Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(83)

“You’re taking me so well, Beau. You should see how good this looks,” I say in a raspy tone.

This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. With each thrust, the strap between my legs rubs against my clit, making me more and more keyed in and turned on. As much as I want to tear this thing off and ride his cock until I come, I am more interested in seeing this part through first, because it’s so, so good.

“Are you ready to come yet?” I ask.

“Yes, please,” he groans.

“Not yet,” I reply. “Don’t you even think about touching your dick until I say so. Do not come yet. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies tightly with a dirty sounding grunt.

Squeezing his hips tighter, I finally let go of everything else. Every thought in my head is gone until it’s just him and me and this insane, intense, unbelievable moment. All of the power he’s handed me is burning like a fire between us. The only sound in the room is of the pounding of our bodies and the noises it’s eliciting with each thrust. Cries of pleasure and need and desire. He’s desperate to touch himself, I know it. But I want to wait until the very last minute.

The strap is rubbing my clit raw, and I’m probably going just as insane as he is. But I don’t stop. I drive him to the very edge, where pleasure becomes pain. Want turns to need. Where our bodies don’t feel like our bodies anymore but just vessels of raw, filthy, breathtaking sex.

Once we’ve reached that point, and I notice his fists are turning white with the way they’ve clutched the bedsheets, I let him have what he wants. “Do it, Beau. Stroke yourself. Come all over this bed and show me how much you love this.”

The sound that comes out of him at that moment is part cry, part moan, and part animalistic roar. It’s enough to make me let out a high-pitched cry of my own, and as I watch him fist his aching cock, reflected in the mirror on the wall, I keep up my thrusting.

I’m so turned on I can barely breathe, but I don’t quite expect my own orgasm to slam into me with the force that it does. I use his body for leverage, grinding into him as every nerve ending in my body lights up with pleasure.

Then I watch with satisfaction as he paints the bed white, spraying his pleasure where I can see it. I’m buried to the hilt as he comes, and I love the way his body shudders against mine.

“Good boy,” I mumble again and again. “So, so good.”

It feels like it takes us both forever to catch our breaths. When he’s finally emptied himself of his cum, I gently ease out of him, working to remove the strap-on in a rush. Once it’s unfastened, I toss it to the floor and focus on him. My hands run along the sweat-soaked planes of his back and the erratic cadence of his breathing.

“Talk to me. How are you?”

“So fucking good,” he replies breathlessly. He’s blindfolded, but he still turns his head toward me.

“Lie down.”

Without another word, he collapses against the mattress, clearly not caring that he landed in his own mess. Spreading out behind him, I rub his back and kiss his shoulder. When he turns toward me, I gently remove his blindfold and pull him into my arms, loving the way the quick pulse in his neck feels against my chest.

His hand slides down my body, reaching between my legs to find me wet and sensitive. “What about you?” he asks, and I smile at the thought of him being so focused on my pleasure.

“I’m good,” I reply, kissing his head. “I came.”

“You did?” he asks, looking up at me.

A chuckle escapes my lips. “Yeah, it surprised me too, but that was so hot, it didn’t take much.”

He groans, burying his face in my neck. Apparently, the thought of me being turned on never fails to have an effect on him.

We stay like that for a while, just breathing in the silence and caressing each other. Finally, I get out of bed and use the sink to wash my hands and gather him some things. I glance back to find him watching me with an adoring expression. With a blush in my cheeks, I carry a cold bottle of water and the prepackaged fruit tray from the small fridge over to the bed, climbing up to sit next to him.

“Do I really need grapes right now?” he says with a scowl as he stares at the plastic container I’m holding in front of him. I can’t help but laugh as I pop one into his mouth.

“Just let me take care of you, please. You know I like this part,” I say as I unscrew the cap to an ice-cold water bottle.

With a smug grin, he lets me pamper him for a while, forcing cheese and fruit while he sips the water. We don’t say much, letting the delicate moment linger for a while. It seems with everything we do, we grow closer. Silently, I drag a warm, wet washcloth across his body, enjoying each inch of his perfect skin.

“So?” I ask, finally.

“So what?” he asks, looking both drunk and in a euphoric daze as he leans against the headboard with his eyes barely open.

“So, how did you feel about that?” I’m dying to know that he’s not ready to run for the hills, but I don’t want to come off as desperate.

“Maggie.” He states my name very clearly as his eyes open. “I just came so hard I think that comforter will have to be trashed. And I’ve never made so much noise during sex before. I think you might have actually fucked me senseless. So how did I feel about that? I’d say pretty fucking good.”