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He’s masculine in feminine clothing. He’s boyish without being girly. The lace and the silk don’t downplay his gender but enhance it instead.
The guy is all devil and no angel. His size doesn’t make him innocent, and his boyish looks don’t detract from his danger. He’s a ticking time bomb, but I don’t know what his explosion entails.
He looks over his shoulder, lace-clad ass barely peeking out from the bottom of Bronson’s coat, and gives me a mischievous look.
I’ll get awkward because eye contact isn’t my favourite thing. I’d rather watch than be looked at.
Mercer Bentley Palmerston. Pretentious as fuck name.
They don’t know my guy either.
I have the patience of a saint, so fuck you, little demon.
I bend down to get in his face, my blue eyes on his amber ones.
I’ve been in a vehicle with him for thirty-five minutes and I’m already debating opening the door and shoving him out. His family probably wouldn’t mind.
He’s a fucking brat, but he’s the easiest person I’ve ever held eye contact with, and I don’t know what that means.
Another pout. Puppy dog eyes. Batting lashes. So fucking cute.
Mercer has learned how to use his body as a weapon, a distraction, and a taunt, and I have no doubt he’s just as dangerous as I am. He’s slender without being delicate, firm without being overly toned, and graceful while being rambunctious. He’s the bull and the china shop.
He’s a clusterfuck, and disarming him like he’s a bomb is intriguing to all these new parts of me.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him this is his home now, but I bite it back. If his parents are the type to send him to a place like that, I’ll never let them get a hold of him again. It has nothing to do with me maybe wanting to fuck him and everything to do with the vulnerability I sometimes see in his eyes.
“Why’d they send you there?” “For being gay.” Evasion. “Why’d they really send you there?” “Because I’m… smart. Or I was.” I turn around to face him, but he keeps his face in his phone. “Smart?”
“Are you gay?” he asks. “No.” “Do you wanna fuck me?” he asks with no shame. “You make my cock hard, but I haven’t decided if your personality turns me off yet. Am I right about your dad?” “Partially right. And you get hard because my personality turns you off. Don’t act like my attitude isn’t an aphrodisiac to you. You’re itching to put me in my place.”
“I’d rather make you scream; help you claw your way to the top. You’ll need an attitude adjustment to get there, but I don’t mind using your own tools against you.” I grab his stool and pull it closer to me. “I won’t fuck you unless you’re begging for it, and we both know your pride won’t let you beg. Guess we’re at an impasse.”
“Get out.” “But wait! Just let us say goodbye! Tell us what you want with him.” “Get. Out.”
A door slams. I feel it but can’t find it. I’m unworthy. I’m nobody. I’m unwanted. I’m scared. Nobody sees me.
Remind me I’m nobody but look at me while you do it. Show me what caring looks like and let me decide if it’s real. See me.
“Tell me what you need, little demon. What’s going to feel better?”
When we get home, he strips out of his club clothes and puts on baggy sweats and a hoodie that looks a lot like one of mine. It is mine. Fucking thief. Kind of like how it looks on him, though. Big and enveloping and touching him everywhere my hands want to be.
Don’t forget me. Don’t ignore me. See me for who I am and notice me because I’m worthy. Look through the bullshit and accept all my broken. Someone. Please. See me.
Reality hits hard. He sees me. Or at least, he sees a part of me. I’ve never had anyone notice that before, and it means more to me than he’ll ever know. I’ll never call him Daddy again. I nod in his grip.
I’m usually more of a strutter, but I stomp my sorry ass over to the cluster point to make all my sincere apologies.
He’s a mess of instability, and because he's so confusing, he’s making my dick hard.
This is angsty teenager Mercer, and he’s pretty damn cute.
He’s just a boy who wants to be seen.
“You’re more of a lazy hoodlum than a fancy sex symbol.”
situation. I have no idea what happens if we get caught here, but I’m too comfortable to care. And I trust him. Holy shit, I trust him. Plus, I have knives.
Feisty little hoodlum on the streets, lingerie wearing badass in the sheets. Literal perfection. I really hope he begs for sex soon.
“Stop making me weepy! It’s not a good look on me!” “It’s a perfect look on you,” I correct. I smack his ass as he marches away. “Put on something that doesn’t meet the Palmerston dress code!” “I am!” he screams. His door slams a second later.
Will, on the other hand, isn’t happy, and for whatever reason makes sense to him, he’s looking at me as the one to blame. I’ll take it. Gladly. That’s right, asshole; I reminded your son he has fucking confidence.
“I don’t cuddle,” I say, backing up towards him. Backing up so far that my ass hits his groin and my back hits his chest. “I hate cuddling.” “Okay,” he says, half asleep. I back up a little more because… “I’ll be your wall, Mercer.”
I’m just a scared, lonely, unwanted guy, and feeling that over the course of twenty-three years left me with cracks in my confidence and holes in my worth. My breakdown happened over time. I never got the chance to become someone because no one was ever watching. No one ever cared. So I learned not to care.
“You should come with a warning label. Little Demon: All. The. Hazards. All of them. I’m sewing it in all your clothes.”
“Mr. Blake Carter’s line, his little demon speaking. How may I help you?”
As I’m scanning his socials and getting a feel for where he spends his time, something crashes. I look up to find Mercer, lacking pants now too, kneeling on the countertop, reaching for something high up in the cupboard.
A warmth spreads through me, and I can’t decide if it’s a feeling of absolute pleasure, like this is exactly what I’ve been craving my entire life, or if it’s a sense of rightness, like Mercer is mine and he was always meant to be mine. How long have I been unknowingly searching for this bossy little brat?
He’s offering himself up as mine—mine to have, to use, to worship, to punish, to praise. Just mine. I’ve never seen a person more worthy of all my attention.
Fuck me like I’m invincible and treat me like the mouthy brat I am.
The kitchen sex was softer than I thought it would be, but I caught that spark of sentimentality in his eyes. He wanted the first time to be special. I won’t admit it, but it made me feel wanted and appreciated like I never have before. He cares about more than my body and the back-and-forth games we play. I feel it in my chest even though I can’t fully comprehend it.
“If you take that cum from my body, you’ll be fucking another load into me.” “You want to keep me in there all night, little demon?”
“At least put it in me then. Please, Blake.” “Guess you got over your aversion to begging.” He laughs, pulling my hips so he can slide inside me. I’m still recovering, so he goes slow and gentle, and when he’s fully seated inside me, I finally feel comfortable enough to trust sleep. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” “I hate cuddling,” I remind him, holding tighter, feeling more and more relaxed. “I know.” He’s calling me a liar. “Don’t kick me in the balls again.” “No promises.”
I scrutinize my face in front of the bathroom mirror. My eyes are still the same shape and colour, but something within them swirls differently.
Why does he care about me? Because I mean something to him. Not to his dad or my dad. Not for a job. Not because he wants to rescue me or heal me. He just cares. About me. Mercer Bentley Palmerston.
“I’m just… it’s new to me to be… fuck.” I run my hands down my face, mortified. “I don’t stutter!” Blake laughs, pulling my hands free. “Out with it, demon.”
Kill me now. I’m a twenty-three-year-old slut and I’ve never gotten a blowjob.
“You actually into him, Blake?” “Yeah,” I admit, because there’s no point in hiding it. “He’s feisty as fuck and I’m pretty into it.”
“Such a good boy, Mercer. Look at you down there on your knees for me, giving me everything I want. So perfect, baby.”
