At His Mercy

by Shelly Bell

  Growing up, he hadn’t been a good student, more often than not cutting classes to hook up with some girl. His mom and teachers had begged him to take school seriously, but he was one of those kids who would rather experience life than read about it, even if it got him into trouble.

  That’s why it shocked him how easily he’d adjusted to the daily grind of an educator, especially on the small-town campus. He’d even started to fill his bookshelves with biographies about some of his favorite entrepreneurs.

  Most of the students in his Introduction to Business classes were freshmen and sophomores who had no intention of pursuing business as their major. They slumped in their seats, staring with blank looks as he explained the theory of consumer choice and the utility-maximizing rule. But others sat up a bit straighter, raised their hands, and participated. Those were the ones that made it all worth it.

  One in particular had caught his interest…

  Like she had every afternoon since school began, Isabella sat dutifully at her small desk in the corner of his office, reading her textbook for European History class. It hadn’t escaped his attention that she hadn’t turned the page in the thirty minutes since she’d gotten there.

  Nothing she did escaped his attention.

  Not in the classroom, where she still sat in the front row, and not for a single moment of the five weeks they’d breathed the same air in his hundred-and-eighty-square-foot office.

  How many times had he excused himself this month to go to the men’s room to jack off? With the amount of time he spent in there, she probably thought he had some kind of stomach issue. But what other choice did he have? She’d bend to get a file, her lush ass sticking up in the air, and all he could think about was pushing her face down on his desk and fucking her into tomorrow.

  Growing warm, he took a swig from his water bottle.

  Since their walk back to her dorm, they hadn’t spoken about what had happened that night or what might have happened if her phone hadn’t interrupted them. For him, the memory of it remained fresh in his mind, but she’d given him no sign of any lingering affection.

  What had he expected when he’d been the one so adamant about it not happening again?

  With a huff of exasperation, Isabella slammed her book shut and swiveled in her chair to face him, likely catching him staring at her. “Are you ever going to give me work to do, or should I just plan on doing homework every day?”

  He clenched his teeth and screwed the cap back onto the water bottle, rather than doing what he wanted.

  Yank down her pants, turn her over his knee, and spank her for that disrespectful outburst.

  Yeah, that would go over well.

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t much for her to do since she wasn’t permitted to grade papers or create lesson plans. Isabella’s tasks were limited to answering his phone, scheduling appointments, and collating copies of handouts. She’d mentioned she was supposed to help Professor Crawford with his journal article, but as an adjunct professor, Tristan didn’t need to publish. Still, it didn’t make sense not to use her when she was so readily available. Maybe he could utilize her skills for Novateur to get a fresh set of eyes on it.

  “You really want to help?” he asked.

  “Yes, I really want to help.” She rolled her chair over to his desk. “That’s what I’m here for. So what do you need?”

  “I own a company called Novateur that invents, designs, and installs state-of-the-art smart kitchens for restaurants. Would you be interested in helping me design a system for a bakery? I need to create a few demos for my partner, Ryder.”

  “Ryder. The owner of the house where we…met?” A blush stained her cheeks.

  God, he loved to make her blush.

  “The same one.” He slid a brochure across the desk to her. “Restaurants, bars…we can design it so you can run almost everything with your voice.”

  “Who does the sales?” she asked, a groove forming between her brows as she studied the brochure.

  “Me.” He shifted in his chair, her question touching on a sore point. “Or it was until I took this job. Now he’s doing most of that work.”

  “Does he mind that you left?”

  Ryder hadn’t wanted Tristan to move for a job, insisting they’d find an alternative means of capital to expand Novateur, but neither of them wanted to lose control over the business that meant the world to them. The only other option to qualify for financing had been for Ryder to buy out Tristan’s share in the company. They’d tossed the idea around for a couple days, but ultimately, Ryder had been the one to reject that option, insisting that together they’d “fly high or die trying.”

  “We’ve been friends since college, when we were roommates and bonded over cheap beer, bad porn, and late-night revelations about how much we despised our fathers.” Despise was too soft of a word for how they felt. “Ryder understands better than anyone that I owed Dean Lancaster.”

  Isabella stilled, her voice quiet. “Why do you owe him?”

  He paused, drumming his fingers on the desk. “I lost my mother during my freshman year.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her green eyes softened.

  “I went off the deep end. Instead of flunking me, he helped me get my shit together and gave me a second chance. So when he called over this summer asking if I would teach Professor Crawford’s classes, I didn’t even think to say no.”

  He left out the part that Isaac had likely only offered him the job because he knew Tristan needed it.

  Isabella didn’t need to know about his failures.

  For so long, he’d been crawling out of the muddy hole that was his life. Here at Edison, he was just Professor Kelley. Not the son of the billionaire Winston Kelley. Not the ex-husband of Morgan Kelley. Not the man whose ruined credit was keeping his best friend’s dream from becoming a reality.

  Maybe it made him a selfish asshole, but he wanted to keep his inadequacies a secret from Isabella as long as possible. He liked the way she looked at him without any judgment in her eyes.

