Page 33 of Shot For Mercy

His breath is against my hole, and I close my eyes when his tongue comes back to it. He prods roughly until his tongue slips inside, and I moan loudly. I vaguely remember how fucking angry I am at him, yet I’m not strong enough to put a stop to this either. I’m fucked up.

Emiliano pulls away. “Do you think you can take four more?” he asks me, his voice soft, like he doesn’t want to spook me.

I nod.

“Do you think you can come from it?” He smirks, and I look away as my face heats. “Do it, Cole. Paint the wall with it.”

I wrap my hand around my cock, jerking it slowly as he squeezes my cheeks roughly, then lets go of them.

Crack.

My fist tightens around my cock, and I jack it off furiously.

Crack.

My balls rise and tighten.

Crack.

A shiver runs down my spine, and my cock thickens even more.

Crack.

I come with a shout, painting the wall just like he told me to.

Emiliano soothes my raw skin once more, then bends down and kisses it. It feels hot and swollen, and my body feels weak and heavy. My head is fuzzy, like I’m floating. He seems to sense it and helps me out of the shower. He opens the bathroom door, guiding me toward the couch across from his desk. He sits down, bringing me on top of him until I’m straddling his lap, and my breathing turns shallow.

What the hell is he doing?

He runs his fingertips over my back lightly, making me tremble at the sweet gesture, and I close my eyes and lay my head on his shoulder, refusing to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and I frown. “I should’ve never said that to you. You’re not a mistake—you’re not.”

Tears prick the back of my eyes, and I shudder in his arms, trying not to break down. I make a weak little sound at the back of my throat, and I fucking hate myself for it. For showing him weakness.

“Please forgive me,” he says, and I shake my head. “Please, Cole, I didn’t mean it.”

Fuck, is he begging right now?

“It just—it just felt like I betrayed Matteo, you know?” he continues. “You’re his big love, and how the fuck am I supposed to take that from him?”

I’m quiet, just letting him talk to himself.

“But it’s no excuse for how I treated you.” His arms wrap around me tightly, and a traitorous tear escapes and lands on his shirt, soaking it immediately. “I’m sorry.” His voice breaks, “Please, Cole.”

“I can’t let you hurt me again,” I tell him, voice shaking. “I refuse.”

“I can’t make you any promises,” Emiliano says, and I suck in a sharp breath. “I don’t know how to want you without feeling guilty.”

I nod, but I don’t know how to reply. The general consensus is that he won’t let himself have me, and if I keep insisting, he’s going to break me. And I’m afraid that if I let him, I won’t be able to gather the pieces of my heart and put them back together after he’s done with me.

I can’t let that happen.

Cole hasn’t looked at me once since we got in my vehicle, and there’s a pit in my stomach that makes me feel nauseous. I should be happy that he’s coming home with me, that he relented; instead, I’m worrying myself to death. Worrying about how he didn’t fucking forgive me. Worrying about why the hell that’s so important to me. Why I practically begged him. He said he can’t trust me with his heart, not with those exact same words, but the same meaning still applies. And what does it say about me that I want him to trust me? How is that even fair to him when I don’t know what I want?

Well, that’s a lie.

I know I wanthim, but now it’s a matter of whether I’m willing to betray my son. The most important person in my life. I grew up with Matteo; that’s what it means to be a young single dad. We’ve been extremely close, and I know how he feels about Cole. How could I possibly do that to him? Cole isn’t even trying to convince me; probably thinking he has no shot. But the truth is, I want him more by the second. Every time he’s in my vicinity, this visceral fucking need grows inside of me. I’maching, and I don’t even know what I’m aching for.

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