Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(41)

His face doesn’t seem all that receptive to my praise. He’s staring at me with a sullen, tired expression. And I bet more than anything, he just wants me to take the plug out.

As my eyes dance downward, I notice he’s still half-hard behind his briefs. It’s been a while since I buzzed him, so he’s finally getting a little break, but he’s not done. Stepping toward him, I hook my finger under the elastic band and pull his underwear back to look down at his deflating cock. As predicted, he’s been leaking in his underwear all day.

I really did torture him.

“Take these off,” I tell him, and he looks confused for a moment. He’s probably hoping I don’t try to get him aroused right now. I can’t imagine he’ll want to come again for the next week. Slowly, he peels the underwear off and holds them in his hands. Standing fully naked in front of me, I let my eyes soak up the tan surface of his body, toned and muscular with a patch of dark hair leading down to his cock.

For the first time, I really let myself get excited about having some fun with Beau…or rather, Beau’s body. It’s a foreign idea, to be allowed to use someone’s body for your own pleasure, but this is the dynamic and that’s what he wants. He literally told me so.

But now that I see him, and really admire him, I’m thinking of all the ways I can enjoy him, as if he was mine.

Dragging myself out of the fantasy, I grab his underwear from his hands.

“I’ll wash these for you,” I say, glancing up into his eyes. “I want you to go upstairs and get into the shower and wash up. I’ll be up in a moment.”

“What about the—" he asks.

“Leave it in,” I reply.

He nods with a defeated grimace as he heads toward the stairs, looking almost too exhausted to walk. Once he’s gone, I throw his underwear in with another load of laundry and start the machine. Then I grab my phone from my office and head upstairs.

I find him leaning his forehead against the wall of the shower, and I watch him through the steamy glass as I turn up the vibration on his plug to low. He jumps and groans in response.

“Come on, Maggie. Please,” he begs, sounding pathetic.

I love the sound of him begging.

“I think you can give me one more,” I say as I slowly unbutton my blouse. Getting undressed, I watch him run a tired hand over his cock, noticing the way his arm almost gives out from exhaustion. Once I’m down to just my bra and panties, I open the glass door and stand at the entrance of the shower, getting a fine mist of warm water on my skin.

He stops his stroking when our eyes meet.

“Go ahead. Let me watch.”

With our eyes locked and his nostrils flaring with his uneven breaths, he picks up his movements again. His expression morphs from pain to pleasure and misery, but he’s clearly struggling to reach his last climax.

“Come here,” I say, and he stills his hand as he steps toward me.

With the smell of soap on his skin, he stands just a few inches away from me, the cool air from the open shower door creating goosebumps on his skin. When he drops his hand from his cock, I reach down and wrap my own around it. He visibly reacts to my touch with a wince, and I start stroking at the same fast pace that he was. He moans as I pull one last orgasm out of his racked body. I love watching his face as blissful agony washes over him.

My gaze trails down to my hand when he gets close, and I watch with interest as he comes, shooting a small, sad spurt of cum from his cock. It lands on the shower floor between us.

I notice the tremor in his legs, so I rest a hand on his hip and give him a reassuring squeeze. His eyes find mine again, and they’re pleading for mercy.

“Turn around,” I whisper.

With relief on his face, he spins and places his forearms against the wall. Gently, I work the plug out of his ass and notice the way his body seems to melt once it’s gone. I leave the still vibrating toy on the floor of the shower to take care of later, but for now, I focus on him.

When he turns back to face me, I rub my thumb over his cheek. Then, I spin the dial on the faucet to turn the water off and grab the giant fluffy towel hanging on the rack.

He steps out and reaches for the towel, but I hold it out of his grasp. “I’ll do it.”

His eyes don’t leave my face as I pat his body dry, taking care of his tired arms and legs, and trying to memorize every inch of his skin as I do. He’s staring at me with confusion as I towel him off.

“Is it over?” he asks.

I’m kneeling at his feet, drying off his knees down to his toes. “Yes, it’s over,” I reply.

When I stand back up, his gaze is more intense, and I pause as I stare into his sky blue eyes.

“Am I forgiven?”

My posture relaxes as I let out a sigh. “Yes, Beau. You’re forgiven.”

His expression of misery slightly changes with that response, as if he’s miserable and relieved at the same time.

“I’m going to get you some water. You can lie in my bed and rest until your underwear are out of the dryer.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, followed by a hearty yawn.

Grabbing my phone off the counter, I turn off the vibration and close out the app. By the time I come back upstairs with his water, he’s drifting off. Lying on top of the covers, the towel is draped over his midsection, so I gently lift it away and toss it on the unused exercise bike to dry. Then I pull a thick blanket from the basket in the corner and lay it over him.