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Hey, Merc, do you know I kept dreaming about you bleeding to death? Or jumping off cliffs, carrying a huge-ass double ax?
There’s also the matter of those dreams where you’re making love to me, but… yeah, anyway, I got horny, but also sort of worried…?
“You sticking to the apartment most of the day? Need me to go borrow some notes for your sister’s class or anything? Talk to the professor?”
“You’d do that?”
A
shrug of broad shoulders. “If it’s important, sure.” Today again he has dark circles under his eyes, but he looks cheerful.
And beautiful.
“I…” I sip at my coffee, to buy myself time. “Thank you, Merc.”
He nods, sprawls in one of the chairs and takes a long gulp of coffee, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
He’s such a study in contrasts. Educated, but also kinda rough around the edges, as if he’s spent a lot of time on the streets. Handsome, but not in a perfect, manicured sort of way. His smile is crooked, his nose broad, his hair messy and in need of a haircut. There’s always black grease under his fingernails from working at the garage, and his long fingers are rough and a bit callused.
He’s funny, but also earnest, and thoughtful. He talks a good yarn, but also listens and pays attention to what I say.
“You should eat something,” he says, and when I look up, I find that his blue eyes have gone deep and dark. “Not hungry?”
I shake my head and pass him the paper bag. He digs out two frosted donuts and grabs two napkins from the napkin holder.
“They’re good. I know this small place that makes the best donuts in town.” When I don’t move to take one, he frowns. He breaks one of the donuts apart. “Come here.”
“Where?”
He pats his knee. “I guess I need to feed you myself.”
“You’re not serious.”
He makes a grab for my hand, and I laugh, letting him pull me to him. Putting my coffee down on the table, I settle on his muscular leg.
He slips one arm around my waist, supporting me, and it feels… good.
At least my dad never rocked us on his knees or anything, so it just feels… unfamiliar. Kind of nice.
“Now open up,” he says, and lifting a piece of donut to my mouth, and I obey, accepting the sweet morsel and chewing.
“Good girl,” he says, and I roll my eyes at him.
He grins, unrepentant. “I like feeding you,” he says, stroking his fingertips over my mouth, pushing his thumb between my lips.
The image that rises to my mind—of me going down on him, taking his cock into my mouth—almost sends me into a choking fit.
His hand falls to the table.
“Merc.”
“Was it something I did?” His innocent look doesn’t fool me.
“You’re bad.”
He chuckles. Feeds me another morsel.
It’s quiet inside the apartment. I got used to being around him with his music blasting through the speakers. Even when having sex in the public restrooms, he’d made me listen to music. It’s almost as if I can hear our heartbeats, keeping pace, together.
