“Harder. Please, harder,” she begs, half delirious as I tower over her again. “I can take it.”
I answer her pleas by relentlessly pounding into her, until she’s a beautiful mess beneath me. “Who owns you?”
“You do.” Her voice is so lust-drenched that I’m instantly parched for more. More of every piece of her.
My balls jostle with each punch forward, the melody of moans and purrs, slapping skin and the slosh of her sopping arousal filling the room. Her inner walls pulse around me, her heat hugging my dick. So damn tight.
“Louder, Merce.” I clutch her hip and drag my other hand down the channel of her spine and over the swell of her curves, captivated by the heart shape of her ass and waist, the ripple of her flexed back muscles, the splattering of the wax she begged for, my bite marks branding her, and the goose bumps pebbling her radiant skin. “I can’t fucking hear you. The WAGs can’t hear you. I want the whole damn resort to know who you belong to. Who owns you?”
“You do.” Her volume increases, but it’s still an airy chant puffing out of her to the cadence of my pumps. “Every part of me.” A breath. “You’re so deep.” A moan. “I’m getting close.”
“That’s right, Merce. I own you. I always have.” Reaching my arm around, I carefully remove her clit clamp so all the blood rushes back to the bundle of nerves, forcing her orgasm to smack into her like a tempestuous squall.
My girl trembles in appreciation, her back bowing, her breaths panting out in expectation. The reflection greeting me in the mirror is nothing short of obliterating. Her lips are parted, face contorted in unadulterated rapture while I loom above her. Both of us are feral, chasing that exhilarating crescendo. My thrusts are rough and wild as I hit her G-spot—my piercing spearing it just right—and she begs for more, seconds before her euphoric shattering commences.
She screams, violently clamping down on my cock, like a vise throttling my shaft and forcing me to follow her over that star-speckled precipice. My grunts harmonize with her untethered moans, jolts seizing my limbs, a current of electric quakes racking through my strained muscles. And, fuck, everything pulsates—my abs, my quads, my balls, and dick—as my cum shoots inside her, the bars of my piercing inflicting delicious pressure on the head and stretching out my orgasm. Ragged pumps and coarse pants meet my stream of curses until I’ma twitching heap, slumped over her divine body. Both of us breathless.
I curl my arms around her, my cheek nestled against her dewy skin. “You’re a damn dream, Mercy. That was … fuck.”
As soon as my vision is clear, I peck her shoulder, hop down, and release her from the pillory. Sweeping her into my arms, I perch on the edge of the bed and gently remove the nipple clamps. “You did so good. So good, my sweet girl.”
A wince escapes her, but she blooms a soft smile in the next breath. “That was everything I needed. And then some. You always come through, Ryker.”
“You make it easy.”
“Said no one ever.”
I smooth back her sweat-dampened hair as my amusement pours out because she isn’t wrong, but she’s worth it. “Maybe a better way to phrase it is, you make it a privilege. Producing that flush on your pretty cheeks, the blissed-out haze in those gorgeous brown eyes, seeing you smile—greatest honor of my life. And we’re not done.”
Rising, I carry her with me over to the dresser to grab the bucket of ice I got from the kitchen and return to the bed to lay her down. I set the bucket beside her, plop a half-melted ice cube in my mouth, and soothe her aching nipple with my cool tongue while she purrs in contentment. I repeat on her other nipple before moving to her clit. She squirms away from me and then bucks against my mouth, grateful for the chill.
I’ll be showering her with a lot more aftercare, but the sight of her so sated and relaxed, so carefree andmine, has me desperate for her in an entirely different way. Bracing myself against the headboard, I shift her onto my lap, cradle her cheeks, and pull her in for a kiss. Our tongues tangle in a languid probing, a lazy exploration that is far more of a sensual slow dance than that obscene performance. Both are perfectly fitting.
That was the chemistry we’d denied for years. This is two decades of promises that still ring true.
Her fingers brush over my scruff as she nibbles my lower lip, and her chin wobbles. “Thank you for waiting for me … for me to come back to you.”
It’s plain she’s referring to both her physical and emotional return. But there’s the slightest shade of trepidation laced into those words, betraying that the uncertainty still hovering around us haunts her more than she’s admitted. We’ve had enough time stolen though, so I’ll address that later.
For now, I peck her nose, atop her smattering of freckles, and reassure her, “We’re just getting started, Merce. We have a lifetime of this. I loved you when we were friends. I loved you when you left. And I’ll love you and Remy every day until the end of time. The only thing I was waiting for was for you to embrace it. Nothing else will get in our way. Now we live.”
RYKER
My eyes are glued to my phone, gauging Mercy’s pulse tracker—the one hooked up through her La Lune Noire–access bracelet. It spiked to one hundred forty beats per minute, then up to one hundred fifty, and now seems to be floating back to one hundred thirty-five.
That’s really high in the absence of physical activity. And by her tracking dot, it’s clear she hasn’t moved. During orgasm, her heart rate accelerates to around one hundred seventy sometimes. It certainly did a week ago when I had her in the pillory. But other than that, she’s far steadier, as would be expected. Between sixty to one hundred bpm.
I should have put a body cam on her so I’d have had peace of mind. I proposed as much a couple of nights ago. But she insisted I was being crazy because the courthouse was the safest place she could be. No one is armed, other than the bailiffs. And if she was caught with an unauthorized recording device, she’d be suspended, so I dropped it.
Hadyn emerged about ten minutes ago and told me she was finishing up. I had been monitoring her on and off most ofthe day. But when Hadyn came out, I was on the phone with Axel. Knowing she was almost done, I hung up and studied her tracking app.
Something’s off. What the hell could have her this worked up after the case concluded?
Kane—the chief of our security—is outside with several of his men, so I shoot him a quick text as I stride to the door.
Me: Meet me on the steps with my pistol. And secure all entry points.
When I’m ten paces away, the heavy wood door swings open, and Bryce appears.
