Page 85 of Heart Over Heels

If I were smart, I would have gotten out from under it—stepped back, shut down, and summoned my inner Luxe.

Luxe was untouchable. He could flirt without feeling, tease without trepidation, and he would never get caught wanting something as badly as I wanted this.

But there was no room for Luxe here. He didn’t fit when my skin was this thin and my heart beat so close to the surface.

“Why are you still dressed?” I murmured while I thumbed over the waistband of Mercer’s boxers.

Awareness sharpened his expression, and he sat back, stripping out of his underwear in a series of awkward maneuvers. The knee was an issue with the mattress giving beneath him and throwing off his balance. By the time he was nude, he was flushed with embarrassment and trying to find a position that would give him the leverage he’d soon require.

Despite his obvious frustration, I made sure to give his cock an appreciative once-over, then added a lip lick for flair.

My unspoken approval seemed to soothe him, but he was still tense, poised perhaps to run, which would have been a hell of a sight with his ass bare and dick swinging. The emotion bleeding off him reminded me to take it slow. More than that, it told me to take charge. My military man needed a marching beat, something steady to follow, and I had plenty of experience giving direction.

Sitting up, I worked my way around and placed my hands on his arms to direct him toward the headboard.

“Lie back,” I said.

He did and exhaled as he sank against the pillows. With his body spread out before me, I took a moment to observe. He was handsome in a rugged way, with muscles sculpting everything from his stomach to his shoulders. There were a few scars, nothing grievous—nothing besides the obvious—and a trail ofwispy brown hair led from his navel to the base of his cock, which was cut and already starting to leak.

I licked my lips again, this time without meaning to, then tore my gaze away.

Passing glances were nice, but too much inspection began to feel clinical. No one wanted to be examined like a bug under a microscope.

Grabbing the condom and lube from where they had been tossed onto the comforter, I handed the rubber to Mercer and poured lubricant into my hand. Then I crept forward, knee-walking my way up his legs, where I took a moment to stroke over the smooth plastic of his prosthesis.

He stilled with the condom halfway unrolled, and his eyes locked onto mine.

There had been fear on his face when I first saw his amputation, panic that was pervasive and innate. I understood the impulse to hide. When I’d been remade and brought into the world as a demon, I felt that shame. I knew what people thought and heard what they said. But I had a job to do. On the stage. In the club.

Death changed a lot of things, but I still had to eat.

My touch climbed higher, over the joint of his knee to his thigh. Maybe someday he’d let me massage away the ache that must have plagued him after hours on his feet at the Dollhouse. Maybe I could convince him there was nothing in him that needed hiding.

Shifting forward, I straddled his hips and settled with his cock pressed beneath mine.

He finished rolling the rubber down to his base, and I wrapped my hand around him, drizzling lube along his shaft before smoothing it over his crown. I stroked longer than I needed to, relishing his breathy sounds and the way his body softened while his cock hardened in my grasp.

He was plenty big, a generous handful, and girthy. The thought of him stretching and filling me had me shifting restlessly, chasing comfort I wouldn’t find until he was inside me. I braced one hand on his shoulder and used the other to guide his cock to my entrance.

The act of penetration was more than familiar, so I focused on Mercer’s face instead. I watched his expression go from awe to bliss as I descended. The blunt tip breached me, coaxing a moan from my lips.

I loved this part—the gradual give followed by the deep, grounding fullness that chased every other thought from my mind. I craved it. Always had.

More than that, I craved the praise. In the back of my mind, I could still hear my mother telling me I was a good boy for making the men happy. For making her proud. I was good at this. Good at sex. It gave me value. Quantifiable worth.

Mercer hadn’t paid for this, but I knew. I kept mental receipts, tallying up numbers no one else could see.

Mama wouldn’t believe what the men paid for me now.

Mercer grabbed my waist as I settled on top of him, and he sank his fingers into the soft space below my ribs.

I gave a slow roll to ensure he was as deep as possible, then paused to let the sensations catch up to him. I didn’t have an actual cunt, but I’d been told it felt different. Tighter, and with more friction.Muchmore if I hadn’t been so generous with the lube.

Mercer was definitely feeling it, holding me in place while he stared between my legs, searching the shadows for the spot where we connected. I made a note to face away from him next time. Let him see exactly how well I took him.

“Do you like my pussy, Mercy?” I asked. “Are you ready for this little slut to ride your cock?”

“Oh, god…” Mercer’s stomach fluttered with a shaky inhale.