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It’s erotic, that sight, so powerful that she does it without me telling her to.
I need a taste. I motion to her and she rises slowly, giving my hungry eyes a chance to roam the length of her body. I bring her close and take her mouth, drinking from her like I’m a parched man. It’s a kiss that’s filled with things I can’t say or do in here, things I’m not sure I understand.
Her mouth is soft, hot, and wet. My tongue dances with hers, teasing more from her with light caresses, so she comes in for more like she’s hooked and needs her next hit.
I lick her lips, then kiss and bite down on her throat to suck hard at her pulse. Then I move back up to her mouth, taking her all over again.
Her whimpers make me fucking hard. When she forgets herself and climbs onto my lap, I let her.
I tell myself this is only for show, only to be seen, to put the final bow on the fact that Mercer Vale has claimed a sweet little slave.
But I just want.
Her.
And I think she—and I—might be ready for the next move.
TWENTY-THREE
ivy
We still haven’t hadsexsex. We’ve done the rest, but…
I rub my temples and take a breath.
It’s been a week since we went to that horrible dinner party where the men looked at me like I was a slab of prime rib.
And the way they talked about women…
It was absolutely the most vile experience of my life.
To distract myself from memories of that night, I send a drawing of Central Park to Elise, then collapse against the back of the plush leather sofa in the expansive living room. I let out a deep breath and stare at my phone before picking it up.
Cara still hasn’t contacted me. No texts, no emails, no voicemails.
Nothing but radio silence.
I dial her number again, already knowing she won’t answer, but it still stings when I hear her voicemail message.
Will that be the last of her voice that I’ll ever hear?
Part of me suspects the answer is yes.
I end the call without leaving another message and toss the phone onto the couch next to me before sinking into the plushcushion. I lean my head back and let my eyes float closed. It isn’t long before memories of that party bubble up again, making my gut clench.
The whole kink master-slave thing should turn my stomach because there are times I’m talked about like that. But I think the difference is in the parameters.
My experience and exposure are limited, but it’s the scene that gets me. The whole lifestyle. At the clubs what should be demeaning isn’t because it’s a game willing and consenting parties enter into.
Even with Mercer—with Mercer, it’s complicated. I got pushed into it, pulled from my shell, and thrust into a new world I didn’t know I wanted. He doesn’t play by the rules, but his little rewards, like that kiss at the club, are worth everything to me.
Real or not. Right or wrong. Screwed-up circumstances aside, I want it. I thrive on it.
He can kiss better and do more things for me than most of the sex I’ve experienced.
And when he touches me…
“Fuck.” Mercer’s voice tumbles down to me from the stairs and I shiver as he approaches.
