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Chapter 11
Mercer
My tastebuds twitched with her taste, slightly sweet, slightly spicy...fucking delicious. My eager tongue drove in deeper, my nose hitting her clit. My name danced through melodic moans, and almond nails scratched my scalp, pulling me deeper into her.
I opened her legs a little wider. Her cold feet hung lifeless over my shoulders.
“I like that,” she murmured. Fuck, I liked it, too. Half-moons embedded into her ass, my nails biting into her soft skin to pull her closer. Closer to the fucking edge.
Her moans came louder, a beautiful sound, interrupted by a voice floating through them.
“You know what I don’t like?” The voice was different, blade sharp and murdering the moment. “I don’t like that you’re moving on.”
My fingers loosened, moving from Feebee’s ass to her skinny thigh. I watched her pale skin develop a tan, and her legs thicken beneath my palms, my fingers expanding to cover more weight.
I looked up between her parted legs to see her staring at me…Chandelle. “God, Mercer. A fucking year. Did I mean nothing to you?”
I jumped back, sitting up and licking my lips without even realizing what the fuck I was doing. I felt her anger. Her disgust, and I felt my own, too. What the fuck was I doing? Whatever it was, I had to fucking stop. I wiped the excitement from my mouth, Feebee’s cum and my drool.
Chandelle leaned away. The light above shone in her eyes as tears multiplied across her waterline.
“You meant everything to me.” I could talk…somehow. My accent stronger than I remembered it being as the words vacated my lips.
“So, what the fuck are you doing?” Her long blonde hair whipped across me as she turned back to me. “Why are you licking her there? Why do you want her?”
“To feel close to you.”
“Bullshit. Dreaming of licking some girl’s pussy brings you closer to me? I don’t fucking think so.”
So, I was dreaming? Either way, shame forced my eyelids down.
“You can’t really like her!”
I didn’t say anything. My eyes opened. I bit my lip, intentionally keeping quiet.
“You can talk here! You have a voice here!” she spat. “Tell me you don’t really like that thing. She’s nothing, remember? She’s here to share your guilt over me. She’s not a plaything. And you’re a fucking cunt for thinking of another woman that way!”
Chandelle’s finger jabbed into the air, and I had to reel back to avoid a red pointed nail gouging out an eyeball. I bit my lip harder, drawing blood, tasting it. The blood and Chandelle’s anger pushed my feelings of resentment around...for Feebee, who I had almost used tonight...
And for Chandelle, for not really fucking being here to argue over this, because that was all we had ever fucking done together.
Moist beads of sweat seeped into the bedsheets that would be changed before the sun climbed to the sky as I shot up in bed. The satin fell around my waist, shielding my depleting erection from my own judgment.
What a fucking nightmare.
I had dreamed of Chandelle. Dreamed of how much she would fucking hate me for what I did in the shower tonight...and a part of me...didn’t care.
No, I did. I cared too much about what she thought.
She influenced my every thought, every word a robotic voice spoke or a Post-it declared.
And that was why this was so hard.
I was living a nightmare.
And I needed to snap myself out of it. I needed to wake up and realize anything I did with Feebee had no value.
She would never be Chandelle.
