At His Mercy

by Shelly Bell

  At that image, the buzzing in her veins spread to that sensitive spot between her legs. Off balance, she stumbled, but was quickly righted when Tristan caught her. Their eyes locked and time stood still.

  Did it remind him of the last time he caught her after she’d tripped too?

  Stealing the chance, she allowed herself to burrow in his heat and luxuriate in the safety of his strong arms. The wool sleeve of his business suit rubbed against the outside of her bicep. She inhaled deeply, taking his scent deep into her lungs.

  Then before she knew it, she was standing on her own two feet again and grieving from the loss of those precious moments.

  Pretending she didn’t still want him was going to be harder than she first thought.

  Why had he volunteered to walk her home rather than try to convince her to get a ride from Cassandra? He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left Dean Lancaster’s house. Except for his overreaction at her assertion of walking herself home, he hadn’t shown an ounce of emotion the entire evening. Not even when he’d looked straight in her eyes just as they had done when they’d made love.

  It was as if that night between them had never happened for him.

  “You really didn’t need to walk me,” she said, breaking the silence. “It’s not that far.”

  As they stepped into the darkness of the night, she shivered and reluctantly admitted to herself she was grateful to have him with her. Tony’s letter and that weird phone message hung heavily in her mind.

  His expression remained bland. “It doesn’t matter how far; you shouldn’t walk alone at night on campus. Although the campus boasts the lowest crime rate in the state for a university, dangerous things still can happen.” He didn’t have to warn her. She could confirm dangerous things could happen anywhere.

  On a narrower path, their bodies adjusted to the reduced space and moved closer to each other. Tristan’s fingers briefly brushed hers.

  Her heart galloped from what was most likely an accidental touch. “You’re right,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear to keep herself from doing something stupid like holding his hand. “Thank you for walking with me.”

  Under the illumination of the lampposts, they followed the path along the Edison River, passing by the university’s hundred foot bell tower. Ivy climbed the sprawling redbrick walls. During the day, the bells rang at the top of every hour, the chiming music audible across the entire three-mile-long campus.

  “Do you know the legend about the bell tower?” Tristan asked, jutting his chin toward the structure.

  She stopped walking and looked up at it. “Uh, no. Tell me it has nothing to do with jumping from the top.”

  He laughed, finally showing some emotion. “No. There’s an old legend that says if two people kiss up there, they’re destined to marry. According to Isaac, the story originated with his grandparents, but there are several others who have sworn the legend came true for them. Once a year, they hold a mass wedding ceremony here for couples who’ve kissed on top of that tower.”

  She rubbed the scar on her wrist. Before her life had gone to hell, she’d believed in love and destiny. From the moment her parents had met at twelve years old, they’d been inseparable. Her mother had said it was love at first sight. They’d gotten married straight out of high school and had their first child two years later. Six kids, eight grandkids, and thirty years later, she claimed their love had never wavered.

  As the youngest of the bunch, Isabella had watched with envy as her sisters had settled down with their high school sweethearts shortly after their graduations. At the beginning of high school, she’d wanted to follow in their footsteps. Tony had been the son of her parents’ best friends. He’d always been a part of her life. One of her closest friends.

  When he’d asked her out on a date, she’d romanticized it into destiny.

  When, a year into their relationship, Tony had suddenly gotten angry at her for spending time with her friends, she’d told herself he was possessive because he loved her.

  When Tony had started calling and texting her dozens of times a day to check up on her, she’d convinced herself it was because he was worried for her safety.

  When Tony had gone from telling her she was the most beautiful girl in the world to telling her he only found her beautiful because he loved her, she thought she was ugly and was grateful to him for believing otherwise.

  When he’d grown paranoid that the teachers were all “out to get him,” she consoled him.

  When he’d had trouble sleeping and woke her by knocking on her window in the middle of the night, she let him in her bedroom, losing precious hours of sleep as a result.

  When he no longer cared about showering or brushing his teeth, she’d pretended it didn’t bother her.

  From sophomore to senior year, she’d ignored the warning signs of his abuse and later his descent into psychosis, all because she believed he was her destiny. Like many abuse victims, she’d only focused on the good moments between them. It had taken months of therapy to stop blaming herself for not ending the relationship sooner and for not getting help from her family.

  “Do you believe the legend’s true?” she asked.

  He turned his head and stared intently at her, the heat from his gaze burning straight through her. “I believe that people make their own destiny.”

  What was her destiny?

  Because at that second, all signs pointed to him.

  Tearing her gaze away, she resumed walking and changed the subject. “Enjoy the dinner party?”

  “As much as watching bread turn into toast,” he said drily as he fell into step beside her.

  “Not your scene, huh?”

  “No. Definitely not my scene. But the dean insisted I attend.” His hand brushed hers, and this time, she wasn’t sure if it was an accident. “And it wasn’t all dull.”

  There was no mistaking the inference of his words.

  He hadn’t been as immune to her as she’d believed.

