Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(75)

His perfect blue eyes bore into mine as he kneels between my legs.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Can I please…” His hands drift up my thighs as he leans closer.

“Please what?” I ask, running my fingers through his wavy auburn brown hair.

“Make you come.”

My breath hitches in my chest as I stare at him, forcing myself to swallow as I nod. “Yes, you can.”

Without another word, he hooks both arms under my legs and tugs me to the edge of the chair. His fingers slide under the elastic of my panties, and I lift up as he drags them down my legs. Once I’m naked, he lunges, devouring my sex like a starving man. I let out a yelp as his mouth closes in on my clit, sucking hard with a hungry groan.

After a few minutes of his relentless licking, my spine begins to arch as he continues lapping at my folds.

To go from almost never getting oral from a man, and never getting an orgasm out of sex in general, Beau feels like a miracle. He wants to see my pleasure, and I don’t feel the need to hide it anymore. I know these moments make him proud, to see me coming from his touch alone, but I don’t know if he understands it from my perspective. He might think they are just orgasms, and it’s no big deal, but he’ll never truly grasp how powerful and liberating this is for me.

“Oh my God, Beau,” I cry out, digging my hands into his hair to pull him closer. “More,” I plead.

His deep humming grows louder, adding more vibration to my sensitive clit, using his mouth to bring me more pleasure than my body has ever known.

“Right there,” I scream, but just before I reach a quick and intense orgasm, he plunges two fingers inside, curling them against my G-spot as my body spins out of control.

“Yes, yes, yes!” My voice is strained and weak as I’m sent flying into pleasure as it quakes through me from my head to my toes.

I love this man.

It’s a naive thing to think when he’s got his face buried between my legs, but I’m suddenly reminded that no man has ever accomplished what Beau has. It’s like he’s reminding me. As if I could forget.

He rubs his wet mouth against the inside of my thigh as I start to come down.

“Beau,” I say, drawing his attention to me.

“Yes?” he responds.

“Fuck me now.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Taking me by surprise, he stands up in a rush, hooking his arms under my legs as he hoists me off the chair and into his arms. The next thing I know, I’m being slammed against the wall, my leg lifted high over his forearm as he plunges himself inside me.

With heavy grunts, he pounds me into the wall, and I cling to his neck for support. The pleasure of being pierced by his impressive length sends me careening toward another violent orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” I cry out. He answers my request by picking up the intensity of his thrusts until it feels as if we are soaring together, caught in a passionate storm of pleasure and desire. I will never have my fill of him—never.

With every movement of his body, I meet him halfway. Like we are two halves, only whole together. Like nothing made sense before we had each other, but now we know why. No one could ever fill the hole in my life the way Beau can. Together, we are complete.

Sweat drips from his brow as he keeps up his steady cadence, but before he finishes, I’m torn away from the wall and tossed onto the desk, immediately missing the way he fills me. Suddenly, he flips me, so I’m bent over the surface.

I don’t even mind that he’s taking charge. Technically, I told him to do this. And when he enters me from behind, I’m too blinded by how good it feels that I don’t bother putting up a fight. My fingers grip the edge of my desk to keep me tethered to the surface. I press back into him, meeting his violent thrusts.

“Let me hear you,” he begs, so I make my cries even louder, practically screaming against the wood of my desk.

There is nothing but ecstasy between us, our bodies meeting in perfect harmony as we come together. My walls pulse around him as he tremors inside me.

Somewhere during the recovery of my climax, I want to tell him how I feel. I want to utter those three words so he knows. This isn’t an experiment to me. It’s not about control or dominance. It’s real. It’s love. But the fear holds me back.

What if this intensity between us is different for him? What if the connection I think I feel is just about sex to him? He agreed to come to Phoenix, but that was during the high of his aftercare. At some point, we need to have a serious conversation about this, but I admit, I’m too afraid. If there is any risk of losing him, I’m not willing to take it.





Rule #31: Punishment won’t clear your conscience, but an apology might.





Beau





There are a few things I expected to do on the day my ex-girlfriend marries my dad. Drink heavily. Cuss some people out. Get stoned out of my mind and post those nude photos of her I still have on my phone.

The old me might have done all three.

What I did not see coming is this—sitting outside her house, in my car, at nine in the morning, psyching myself up to go in there and say what I need to say. But it’s hard to do the things you know are going to suck hard, even if you know you’ll feel better afterward.

And no amount of crop smacks or vibrating butt plugs are going to punish me enough to undo everything I’ve done. How’s that for self-reflection? Who even am I anymore?