Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(49)

Like the way I shamed him.

I don’t react, staring at the ceiling. And before long, she picks up on my thought process.

“What are you thinking about?”

“People judge what they don’t understand,” I say. “And that’s not an excuse. It’s just a fact.”

She nods before reaching up and pulling my face toward her. “Do you understand now?”

As I stare into her blue eyes, I realize that what started as a dare between us has changed into something more. It’s not just the best sex of my life, but the deepest connection I’ve ever felt too. But do I really understand? No. There is still so much I can’t grasp.

“I’m getting there.”

She gives me a small smile before leaning forward and pressing her lips to mine.

“Me too,” she replies, before resting her head on my chest again.





Rule #22: If he wants to worship you, let him.





Maggie





“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?” my mother harps from the front seat of the car.

“No!” I snap in response, immediately cowering when I feel her harsh glare on my face through the rearview mirror. “We’re just friends. I lost track of time!” Which is a lie.

I know what my mother saw when she caught me climbing out of the passenger seat of the quarterback’s car after the football game, where his hand was under my skirt, feeling me up through my underwear. He was begging me to touch him, but I was too shy to do anything more than rub the hard bulge through his football pants.

He’s two grades above me and easily the most handsome boy I’ve ever known. I wish we were more than friends, but after tonight, when my mother came looking for me, screaming through the parking lot because I didn’t come home on time, I’m pretty sure he’ll never call me again.

I can still feel his forbidden touch between my legs, and I’m choking on my shame as she pulls over on the side of the road. She looks exasperated, fighting between angry and scared. Flipping on the light on the roof of the car, she grabs a piece of paper from the passenger seat and turns to show it to me.

“What’s that?” I ask meekly.

“This is your heart,” she replies, and my brows knit together. Then, she violently rips off a large corner of the paper. “This is your heart after you’ve had sex. You give a little piece away every time.” When she rips it again, I flinch. And again and again and again until there’s nothing left but a shred of white, crinkled paper.

“Save yourself, Maggie. Save yourself for someone who truly matters.”





I’m standing in Salacious’s small sex shop as the memory of that night replays in my head, realizing now how long I let those lies infiltrate my mind. And just how warped my views on sex are because of it. I doubt Eden or Mia had to listen to that or grow up believing that sex would do nothing but ruin them. No wonder I can’t walk around the club without feeling embarrassed or ashamed.

What happened with Beau last night certainly didn’t hurt me. I don’t feel any less me because of it. In fact, I feel more like myself than ever.

My fingers glide over the glass of the display case as I smile. The assortment of items displayed inside all promise something different. Pain, control, excitement, pleasure. I’ve never taken the time to really look at them before. They always held promises for someone else, but never for me. And now…I see them all differently.

I can imagine striking Beau’s flawless skin with the assortment of floggers. How he’d look strapped to my bed with the sleek black ropes hanging along the back wall. I even consider taking one of the modern cock cages for the days when he deserves it. I love the image of him wearing it and hating me for it.

But my eyes keep coming back to a certain display of items kept securely in the case by the front of the small store. Items that promise something I’m stupid to wish for—commitment. The Salacious store only carries a small variety of collars, and they are all perfectly minimal. Simple, sleek, and more inviting than I ever realized.

Yesterday, he promised me he was mine. But that was just something we said in the scene, whatever that means. Our relationship is still neatly tucked inside this Domme/sub dynamic, but even I’m struggling to see the blurred lines. Beau is mine in every way that matters, but for how long? And how much is he really giving me?

We never take our relationship outside of my house. I won’t meet his friends and we can’t go on dates. There is no future, only secrets.

So, how mine is he, really?

And why do I care? This was just supposed to be an experiment. It still is an experiment. I’m sure to him, that’s all I am. And I hate my stupid heart for getting soft on him and even daring to imagine more.

Now that I’ve helped him find his submissive side, he’ll be a better boyfriend for someone else. Someone like that beautiful girl he spoke to yesterday.

And I’ll be free to find another sub, maybe one more suitable in age, and someone I can be with in the open. It will just be better that way…and surely, the agony of even imagining that will fade with time.

“We got Phoenix,” a deep voice jolts me from my internal reckoning. In a rush, I spin toward Emerson, who’s leaning against the same glass case I am, but instead of looking down at the collars I’m currently imagining his son wearing, he’s staring at me.