him everything.
Darby pushed up from the mattress, releasing me as he stood. “I’ll be right back.”
His tail slithered across my shoulders and then down my sternum, a parting touch that made me shiver.
I watched as he skirted around the bed and disappeared into the en suite, pushing the door barely shut behind him.
Left alone, my hands gripped the comforter that was, in fact, the best shade of green, and my heart thundered.
I should’ve stopped this before it got this far, but Darby had brought us here, into this room and onto my bed. The invitation was as clear as it was impossible to refuse.
And yet—truths and lies. He’d been honest in a way that left me raw, and I hadn’t given him the same.
Clothes would come off soon, and there would be no hiding the scars. The damage. The handicap I’d spent too long denying.
The right time to confess had come and gone. Now I was staring down the edge of it, trying to summon the courage to explain myself before he touched me again.
Slowly, I stood and followed the path Darby had made to the bathroom, flexing my fingers and measuring my breaths.
At the door, I knocked. The nudge eased it open another inch, enough to frame Darby in the gap.
He stood naked, braced against the counter with his eyes heavy-lidded and his bottom lip caught between his teeth. His tail hugged around his waist, and his hand moved behind him.
He paused when he noticed me, and our gazes locked through the narrow opening.
I’d imagined him like this, but seeing it stole the air from my lungs.
Every inch of him was on display, even the parts usually hidden behind satin and lace.
Especially those parts. His cock was half hard, but it was small and delicate like the rest of him, no more than a few inches long.
It nestled in the field of smooth brown skin that warmed beneath the vanity light.
He turned toward me, his hand still moving slowly behind—no, inside—himself. A pump bottle of lubricant and a wrapped condom sat on the counter, and while I wasn’t experienced with the mechanics of gay sex, I wasn’t ignorant either.
“I didn’t take you for the type who likes to watch,” Darby mused.
“Oh, I…” Mortification clawed up my throat, but I managed to hold my ground instead of bolting.
“You want a show, honey?” He dashed a glance toward the edge of the shower tub. “Have a seat.”
I crossed the room and sat where he told me to. The porcelain chilled me through the fabric of my pants as I shifted uncomfortably. I tried sitting on my hands, then clasping them in my lap while feeling far too seen for someone who was supposed to be watching.
Darby’s smile flickered in the mirror before he pivoted, giving me a view that was more suggestion than spectacle. His hand moved rhythmically, hips rolling back into each careful push. When I caught a glint of lube tracing down the inside of his thigh, my mouth went dry.
He shuddered—a jerky, full-body stretch—and his tail cinched around his waist. His white lashes fluttered, and his breath broke on a sound that turned my blood molten. Now I was the one chewing my lip.
“Can I?” The question slipped out as I leaned forward, barely able to stay seated. “I want to feel you.”
Darby huffed a laugh. “You’re about to feel me all over, baby.”
“But this is…” I bit down, unprepared for how needy I sounded as I asked, “Will you let me?”
His brows drew together, and his orange eyes flickered as he stared at me, checking to see if I meant it or maybe wondering why I’d asked. When I didn’t shy away, he slowly withdrew his fingers. Then he turned a little more, facing the counter and bracing both palms against it.
Rising, I stepped in behind him, close enough to see the sheen of sweat on his temples. I glanced at the lube then caught his gaze in the mirror.
“How much should I…”
His lips curved. “Measure with your heart.”
Grabbing the bottle, I poured a palmful and worked it through my fingers until they were slick and glossy. Darby stayed perfectly poised while I closed in behind him. My head hung over his shoulder and my arms bracketed him in. And faced with our combined reflection, I stared.
All the time he spent in heels had sculpted and refined his shape, giving him a figure that blurred the lines between strength and grace.
His stomach was soft and smooth, denting where I pressed my fingers into it and dragged them out to hook around his waist beneath the leathery line of his tail.
He shifted, and the pearls dangling from his nipple rings swayed, drawing my notice to the illusion of tiny, perky tits.
Still holding his middle, I moved my other hand lower, leaving a shiny smear across his ass as I moved toward the part between his cheeks. I drew a steadying breath, and Darby did too as I slipped one lube-coated finger into his crease, probing and quickly finding the tight muscle of his hole.
His head dropped toward the counter, then he rocked his hips in subtle encouragement, easing me into his heat.
The initial resistance yielded as I slid inside. Since he was already a bit stretched, my second finger followed easily.
Darby’s breath quickened as he pressed into me. His shoulder blades rubbed against my chest, and his head lolled back as I pushed deeper.
A hush filled the tiny room while I worked my hand inside him. It didn’t take long to realize I was not a leader in this but a follower, a student schooled by the arch of his spine, the blanching of his knuckles as he gripped the counter, and the low hum vibrating from deep in his chest.