  She leaned across her desk and took his hand. “I’m glad you had him. Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but what about the rest of your family?”

  Warmth permeated in his chest. Her skin was soft, but there was a strength to her grip. The touch awoke memories of the night they met, and how beautifully she’d taken the flogging. And that wasn’t the only thing her touch had awoken. If she leaned over the desk any further, she’d see his cock trying to punch its way out of his trousers and would quickly learn why he spent so much time in the bathroom.

  He had to remember she’d only offered her hand in sympathy. It didn’t mean anything more. Because if it did, despite his intention to keep things professional, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from putting her hand where he really needed her touch.

  He should give her hand a little squeeze to let her know he appreciated it and then move away.

  But he didn’t.

  “I don’t have any other family,” he answered. “My father left us when I was a baby.”

  She didn’t need to hear his sob story. His mother had been all he needed.

  “Anyway, what do you think?” he asked, changing the subject. “Is helping me with Novateur something you might be interested in working on this semester?”

  A brilliant smile graced her face. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Her gaze fell upon their clasped hands, and her smile slid away. She swallowed hard and her tongue darted out, moistening her lips. “After all, I am here to serve you.”

  She had no idea what those words did to him.

  Like a siren’s song, they called to the Dom in him. She made him want to master her, to teach her not about business and economics, but about pleasure and pain, domination and submission. His cock twitched at the thought of her spread out on his desk, her pussy glistening, ripe and ready to be eaten.

  He coughed and shifted, his hardening cock becoming a distraction from their conversation.

  All from a fucking touch and
an offer to please him.

  And she hadn’t even meant it. Not really. She was just offering to do her job.

  For all he knew, she was already over him and onto someone new.

  How many girls had he nailed by the end of his freshman year? At least a different girl every weekend, if not two, and some at the same time. College was, after all, a time to experiment.

  Why should Isabella be any different? She had the world at her feet, a clean slate.

  She couldn’t be oblivious to the appreciative stares of the guys whenever she walked into the room.

  Hell, he certainly hadn’t missed it.

  There was no question Tristan wanted her in his bed.

  On his desk.

  Under his desk.

  And everywhere in between.

  But he wanted more than her pussy.

  He wanted her submission, needed it like fire needed oxygen to burn. He’d always said he didn’t want more than one night with a sub.

  Now he realized it was because he hadn’t met Isabella Lawson.

  When his Angel had gifted him with her submission, it had left a mark on him just as real as the ones he’d made on her skin that night. He’d gotten a taste of what it would be like to own her body and soul, and he hungered to taste it again.

  His heart lurched almost violently against his chest. He felt the beating of it everywhere. In his neck. His ears. Even his damned cock.

  “Tristan.” Her whisper broke through his thoughts and brought him back to reality.

  His gaze fell to their joined hands. As if it were as natural to do as rain in spring, he was lazily sweeping his thumb back and forth across her freckled skin. His mouth watered at the thought of running his tongue along the soft arc between her thumb and forefinger.

  He craved to taste the salt of her skin.

  To bite and suck and lick it.

  To hear her moan.

  He looked up and found her staring at him with round, dilated eyes. Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.

  Her hand trembled and the pulse in her wrist raced beneath his thumb.

  But she didn’t pull away.

  She still wanted him.

  As if drawn by an invisible force, they both rose from their chairs.

  Awareness heated the air, and the tension between them grew tauter with each passing second, systematically erasing all the reasons why they were a terrible idea.

  The bright afternoon sun streamed through the window, the beams hitting Isabella in just a way that it almost seemed as if she glowed. His office melted away from his vision, taking everything with it, everything but his Angel.

  He burned to feel her softness against his rougher skin and to taste her on his lips.

  A heady warmth suffused him, and his heart banged a staccato beat against his breastbone. He ached to plunge his fingers into her red hair and hold her head steady as he devoured her mouth.

  Her fevered breath caressed his face as he leaned across the desk to claim her.

  A knock on the door came only a second before it creaked open. “Isabella?”

  The tension snapped and they recoiled from one another.

  “Chloe.” Isabella’s cheeks turned a fiery red as she swirled around to face the door.

  He stood tall and stepped out from behind the desk, grateful he’d worn a looser pair of trousers that would hide his hard-on.

  A pretty girl with brown hair strode through the door. “I thought you were going to meet me in front of the business school.”

  Isabella went into action, grabbing her backpack from next to her desk. “I’m sorry. I must have lost track of the time.”

  “Don’t worry. My audition isn’t for another two hours,” Chloe said, waving her hand and then turning to him. “You must be Professor Kelley.” She extended her hand. “I’m Chloe Donahue, Isabella’s roommate. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  He stiffened. What had Isabella said about him? “All good I hope.”

  Chloe smiled and nodded. “Of course. Thanks for letting Isabella leave a little early today. I have an audition tonight for Maria in West Side Story, and Isabella offered to help me prepare.”

