Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(51)

I’m sorry I worked late today, I say in a text.

We still communicate through the app because it’s more discreet this way. A moment later, he responds, I don’t like you driving in this.

I smile at his sweet concern. More and more every day, I lose sight of the spoiled, selfish man I thought I knew and love this new version of Beau, who shows more compassion than I thought possible.

I’ll be careful.

Can you come over? I’ll pick you up.





A moment later, he responds.

Isn’t that a little suspicious?





It is. If his mother saw him getting into my car, the whole town would know by morning.

You’re right. I’ll see you in the morning.





No, I’m coming. I’ll drive safe.





See you in fifteen.





It’s very hard not to speed home, but I keep my promise and drive slowly. Knowing I’ll see him soon, be able to touch him, to kiss him, to have him completely to myself is so enticing that it’s hard to be patient.

A part of me doesn’t want to do the Domme/sub thing tonight. I just want to be with him. But does he want to be with me without that? I’m still so unsure if all of this is real or just a continuous scene we’re playing.

I pull my car into the garage, and before I shut it behind me, I see his car pull into the spot next to mine. But it’s not the same electric sports car he’s been driving. It’s an older sedan.

“Where’s your car?” I ask as he climbs out.

“This is mine. I was just driving my dad’s for a while,” he responds.

“Why?”

As he looks back at his car with a contemplative look, I wonder if there’s something he’s keeping from me. Finally, when he looks back at me, tight-lipped and nervous, he explains, “Someone vandalized it. Wrote pervert all over the side. So my dad had it repainted.”

I gasp. “Pervert? Why would someone…” And before I can even get to the end of that question, it all comes together. “It was about the club.”

He shrugs. “They must have thought it was Emerson Grant’s car. And house.”

“Your house got vandalized too?”

“Not really. It was just a threat, but I don’t think they have the guts to do anything about it.”

Why didn’t Emerson tell us about this? We all know that these conservative trolls in Briar Point have a problem with the club and want to have it removed, but I didn’t know they were out vandalizing his family’s property. And knowing Beau is involved…turns my stomach.

Emerson is ashamed. Not of the club but for putting his son in danger. If I know him like I think I do, he’s keeping this to himself because he’s too afraid to admit it.

“If it happens again, call the police. Don’t engage with them. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a soft smile.

I press my hand against his chest as I stare into his eyes. “No, Beau. I’m serious. Promise me you won’t mess with these people and you’ll call the police next time.”

His smile fades as he studies my face, clearly caught off guard by my sincerity. “I promise,” he whispers.

The rain pours outside as we stand a few inches apart in this delicate moment. His eyes on me and mine on him, unspoken words hanging in the air between us. I know they won’t be spoken, not yet.

“Do you mind if we don’t…play the Domme thing tonight?” I ask.

He reaches up to brush a strand of wet hair out of my face. I let out a shaky breath as he touches me.

“Whatever you want. Does this mean I can kiss you without needing permission first?”

My heart skips a beat in my chest. “Yes.”

Leaning forward, he softly pulls my lips toward his, tracing the shape of them with his tongue before sliding into my mouth to find my own. I don’t push or demand control, but we dance a fine line of dominance, each of us giving and taking and meeting somewhere in the middle.

With a couple steps, he has me pressed against the side of my car. His hands lift the back of my shirt as my skin presses up against the cool, wet glass. I shiver as his fingers explore my body, but as I feel his touch crest the soft rolls of my waist, I tense.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling away from our heated kiss.

“Nothing,” I reply, quickly covering up my discomfort as I pull him back down.

With a groan, he grinds against me, his hard length pressed to my core. I spread my legs for him, giving him more access as his other hand lifts one of my thighs. Everything in me lights up with need, but a moment later, a car drives by, and I’m reminded that we’re basically dry humping in my open garage for everyone to see.

“Inside,” I gasp against his mouth. I shove him toward the door, and we barely break contact as he stumbles backward. We only make it into the living room before he picks me up and deposits me on the couch, lying flat on my back as he climbs over me.

“We could have made it upstairs,” I say breathlessly as he lifts my shirt over my head and presses his lips to my stomach.

“Nope. Too far,” he replies, kissing circles around my belly button.

Chills run up my spine from the way his soft lips feel against my skin. I can’t remember the last time anyone even touched my stomach, let alone ran their tongue just above the seam of my pants, which is what he’s doing now. And it feels like heaven.