Page 51 of The Price of Mercy
Scowling as he smashes a graham cracker onto a burnt marshmallow, he peels his sticky fingers away before shoving the smore at Mercy. “Here.”
She blinks at him. “I’ve already got one.” There’s a half-eaten smore in one of her hands and a near-empty bag of marshmallows in the other. “But thanks.”
Zane’s jaw clenches. “I made it for you.”
“Thank you?”
With a huff, Zane smacks her old smore—from Sam, I think—to the ground and places the new one in her hand. “Eat it.” When she doesn’t take the treat, he presses it against her lips. “I made it for you,” he repeats, still frowning.
Not only did he make that one specifically for her, he fed me a half dozen of his first attempts, trying to create the perfect one to give to Mercy. Burning the marshmallow, although not everyone’s preference, melted the chocolate the best.
Sure, his delivery could be ten times better, but he’s not pretending to be charming. He’s being himself.
I absolutelylovethat for him.
The burnt mallow cream oozes out from between the crackers and sticks to the seam of Mercy’s lips. Relenting, she peels her mouth open only for Zane to shove half the smore inside. When she bites down, his fingers get in the way, but he doesn’t pull them out.
“Should’ve known you’d suck at eating,” he hisses. “If I hadn’t shoved your head down, I bet you wouldn’t have been able to swallow.”
Sam spews his drink over the fire. “What thefuck, dude?”
I tamp down the urge to rescue Zane from himself. He’s got to figure this out on his own. The whiskey, although great for warming our blood, has consequences… this being one of them. What little of Zane’s filter exists rapidly deteriorates until he’s either a cuddly mess or a grouchy one—and tonight, it seems that the grouch has come to play.
Mercy spits the smore out and grabs Zane’s hand, ripping his fingers from her mouth. “At least this tastes better,” she snaps, glaring at him. “Your cum was rancid.”
“Was not!”
“Was too!”
Sighing, Sam frees himself from Mercy’s death grip and trudges across the fire to me. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
I smile as I take a sip of whiskey. “Guilty as charged.”
“They’re going to rip each other’s throats out.”
Grunting, I pass Sam the bottle. “Nahh. They just need to get it out of their system, and they’ll be fine.”
Sam’s scowl mirrors Zane’s. “Why push them together at all?”
“Zane needs it.”
“But she doesn’t.”
“Shewantsit,” I murmur, licking my lips. The pair are in each other’s faces now, turning something as simple as holding hands into a death match between fingers. They fight for dominance without realizing it, grabbing the other roughly until they pull free. Back and forth they go, arguing over who had the upper hand during their blow job.
Sam takes a large swig from the bottle and sits down on the blanket beside me. “I’m only here because of her,” he says after a moment. “She asked me to come with her, and I?—”
“Couldn’t say no?”
He rests the half-empty bottle against my knee. “Something like that.”
Nodding towards the arguing couple, I ask Sam something I’ve been wondering over the past few days. “Have you guys been fucking?” Sam’s good at keeping his emotions in check, and Mercy’s been oddly tight-lipped in the mornings. I don’t know what they’ve been doing every night, but it hasn’t been loud—much to my disappointment.
There’s only so much I can hear through the crack beneath their bedroom door.
“Yeah.” A tender smile curves on Sam’s lips as he stares at Mercy. “It’s been… nice. Quiet.”
Not rushed, I’m sure he means, which could mean that it’s also passionless and boring. Two points for me and Zane, then. Our sex with Mercy will be anything but boring.I’m sure that’s what she’s missing, too—a good, hard fuck.
