Page 137 of Heart Over Heels

Agonizingly so.

The first stripe of spit slicked my crease and left my entrance twitching. I grabbed fistfuls of the blanket on either side of him as he pressed in again, tongue and lips teasing my puckered skin. It didn’t feel anything like a cock—no blunt push, no demanding stretch—just soft, nimble warmth coaxing me open.

Holding myself upright became difficult, then impossible, as he rimmed me. He sucked, slurped, and groaned into me in a way that started my cock leaking anew, smearing mess across his chest.

It spurred a brand-new symphony: whimpers chased by guttural sounds I barely recognized as my own. I was grateful for the bedsheets, because if I’d had a grip on Mercer’s hair, I might’ve torn it out.

My thoughts became sparks. Bursts of light and so much feeling that I couldn’t summon a single word.

Well, no… There was exactly one.

“Mercy.”

I breathed it over and over—half praise, half prayer for relief from the swell of pleasure stretching me thin from the inside out.

I leaned back, head lolling, eyes rolling, and tail spiraling around Mercer’s arm holding me steady while he devoured me.

I was lost to it. The movements. The sounds. The sense of adoration that was so…profound. The way he said I was. I was lost in all of it but still unnervingly present in my own body. Most of the time, it was easier to go away. To block out. To let go. But this I wanted to hang onto.

I clung to it with my tightest fists, knuckles blanching as I gripped the blanket. But even that grip that couldn’t keep me anchored when a jolt of euphoria shot through my body.

A cry tore from my throat, too loud in the quiet house, too big to contain.

My toes curled, muscles jumped, and my cock spurted across Mercer’s stomach, leaving a ribbon of creamy white fluid that pooled in the dip of his navel. He groaned, deep and rough, and I collapsed over him with my thighs still locked around his ribs.

My chest heaved against his as I alternated shuddering breaths and shivers of aftershock while the room blurred.

“Fuck,” Mercer said, followed by another groan.

Slowly, I worked my way off him, but the lows of exhaustion and highs of release made for a potent cocktail. My limbs were slow to respond, everything sluggish but still staticky, sending goosebumps up my neck and down my arms.

After an awkward effort, I collapsed onto the bed and stared up at the circle of light the bedside lamp cast against the ceiling. Mercer settled beside me, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm before tugging me in and kissing my forehead, my cheekbones, and the corner of my jaw. He brushed my hair back and smoothed down the length of my tail, every touch as gentle as the hush settling over the room.

I curled against him, resting my head on his shoulder and flinging one leg over his. Mercer dragged his hand down my side, his blunt nails scraping and sending shivers through me.

His earlier words nudged at me again, calling to mind every perfect, impossible thing he’d said. They resonated in the way he looked at me now. The way he made me feel wanted and just as welcome as he claimed I made him feel. That was why I’d come here. Why I’d brought my ragtag family to his door.

If I could trust Mercer with them, I could trust him with anything.

“You really do, don’t you?” I whispered, less a question and more a statement of fact.

Without hesitation, Mercer replied, “I really do.”

I snaked an arm across his chest, not minding the smear of cum, I just needed to hold him.

It hit me suddenly why this had never happened before. Why it felt so unreal. This was the kind of moment people like me didn’t get. The game I played was never for keeps. It was a fantasy, and lasting love was a sweet, stupid pipe dream, always slipping away. Because at the end of the day, I was a body for hire. If Mercer didn’t see that or didn’t realize it, then I didn’t want to be the one to point it out. But I had to ask.

“And it’s not a problem for you? What I do?” I hesitated, voice quieting. “What I’ve done?”

Mercer kissed my temple. “This is how I’ve always known you,” he said. “And I love you like this. Why would I want you to change?”

A low, aching sound slipped out, and I buried my face in his shoulder, letting his warmth seep into all the cold, doubting corners inside me.

There was more. Things I’d never let myself consider. I’d only recently been given options and opportunities to think about what I wanted instead of what was required of me. My life had always been determined by others. First by my mother with all the best intentions, then by Maslow with all the worst. I couldn’t recall a time that my own thoughts, desires, or dreams had ever factored into the equation.

I wanted to be a mother. I knew that. But what else?

Still a whore? A professional? Forever?