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“That’s not what I want to hear. Do better.”
He comes in, tie loose, face lined with lack of sleep, and he needs a shave. That less-than-perfect look is scorching hot and it makes me want to touch.
I always want to touch.
“Is everything all right?”
“Depends on your definition, Pollyanna,” he says, sprawling opposite me and rubbing a hand over his facial scruff. “Someone fucked up and if they don’t fix their shit…they’re going to cost me a few million. First-world rich guy problems.”
The flippancy is raw-edged, and I immediately want to go and soothe him.
Probably because I’ve lost my mind.
I’ve fallen down some kind of rabbit hole and I don’t know where the bottom is, if I can get out again, or if I even want to. I mean, it’s not like he’s exactly nice to me. I’m a glorified prisoner under the guise of being protected, and I’m supposed to be helping him stop a bad guy and get him in by being…me…so he cankillhim?
He’s going to kill this Henderson. I’m sure he’s told me that, and even if he didn’t, it’s there. That finality. The brutality. It’s there soaked deep in every word he’s said about all this.
Then his hazel gaze moves over me, hot and intimate, electric against my skin. “I haven’t touched you since we got home a week ago.”
“I’m aware.”
Home. He calls it home.
Inside, I’m wobbling and I have to get my act together. It’s like my life is his right now, and he likes it.
And me? I like it, too. Which is dangerous.
“You want to be touched, don’t you, Pollyanna?”
The soft words flick that switch in me as they always do. I fold my hands in my lap. “Yes, Sir.”
“I’ve neglected my toy. Come here.”
My legs shake as I rise and go to him. He reaches out and catches my hip, pulling me down on his lap.
I’m instantly wet, that dull throb humming. Things begin to tingle deep between my legs and my clit begs his touch. It doesn’t matter if it’s the masterful tease, the slow exploration, or the brutal efficiency it wants.
I want.
I sit on him how he likes it, thighs straddling his, pussy up against him. He tangles his hand in my hair, urging me close.
His breath is warm on my lips and I half sway into him. “Pretty fucking Pollyanna. Dressed how I like.”
One hand slides under my dress to graze my pussy.
“Fuck.” He sighs. “Nice and wet. I really have to think about banning panties from the house. Have you wet and waiting, completely accessible to my whims. You’d like that.”
“Yes.”
He continues to stroke me, unfurling the deep and primal needs inside, making the flames leap high. When he brings me close to claim my mouth, I give it willingly and sink into the deep, intimate kiss. It’s one of those kisses that don’t seem to have structure and there’s a wild thrill about that, the fact we’re just riffing, the kiss building, the passion and need clawing at us both.
Mercer fists my hair, jerking my face from his so he can start his delicious assault on my exposed throat. Lips, tongue, teeth. It’s electric. My pussy throbs harder, rocking against his hand, trying to get him to slide under the panties, to sink into me and fill me. His erection thickens, so hard against me. My fingers tremble with the desire to put my hands into his pants and stroke his hot silky flesh.
I want to touch his face, pull his hair back, attack him with my hands and mouth, but he hasn’t given me permission. He sinks his teeth into my throat, licking the sensitive skin at the same time and I buck toward him.
Mercer then sucks me harder, so hard a bolt of pleasure surges from that spot directly to my clit and then bursts into tiny sparks of wonder everywhere. I cry out and spasm while he laughs against my skin.
“That’ll get you a beating, Pollyanna. Coming like that.”