I adjusted my hand, scissoring my fingers and feeling him give beneath my touch. He was fully erect now, his cock small enough to easily fit in my palm… or mouth.
The thought brought with it a rush of arousal.
I’d gone from fingering a man’s asshole to fantasizing about sucking him off in a matter of minutes. Apparently, there wasn’t much I didn’t want to do as long as Darby was involved.
I did want to appreciate him, though. Indulge him. Hell, I would get on my knees and worship him given the chance.
My mind carried me away from the moment, or perhaps further into it as I began to thrust, rolling my hips against his ass as I fucked him with my hand.
In the mirror, Darby’s lips parted and his elbows locked as he chased the pressure I provided. I couldn’t decide whether to focus on the reflection or the man before me. It all bled together: sights, sounds, and sensations.
“Mercy,” Darby murmured. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna come in the fucking sink.”
Releasing the counter, he reached back to grab my wrist and ease me out.
His ensuing sigh started my mouth watering, and I bent in to kiss the dip of his shoulder.
He cupped my face, holding me there, then he sighed again as I nosed into his hair near the curl of his horn, wondering if he would feel it if I kissed there too.
Then he craned his neck toward me and caught my mouth, crushing our lips together until the need for air forced us apart.
“I need you to fuck me now,” he whispered, mindful of my face and ears so close. Then he chuckled. “But not in the bathroom.”
I stepped back, letting him turn from the counter to face me at last. I thought he’d head for the bedroom, but he stayed put, looking me over with dilated eyes.
“Arms up, soldier,” he said, already grabbing for the hem of my tee shirt.
Without a thought, I obeyed, and the shirt was gone a moment later. Then came my pants. Buckle, button, and zipper were each undone in quick succession. The movements were smooth, practiced, and so deft that I didn’t think to protest until the denim was halfway down my thighs.
“Darby—”
“I said I want your dick, Mercy,” he said, still tugging. “I want your stiff cock thrusting into my tight, hot cunt until I…”
He crouched, holding the waistband of my jeans while at eye level with the joint of my knee, staring openly at the broken pieces of me.
I wanted to shy away or cover myself because even with my underwear on, I felt far too bare. Silence dragged for what must have only been a second, but my pulse seemed to pound a dozen times in that pause. Hammering as if driving nails into a coffin.
Darby rocked back on his haunches, and his head tipped up so he could find my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed before my voice broke completely.
He looked back down, studying my leg. Then he touched it. Soft hands skimmed over my skin, tracing the line where the stump met the socket. His touch was unhurried, tender, and so different than the rough, often frustrated rubbing of my own hands.
“Mercy?”
A chill crept up my back as he looked at me again.
“Why didn’t you tell me you come with accessories?”
A strangled laugh snuck out of me. “Just the one,” I replied.
He considered the prosthetic, plastic and metal gleaming in the vanity light. “Is it recent?” he asked.
“About a year ago.”
He nodded then motioned for me to lift my feet. I did, and he eased my pants the rest of the way off before settling on his knees. His hand traced along my thigh, caressing me while the quiet stretched between us.
“I haven’t been with anyone since,” I said.
The confession felt less like a sharing of information and more like self-sabotage, giving Darby the chance to realize he didn’t want to do this.
Rather than retreating, he posed the question I’d been asking myself.
“Why’d you choose me?”
I exhaled then lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t think it was really a choice. You were just…”
Didn’t he know?
Didn’t he see the way people watched him—hungry, reverent, spellbound?
“You’re…” I tried again and failed.
Darby rose. His palms trailed up my ribs and across the ridges of my abdomen on their way to my face. When he reached my jaw, he curved his fingers around it and pulled me down to bring our mouths together.
The kiss deepened, stealing my breath and any remaining distance. We were already tangled when he slid his knee between mine, his thigh riding up and dragging against my rallying erection.
“You’ll tell me about it?” he murmured against my mouth.
He meant my leg. The injury. The accident.
I nodded, my voice a rasp. “If you want.”
“I do.” Drawing back, he swiped his thumb over the damp corner of my lips. “When you’re ready.”
I nodded again, but the only thought behind it was yes. Yes to him, yes to this, yes to finally letting someone in.
My hands moved, snatching him up so fast it was startling, judging by the squeak he let out as I crushed him against me. He was light enough to lift, so I did, sweeping my arm under his bare ass and urging his legs to lock around my waist.
I stumbled a step toward the doorway before he reached back toward the counter.
“Lube,” he said. “And the rubber.”
With a half turn and clumsy grab, I snagged both then carried him out like a prize I couldn’t believe I’d won.