  “So how are you liking Edison so far?” he asked, changing the subject before she could decide how to feel about it.

  “It’s…different.”

  “Different, how?”

  “I’m used to having more privacy.” At least, her own room. There was always family around her house, but they gave her the quiet time she’d needed since the incident. “I don’t think I’m going to fit in.”

  “It’s only the beginning of the semester. You haven’t had time to make that assumption.”

  “I’m not here to socialize.” She stopped him with a hand before he could interrupt. “I know, it’s college and I’m supposed to have that whole college experience, but that’s not on my agenda. I’m here to work hard, not see how many shots I can do before passing out.”

  “I don’t think you can generalize the college experience,” he said slowly, as if gauging his words. “There are plenty of other students who are like you and here to get a good education. You just need to find those people.”

  She chuckled sarcastically. “Well, I don’t think any of them live in my dorm. I’ve never seen so much alcohol in my life.”

  “It’s against the rules to drink in the dorms, even if you’re over twenty-one. Which I happen to know you aren’t.”

  “I don’t drink, but I seem to be in the minority.” She ribbed him. “I bet you drank at college.”

  “I did, but that doesn’t make it the right thing to do. Don’t let anyone dictate how you live your life.”

  “Big words from a Dominant.” Her cheeks heated. It was too easy to forget he wasn’t Tristan, but instead, Professor Kelley. She shook her head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

  He frowned. “No, but since you did, I’m going to clear up your misconception. I can’t speak for all Dom/sub relationships, but a Dominant doesn’t control his submissive’s life. He simply provides guidance.”

  “Is that what you’re doing now? Guiding me?”

  She watched as he swallowed har
d. “As your teacher.”

  “And elder?”

  He stopped walking and turned to her. “I’m not that…” At her smile, he folded his arms across his chest. “You’re teasing me.”

  “I am,” she said, laughing. “But only because you made such a big deal about my age.”

  He cocked his head. “When have I done that?”

  “Let’s see.” Pretending to mull it over, she tapped her cheek with her finger. “Earlier today after class when you asked how old I was.”

  “You said you were sixteen,” he pointed out. “I think you get a thrill out of teasing me.”

  She did.

  She liked it even better when he teased her. The memory of him pushing her against the brick wall of his friend’s house last week flashed in her mind, and her body immediately reacted, as if reliving it. Heat permeated low in her belly, and a subtle tingling began between her thighs.

  “You turned as white as the statue of David,” she said, trying to ignore her arousal. “Even after you learned I was nineteen, your coloring didn’t return to normal.”

  The lamppost’s light flickered, casting three long shadows along the path. Her throat constricted, making it difficult to swallow.

  What or who was making that third shadow?

  Her eyes searched for the source, but she didn’t see anything obvious. When her gaze returned to the shadows, the third one had disappeared. Probably just a squirrel.

  “I thought you were older…that night,” Tristan said on a sigh. He scowled, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching with tension. A sharp pain lanced her chest. She was such an idiot. While she was struggling with her attraction to him, he appeared to regret their time together.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said curtly, turning to walk away.

  He gently grabbed her arm. “I’m not disappointed. Just surprised. You seemed older. More mature.”

  Flooded with relief that she’d misread his body language, she let out a breath. But she was confused. If he didn’t regret their night together, why had he scowled? “Maturity has nothing to do with age.” She felt as though she’d aged a thousand years after the incident. “Sometimes a bad experience can make you feel far older.”

  His gaze fell to the scars on her wrists. “Do you want to talk—?”

  “No,” she said much louder than she’d meant to. Probably because she did want to talk to him about it. But revealing her secrets implied an intimacy they were trying to avoid. “It’s in the past and that’s where it’s going to stay.” Far, far away, where it would never touch her again.

  He didn’t admonish her for raising her voice.

  He didn’t need to.

  His eyes spoke volumes. His pupils dilated and fixed on her.

  This man.

  She recognized him.

  The Dominant.

  She hung her head as a wave of shame washed over her. But along with the shame came a blast of excitement she hadn’t expected.

  The arousal that had been on simmer went to a full-on boil. Her breathing accelerated and her heart increased in tempo, a tempo she also felt deep in her pussy. With a single look, Tristan was able to elicit the submissive within her.

  Did he even realize it?

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly, peering up at him. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  He inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring, and although she didn’t think it possible, his eyes darkened even further. Then, as if coming out of a fog, he blinked repeatedly and pasted on a smile. “It’s okay.” He smiled and playfully tugged on the ends of her hair, his knuckles grazing the exposed skin of her collarbone. “If you can’t snap at your professor, Angel, who can you snap at?” She gasped and shivered at the contact.

  He’d called her Angel.

  The smile melted from his face, and as he moved closer, he swallowed convulsively.

  She wasn’t the only one fighting the attraction.

  With a long buzz and one final flicker, the lamppost’s light died, blanketing them in the darkness.

