Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(35)

Beau





“Fuck,” I mutter, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth as I slam my laptop closed. I’m not going to make it. Even after that cruel, unfinished blow job, Maggie sent me home without an orgasm.

After I unpacked the kitchen, I came back to her office and knelt next to her like she told me to. Minute after minute, she ignored me, typing on her laptop and making phone calls. With every passing second, I grew more and more irritable, struggling to stay still until, at one point, she set a fucking cup of tea on my head.

I fumed while it wobbled, warm against my scalp.

Finally, when I’d had enough, I quietly mumbled, “Fuck this, Maggie.”

And for that…I got punished.

I had my safe word. I knew my way out. If I wasn’t digging the scene, I could have said mercy and been done. Instead, I got a disappointed glare and another menial task while she ignored me.

No blow job or hand job or make-out session. I didn’t even get to see her pussy. Nothing.

She just made me dinner, forced me to eat, and sent me home with strict instructions to do my research and keep my hands off my dick.

Which leads me to this little dilemma. It’s kinda hard to research BDSM with a poor, neglected cock and a pair of swollen nuts in need of release.

It’s been four days. Four fucking days, and I can’t remember the last time I went two days without jacking off since puberty.

And what’s really fucking stupid is how ridiculously good every brush of my cock feels. It makes me wonder…how would it feel after a week? Two weeks? A month? The right breeze would make me come at that point, and I bet it would feel like heaven.

Carefully, I open my laptop again and try reading through another blog post about things Dommes and their submissives can do together, but my brain literally cannot focus. All I keep seeing is the image of Maggie while I stared up at her from the floor, looking so much more confident and sexy than normal.

I wonder if she can see how much she changes when she fills that role. How surprising it is to see her facade transition from overstimulated and distracted to confident and collected. It’s addicting. And it’s the only reason I’m still playing along. I can’t get enough of this new version of her, and I feel like if I quit now, that version will disappear forever, and it would be my fault.

Tossing my laptop aside and giving up on the research for tonight, I find what’s left of a joint in my desk drawer and open my bedroom window to light up.

Just as the hazy calm of my high settles over me like a warm blanket, I see my phone screen light up. There’s only one person I want it to be, so I dive over to my bed to grab it.

But it’s not Maggie.

It’s from the one person I don’t want it to be—Charlie.

I’m in the neighborhood. Can I swing by to talk to you?





“What the fuck?” I mutter quietly to myself.

Why?





I have something to ask and I don’t want to do it over the phone.





Sure, I guess.





Just meet me out front.





I reply with a simple K.

I know why she won’t come inside, and I can’t say I blame her. Charlie has only met my mother a couple of times, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience for her. I’d avoid her, too, if I could.

Five minutes later, I’m sitting on the low wall around the garden up front as Charlie pulls up. When she gets out of the car, I immediately realize this might be the first time she and I have been alone since she officially started dating my dad. Although she’s not the same person she was back then.

When we dated, Charlie was walking chaos. Her mood, her style, her personality. All of it was on a whim, as if she woke up a different person every day, and no matter how hard I tried to predict what she wanted or who I was dating, she changed.

But as she gets out of the car tonight, I do something I haven’t done in a very long time. I think back to when we first met and how hard I fell for her big, bright smile and infectious personality. I thought she was a beacon, and if I just followed her lead, I would have it all figured out. It didn’t take long before we both realized that neither of us had it figured out and it was clear she thought she could follow my lead. Which is why we were a mess.

“Hi,” she says with an awkward wave. Oh, so she can tell how weird this is too. Good. It’s not just me, then.

“Hi,” I reply grimly.

“I’ll make this short, but I just wanted to come over to ask you to please just go easy on your dad.”

“What?” I must be really high because I swear she just asked me to go easy on him.

“You heard me, Beau. Your little outburst at the party has been bugging him for the past two days. I know this is hard on you, but you’ve had your chance to get over it. Don’t ruin this for him now.”

A laugh escapes my lips, and yeah…I’m high as fuck, so it doesn’t stop. It turns into cheek-burning giggles, and I have to wipe the tears away from my eyes. When I do, I see Charlie glaring back at me.

“Are you high?” she asks with accusation.

“Yes, but that’s none of your business. You’re not my girlfriend anymore.”

She rolls her eyes, and I know, deep down, I’m acting like a child, but it’s my default. Don’t men mature slower anyway? Or something like that?