Page 136 of Heart Over Heels

His hands slid down so he could brace on his elbows instead of his unreliable knee, and his palms cupped my ass, fingers digging in and guiding me up into him. I didn’t mean to thrust, didn’t mean to rush, but I felt myself moving anyway. Rising and falling in his grip, trying to treat him as gently as he did me.

Then he hollowed his cheeks and sucked, and it was a goddamn revelation.

I had no lines prepared for this—no dirty quips or polished, purring filth that could make any man blush. Every sound that came out of me was unfiltered. Little whines and bitten-off cries that Mercer answered with terrifying precision, plucking the perfect notes until I felt like I was singing for him.

My fingers tangled in his hair while my other hand roamed across my chest, pinching, rolling, and tugging at my nipples. Chasing this impossibly heady feeling, indulging myself in the freedom to take, and take, and take until I was full to bursting.

When Mercer finally pulled off me, we were both breathless. He looked up from between my thighs with his mouth spit-shiny and his eyes dark.

“I want to taste more of you,” he rasped as he pushed himself upright.

My abandoned cock throbbed needfully, and I fumbled a hand around it to squeeze. “What do you…” I started, but he cut me off.

“Will you sit on my face?”

I blanched.

Mercer didn’t repeat himself. He just rolled to the side, crawled up toward the headboard, and stretched out on his back like his body was an offering.

His cock stood upright beneath his briefs, and the sight made a pitiful sound tear out of me. I wanted to ride him so badly I was already clenching, imagining the feeling of his thick shaft inside me. But my brain had snagged on his question, and now it was struggling to catch up.

“Mercy,” I said, trying for pragmatic but hearing how shy I sounded. “Have you ever eaten ass?”

He made a dubious face. “I’m pretty sure you told me it was a pussy.”

“Semantics.” I huffed. “Pussy sounds prettier.”

He lifted his head to look at me properly. “Has anyone ever eaten your pussy?”

My tongue darted across my lips, and my tail gave an involuntary twitch behind me. I shook my head.

“Will you let me?” Mercer asked.

I swallowed hard, trying to wrap my head around the idea and wondering why a tongue felt more intimate than a dick ever had.

But then it became clear.

When I was getting fucked, I was providing a service. Selling my body and being compensated accordingly. My value could be quantified in orgasms and hundred-dollar bills, but my own pleasure had no monetary value. No one paid for that.

I wasn’t sure when I decided to move, only that I felt myself peeling off my precum-soaked panties and tossing them over the edge of the bed. Then I crawled up the bed toward him.

Beside his chest, I sat back on my haunches, suddenly frozen. My hands hovered uselessly until I grabbed my tail and wrung it between my palms.

Mercer smiled and patted the mattress beside his head. “A throne fit for a queen,” he teased. “You can even kick your feet up.”

A laugh burst out of me—thin and nervous, absolutely wrecked by how badly I wanted this.

“I think not.” I tugged my tail closer to my chest. “Too comfy for me won’t be comfy at all for you. Where did you even get this idea?”

Mercer reached up, offering me his open hand.

“Please,” he murmured. “Let me love on you, baby.”

I exhaled slowly, let go of my tail, and nodded. Then I swung a leg over him, trembling all the way. He grasped my hips, easing me down then adjusting his grip to spread my ass cheeks wide.

And then—hovering above his chest, buzzing with fear and want—I whispered, “Okay. But go slow. I’ve never…” I swallowed. “Just go slow, Mercy.”

He did.