  Isabella couldn’t get out of there fast enough. She grabbed Chloe by the arm and ushered her toward the door. “Have a good weekend, Tris—Professor Kelley.”

  She was gone before he could return the sentiment.

  What the hell had just happened? He’d been ten seconds from ravaging her. Almost lost control.

  Dangerous territory for a Dominant.

  The last time he’d done that, he’d screwed up his entire life, and he was still recovering from the fallout of it.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. If he left soon, he could get to the city by morning. He hadn’t fucked anyone in weeks. Since Ryder’s party, he’d only had his hand and the memories of Angel’s tight heat. But jacking off did nothing to alleviate the constant ache permeating his balls. It was as if now that his cock had gotten a taste of Angel’s pussy, it would settle for nothing less.

  Still, a few sweaty hours of fucking a well-disciplined submissive might be just what the sexual doctor ordered.

  Who cared that the thought of being with anyone other than Isabella left a bitter taste in his mouth?

  He’d get over it once he had a naked woman tied up in his bed.

  He had to.

  Thirteen

  So, Maria, huh? She’s the lead, right?” Isabella asked as she and Chloe walked across the grass in front of the music building.

  Her pulse was still speeding like a runaway train. Chloe had almost caught her and Tristan…

  What exactly?

  About to kiss?

  About to fuck?

  It had certainly felt like that to Isabella. She hadn’t meant to take his hand, but when he told her about losing his mom and having no other family, she couldn’t help herself from wanting to console him. Sex had been the furthest thing from her thoughts. But the moment her palm covered the sinewy skin of his hand, images of his mouth on hers, his cock inside of her, had distracted her from her original purpose. All month, she’d fought against her feelings for him, locking them away during the daylight hours and pretending he was nothing more than her professor. But at night, when she was alone in the dorm room and underneath her sheets, she fantasized about the Dominant.

  “Yeah,” Chloe said, jolting her back into the present. “I’m sure I won’t get it, but because of you, I thought I’d give it a try.”

  “Because of me?”

  “Just knowing I have your support gives me the courage to try. I’ve never had that before. My old friends…let’s just say there’s a reason I don’t speak to them anymore. They were more interested in the drugs my money could buy than helping me prepare for an audition.”

  That support went both ways. Since the night Tristan had kissed her, her roommate had unknowingly been instrumental in keeping Isabella’s mind off Tristan. She was always there for her, whether it was for a meal, a study session, or just a late-night talk. And she always had a stash of chocolate on hand, a best-friend requirement, in Isabella’s opinion.

  Isabella hadn’t received another letter from Tony, but every day, when she looked through the pile of mail, her stomach clenched and her heart thumped just a little bit faster. Chloe somehow sensed Isabella’s fear without her even having to voice it, always by her side whenever they checked the mail and holding her breath until she saw the relief on Isabella’s face.

  A few minutes into their walk, Isabella realized they had passed the music building. “Where are we going?”

  Practically skipping with giddiness, Chloe pointed at the structure in front of them and smiled. “The Edison Tower.”

  Her throat tightened at the memory of Tristan telling her the history of the tower. She’d found the legend romantic, and for a brief moment, had allowed herself to imagine she and Tristan up there. Of course, her fantasy was complicated by the fact that she ha
d a fear of heights. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. She and Tristan would never kiss on top of the Edison Tower.

  Chloe sprinted the last few feet to the steel door at the foot of the brick structure.

  Isabella didn’t hurry, her curiosity of the legend trumped by churning nausea. “Are you sure we should be doing this?”

  “Come on,” Chloe called, waving her over. “It’s one of the only places on campus to get any privacy.” She pulled a curled wire from her pocket and straightened it. “A girl in my vocal class told me the acoustics are great up here.” Chewing on her lip in concentration, she slid the wire into gap between the door and the wall, moving it up and down near the handle.

  “Doesn’t the music building have practice rooms?”

  “Yeah, but they have to be reserved in advance and it’s almost impossible to find one available.” At a loud click, Chloe turned the handle and the door popped open. She put a hand on her hip and ushered Isabella inside. “See? If they wanted to keep us from the top, they’d make sure they had a better lock.”

  Isabella roamed past the frame of the door and stared up at the curved staircase that would lead her more than one hundred feet up. “I guess.”

  Light filtered in through narrow windows, illuminating the dust floating in the air. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled like old gym socks in there.

  And people found it romantic?

  With a bang, the door slammed behind her. She startled, her muscles tensing.

  Obviously noticing her discomfort, Chloe patted her back and nudged her toward the stairs. “Don’t forget to breathe.”

  “I’m not the biggest fan of heights,” she admitted, trudging up the steps.

  “Then don’t look down. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “I trip and fall over the side, plummeting one hundred feet to my death?”

  “I promise, I won’t let that happen,” Chloe said, her hand on Isabella’s lower back. “So…what was going on with you and Professor Kelley when I walked in?”

  Crap. Had she seen us leaning toward each other? Isabella concentrated on keeping her voice nonchalant. “Why? What do you mean?”