My fists tighten around the bars, my champagne ring searing my flesh, just as he suggested, sweat glazing my palms. A guttural groan bleeds through the gag, the taste of my arousal only sharpening it—a reminder of exactly what this man does to me, how he knows my thoughts and my heart. My struggles and fears. My fantasies and the path to my undoing.
My orgasm surges through me without end, an electric frisson that goes on and on with a feverish tenacity, ensnaring every part of me until all I am is the feeling I’m chasing.
And the girl in his arms.
On a final jagged thrust, Ryker erupts, spilling inside me with a fierceness and a throaty, “Fuuuuck,” that sums it all up, his arms tightening around me and his craggy breaths showering me with tingles.
We stay suspended like that for a minute or two, his long limbs cocooning me, his pulsating cock still snug within, both of us trembling. When he pulls out, the loss is immediately devastating. He lowers my dress, dislodges the panties from my mouth, and unties the blindfold.
My inner thighs are already sticky from his leaking cum. As if he senses that, he leans back into me, slides his hand to my entrance, and forces the trickling remnants back inside.
“You gonna wear your wet panties or go out there with my cum dripping down your legs?”
I flash him a coquettish grin as he finishes fingering me. “I’m going with the panties. You can put your dominantheadto rest. They’ll be an apt reminder of how you—what was it?—split me in two.”
“That’ll do.” He chuckles and moves to restore himself—zipper and tie first.
After I shimmy into my saliva-soaked thong, I pluck his jacket off the wall camera, knowing we need to get back out there but also wanting to reassure him. “I’m on birth control.”
He knots his tie, smoothing out the kink in it as his sparkling blues gleam at me. “I know.”
That provokes a huff from me. “Why do you know?”
His dimple makes a valiant effort to distract me with charm. “This would have been less fun if I hadn’t.”
“Ryker …” It’s a warning, though a weak one.
I know this is who he is. It’s who he’s always been. And I understand more than ever that when he snuffed out those tendencies to appease me, things went haywire. So, my argument dies in my throat.
He steps into me, his steadfast resolve mantling his features as he cups my cheeks and rests his forehead against mine. “One thousand twenty-one.”
That would sound like nonsense, except I know that number, so I nod. “Days.”
A sharp intake of air precedes his response. He didn’t expect me to know. “Yeah. The number of days you were gone. The number of days I swore that if I found you, I’d never spend another one away from you. The number of days I promisedmyself thatwhenI did, I’d be involved in every detail because they all matter.”
Those were the little pieces of his horrific storm—the separation, the pain, the thunderstolen.
His wisdom from earlier returns.“Regrets are forever.”
RYKER
There’s a shift in those captivating doe eyes. One I’ve longed to see. It’s more than lust or passion, certainly more than friendship. It’s resolution. And a dash of fight. Like she might finally let me love her the way I need to. Not that I’ll be usingthatword on her anytime soon. I’m not fooling myself into believing she isn’t still skittish.
Regardless, tonight has been full of champagne andtangibledelusions. I plan to savor it all.
Including speeding through the rest of this event so I can sink inside her again because it was everything I’d hoped it would be and so much more. She’s always been my home, but nestled inside her, hearing her whimper and moan because of me, was nothing short of a brush with the divine. I’d been bleeding out for years. A slow, painful death. And with one encounter, she sewed me up with so much hope that the stitching was almost as painful. Deliriously so. I’m still a bit lightheaded. And I’ve got big plans for more.
My suit jacket is draped on her crooked elbow while her other arm hooks over my shoulder, fingers weaving into the hairat the nape of my neck as she presses her pillowy lips to mine. “Okay.”
“Okay?” My shock is evident.
I can’t recall many times Mercy has simply conceded. And despite the fact that she knew the number of days we were apart, I’m aware her cognizance is for reasons that likely have little to do with me and everything to do with her trauma. So, I was expecting a battle over me monitoring her every move.
She nods, though she doesn’t move her forehead from mine so they rub together with the gesture. “I trust you.” Her tongue darts out to lick her lip a hairbreadth from mine, and she swallows as if she’s taking her time to find the right words. “I hear what you’re saying and even what you aren’t. You watch to protect me. And to heal because you’re hurting too. The stuff you’ve done for Remy, the way you’ve taken care of us, and your research on how to help—all of it … I have a hundred more questions, but none of them will change that I want to be that for you. The person who can help you carry it.”
My chest cracks wide open. That’s huge. I would never ask that of her, to shoulder my agony. And, yes, she willingly volunteered for that role for the entirety of our friendship. But since she’s been back, everything has been so muddled that I didn’t anticipate her suggesting anything of the sort.
I also know that nostalgic dancing and burying myself inside her in this makeshift jail don’t mean she’s magically escaped the prison of pain she’s trapped in or the association her mind has made between that horrific night and me. This is a good day—a phenomenal fucking day—but it’s one. And I’m here for them all, no matter how weak or strong she feels.
