Page 72 of Shot For Mercy

I nod, unable to speak for fear that my voice will shake. I’ve never had sex with anyone while having an audience, but he doesn’t seem to mind it. In fact, he seems desperate, and I don’t want to deny him.

I slide down to the floor and Em lowers his pants until they’re under his ass and his cock bobs in front of my face. Getting between his legs, I watch as he strokes himself once, a bead of pre-cum leaking out of his slit. My mouth waters with the need to taste him, and I lean in. But he just slaps my face with his cock, and I gasp.

Emiliano smirks. “Are you gonna be a good boy and suck my cock?”

“I’m always a good boy,” I lie, and he chuckles.

“You’re a fucking brat,” he whispers, then grabs my hair and presses the head of his cock to my lips. “Open.”

I open my mouth, sticking my tongue out for him and looking into his eyes. He slips his cock into my mouth, my tongue gliding over the underside of it, and I wrap my lips around his length. His grip on my hair tightens as he groans, and he surprises me by shoving my head down until I’m choking on him. My nostrils flare as I inhale deeply and swallow around him, then bob my head up and down. I have one mission right now: make him come before we get back to the penthouse, and I’d say we have about five more minutes.

“That’s it, Cole,” Em growls, shoving my head down once more, then pulling me up by my hair. I have no choice but to let him. I’m just a puppet, and he controls all my strings. “You suck me so fucking good.”

I moan around his cock, gagging on it on the way down. But I work through it anyway, not wanting to disappoint him. Keeping my eyes on him, I watch as he bites his fist in an attempt to keep quiet when I swallow around him once more. When I inhale deeply and take him all the way, he strokes my hair lovingly. My eyes sting with tears, and they trail down my face as my spit drips from the corners of my lips. It’s fucking sloppy, and I feel it running down my chin. Emiliano seems to love it though, and when I swallow around him once more, then bob my head up and down quickly, he tenses.

“I’m gonna come,” Em warns me. “Swallow it all, Cole. Take all of it down that pretty little throat. I want to hear you choking on it.”

With that, he grabs my head with both hands and fucks my throat from the bottom. His cock spasms as he comes, and I end up choking a little, just like he wanted me to. By the time I come back up for air, I have cum and spit dripping down my chin, and Emiliano has a sated grin on his face as he leans back. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, and he tucks himself away, lifting his hips to pull his pants up.

“Missed a spot,” he whispers, then grabs me by the hair and pulls me into him. He kisses me like he’s dying, like his oxygen depends on me. “God, Cole, what are you doing to me?”

“Nothing you haven’t done first.” I smile softly up at him, and he nods.

And I can’t deny that I feel so fucking loved.

So why does it feel like it’s going to be taken from me?

It’s been a few days since I bought the high-rise, and I have never competed for something like that in my life. The only reason I wanted to rush it was because I didn’t want the realtor to let Sokolov know about my counter bid. Didn’t want her to give him the chance to outbid me. The deal is done, yet I can’t help but wonder what comes next. I need extra security here, just in case the Russians want to act stupid and get brave.

Aside from the bidding war, Cole and I are both very happy with our decision to buy the penthouse. It’s perfect for us, and he was right, we need to live somewhere not tainted by memories of my son. I don’t want to see the guest room and think about Matteo fucking Cole in there. I realize how fucked up it sounds that I’m the one fucking Cole now, but when Matteo said I got his sloppy seconds, I lost my goddamn mind. Cole is mine now, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone talk badly about him, even if it’s my own son.

Speaking of Matteo, I let him know that Cole and I were moving out of the penthouse and that he was welcome to keep it. He didn’t want to, though, and I can’t blame him for that. I wouldn’t keep it either if I were him. I still offered it, it’s the least I can fucking do. I’m still unaware of where he’s living, seeing as he hasn’t bought anything or rented under his name. I’m assuming he’s in a hotel under someone else’s name or he’s living with a friend. Hopefully not couch surfing.

I get he doesn’t want to live in one of the condos below my penthouse because he wants his pride to stay intact, but I also hope he’s not homeless. That would just break me. He took all of his belongings with him, though, down to the last trinket on his dresser. So really, where would he put his things if he didn’t have a place? I know I should stop worrying about it, but I can’t help it. He’s my son. I’ll always see him as my baby no matter how grown he is. So why can’t I do right by him? Why do I have to want Cole so fucking bad?

All I know is that Cole and I are inevitable. I don’t just want him; Ineedhim. He’s the blood in my veins. The oxygen in my lungs. I feel like I’ll die if I let him go. I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s mine forever. I won’t let him go. Not now. Not ever. Over my dead fucking body. That man ismine. Which is why when he told me he wanted to start fresh, I couldn’t deny him.

Today is move-in day. My penthouse is packed in a mountain of boxes, and we decided to get all new furniture, which will be delivered today, along with new appliances. Cole sold my furniture on Facebook Marketplace, and I’ve never felt older. Not that we needed the money, but he said throwing them away was a waste. I can’t even argue with that.

Now here we are, moving boxes into our new place as Cole signs for our bedroom set delivery. The bed is upholstered because he said he wanted to sit up and read—like a little old man. Who even reads in bed at twenty-one years old? Apparently he does. And according to him, he’s reading gay romance books. Said he’s currently reading a monster romance where one of the main characters has two dicks. I laughed so hard my belly hurt.

I’m looking forward to making new memories with him here, and as Cole pulls the Christmas tree and ornaments out of boxes, I realize I’ve never done this with anyone before. It feels meaningful, intimate. Domestic, even. I’ve never had a partner before. For the past twenty years, nothing mattered but my son. This feels different. This matters.

Boxes are stacked in the dining room since we don’t have a table yet, but the rug for the living room is in place now, so we can at least sit there since we also have no couch. Everything but our bed is supposed to be delivered tomorrow. Breakfast in bed doesn’t sound half bad, though.

Cole comes up to me and gives me a sweet kiss, just a soft press of his lips against mine. I close my eyes and savor the moment, breathing in his coconut scent. I’ll never tire of this. Never get over it. He hands me an ornament and smiles at me, his eyes twinkling, and I follow him over to the tree. He’s already fluffed it and plugged in the lights, and I return his smile.

“I got us something,” he tells me, pulling something out of his pocket. It’s a wooden ornament, and when I flip it over, there’s a picture of us with the words “Our First Christmas” engraved into the wood. I swallow the lump in my throat and look into his eyes. He seems unsure of himself in this moment. “Like it?”

“Love it,” I reply without hesitation. “Loveyou.”

A smile tips up his lips, and he gives me another kiss, there and gone quickly. “I know it’s cheesy—” he begins.

“—romantic,” I interrupt.

“But you better get used to it.” He grins. “It’s just the way I am.”

“I can be romantic too,” I say softly, brushing his hair away from his face.

---