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“Secret herbs and spices,” I say.
He thrusts into me once more and pulls his fingers out as he laughs.
It’s the first real laugh I think I’ve ever heard come out of him, even years ago when I catalogued, labeled, and carefully stored away every single thing he did in a special display case inside my heart.
This one is just genuine humor. It should make him more human and less frightening, less alluring. But instead, it just intensifies it all, as if humanity makes him deadlier. More desirable.
“Bottle it and sell it, Ivy.” Then he gets up from the bed. I scowl at him as he throws open the walk-in closet door in my room. He comes out, a smirk tugging his lips. “Not that face, though. You don’t want it to freeze like that.” He tosses me some scraps of clothing. “Put these on.”
The skimpiest, laciest underwear hits the bed.
I maintain my glare.
“Are you upset I didn’t let you come? Be a good girl tonightand you can come after.” He walks to my door. “Get dressed. We got an invite to a party.”
Does…does that mean this is nearly over? “Broken Angel?”
“No. A sex party. Ten minutes.”
He leaves the room and I put on the ridiculous outfit he picked. I wince when I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
I’m not wearing this. I look… I swallow. The baby doll swirls around my thighs. It’s a soft cream color and completely see-through. The bra and panties aren’t much better. And with my makeup? I look exactly like what I am to him.
A toy, a doll.
“Put your hair up, Pollyanna.”
I almost jump out of my skin when I see his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s there, leaning against the door, and I spin to face him. “I’m not?—”
“Yes, you are. You look like you were just fucked and are every inch the bratty, pretty sub I know you really are down deep.” He looks at his watch. It’s a different one than he usually wears, probably outrageously expensive. He’s changed into an all-black outfit from the sweater to the pants to his black, polished shoes.
My knees threaten to give way.
“Meet me at the door in one minute, or you’ll go in the underwear.”
I grab a rubber band and put my hair up as I follow him out of the triplex.
He hands me a wrap before the door closes. I guess that’s him showing me some shred of mercy.
I’m so nervous, so off-balance that only his touch on my thigh centers me. During the car ride, he strokes up to mypanties and down, taking his time. He murmurs soft words, occasionally letting his fingers touch the gusset of my panties. My eyes float closed, my body riding on the highs of those erotic sensations.
It’s not like I’m going to be able to stop him.
Mercer Vale does what he wants.
Bully, kissing artist, fiend. A man with the kind of touch that could melt glass. And…I don’t care about anything right now but that hand on my flesh. Not how he got so rich, not what we’re doing, not why he has me as his little slave.
When we arrive, he slips satin ballet slippers on my feet and leads me into a nondescript place called Wolf and Lamb. There’s a tiny handwritten sign outside.
The other place was class. This is grunge. Sleaze encased in velvet and leather.
He leads me to a set of sofas where he sits and orders a drink from a naked woman. The music here is louder, the beats a little harder, like the kind of tie me up and fuck me hard sex he likes.
The kind I think I like.
Mercer guides me to the ground to sit between his feet. All my skin burns with humiliation. But as I look around, I’m not the only one and…oh. People are… Jesus. They’re having sex. They’re whipping others. There’s some kind of three or foursome going on in the far corner, and one guy is thrusting into a woman’s ass.
Holy cow, where the heck are we?