  A soft breeze curled around them. Neither one of them moved. Her pulse went haywire as she felt that electric current between them growing stronger and stronger.

  Under the pitch-black cover of night, she found the courage to admit the truth. “We both know you’re more than my professor,” she whispered.

  He brought his hand to her cheek, cradling it in his palm and his thumb caressing the skin near her lips. “What happened between us last week was more than fucking for me,” Tristan said gruffly. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind since that morning. When I saw you sitting there in my classroom, I thought it was my imagination. It took me a moment to process that you were really there.”

  Her heart was beating so loudly, she wondered if he could hear it. “I know the feeling.”

  Hot breath fanned her face, and although she could barely see anything, she shut her eyes as his mouth gently pressed against hers. She sighed, surrendering to it, knowing the moment would end too soon, and threw her arms around his neck, her fingers delving into his thick hair.

  It was as if her actions had flicked a switch within him. Hand on her lower back, he pushed her closer, growling into her mouth and kissing her more aggressively. His tongue darted inside and stroked hers in a wicked dance in which he led and she followed.

  He tasted like one of her desserts, sweet with a tinge of spicy underneath.

  But there was nothing sweet about this kiss or what his hand was doing to her breast. He squeezed it hard, giving her that bite of pain he knew she liked, while he brushed his thumb back and forth over her nipple.

  This was crazy, kissing out here in the open when it was forbidden. The danger of being caught somehow made it even hotter. During their night together, he’d shown she could trust him, and she trusted him just as much now. Maybe even more because he was no longer a stranger, her one-night stand.

  What were the odds that they’d meet at a party twelve hours away and end up here at Edison University where she’d be his student and assistant? That had to mean something, right?

  Something like…destiny.

  Tension coiled low in her belly. Her insides clenched, achy and needy, and she whimpered deep in her throat.

  Lifting his mouth from hers, he murmured against her ear. “You greedy for me like I am for you, Angel?”

  Bending at his knees, he dropped his hand to her ass and pushed her against his erection, giving her proof. At the glorious pressure of him grinding on her clit, a loud moan tore from her lips.

  “Yeah, you’re greedy for me,” he said huskily. “If I slipped my hand into your panties right now, I bet I’d find you soaking, wouldn’t I?”

  Yes, yes, yes.

  She nodded, desperate for his touch.

  He yanked her head back by her hair. “I asked you a question, Angel.”

  Her scalp stinging, she blinked through the fog of her arousal. Inside and out, her body was on fire.

  And he actually expected an answer?

  “Yes,” she managed to say, clutching his shirt in both hands. Holding on to him as if her life depended on it. “I’m so wet for you.”

  His tongue caressed the outer shell of her ear. “You think about me when you touch yourself at night?”

  She hesitated again, this time because she was self-conscious over the personal nature of his question. Reminding her of his power, he twisted her hair around his wrist and tugged on it harder than before.

  The sweet bite of pain sent heat straight to her clit. “Yes, Tristan.”

  “What do you imagine I’m doing to you when your fingers are playing with that delicious pussy of yours?”

  She trembled. Judging by that low, commanding voice he used—the one from the play party—he wouldn’t tolerate a lie.

  She swallowed down her embarrassment. “Spanking me.”

  He let out a rough moan as he released his grip on her. “Fuck, Angel.” His hands went to the button of her pants. “I n
eed to touch you. Taste you.”

  Liquid heat coursed through her as all thoughts of propriety flew out the window.

  A familiar melody by her favorite band singing about signs and sins blared, stilling his nimble hands and crashing through the reverie.

  Her cell’s ringtone.

  Breathless, they quickly broke apart and took a step backward, leaving a socially acceptable distance between them. Tristan clasped his hands behind his head and exhaled. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  Her stomach plummeted to the ground. She glanced at her phone, seeing she had missed a call from Chloe, and then looked back to Tristan. Based on his reaction, it wasn’t hard to figure out he regretted the last few minutes.

  “I’m sorry, Isabella,” he said, confirming her suspicion. “I’ll always treasure the night we spent together and tonight’s…kiss.” He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising practically to his ears before they dropped on his long exhale. “But it was a mistake and it can’t happen again.”

  Disappointment flooded her, her stomach twisting, and she bit the inside of her cheek hard, the pain keeping her from saying what she really wanted.

  We can make it work. Keep it a secret. It’s destiny. But why bother if he didn’t want her as much as she wanted him? If he didn’t think she was worth the risk? If he thought it was a mistake?

  She was such an idiot.

  How many times would it take before she learned that there was no such thing as destiny?

  Ten

  Tristan took the long way home, his mind as cluttered as his new apartment and his cock as hard as steel.

  After tonight, one thing was clear.

  Keeping his hands off Isabella would prove to be the greatest challenge of his life.

  Not ten minutes alone with her had passed before he’d practically mauled her like a starving bear eating his first meal after hibernation. Her taste had been as sweet and rich as honey on his tongue.