At His Mercy

by Shelly Bell

  She shook her head. “The opposite.” He followed the movement as she skated her hands down her rib cage to the top of her panties. “I’m burning up inside.” With his full attention on that shadowy V between her thighs, she dragged the damp lace down her legs and stepped out of them, baring herself completely to him.

  “That was quite a show you put on for me.”

  Some of the confidence she’d felt from her striptease leached out of her. “I hope you enjoyed it.”

  His lips pressed together. “‘Enjoy’ isn’t the word I’d use. More like ‘torture.’”

  She deflated like a week-old balloon. “You didn’t like it?”

  “Like? He chuckled and shook his head. “I fucking loved it.” He took her hand and placed it on the giant bulge behind his pants. “You did this, Angel,” he said gruffly. “And now it’s time to pay the price for it.”

  A frisson of excitement shot through her veins, not knowing what to expect or what price she’d have to pay. She’d known before she started her striptease that she was playing with fire. But hearing that he’d loved it, feeling the evidence of his lust for her under her palm…that made it all worth it.

  He picked a piece of errant hair off her cheek and rubbed it between his fingers. “I want to try something with you, but I understand if you’re not ready.” His lips whispered against hers. “I want to tie you up,” he said softly.

  She inhaled sharply. Just over a month ago, it had been a hard limit for her. She still remembered the panic of waking up in the cabin unable to move. The excruciating pain of Tony’s knife slicing into her skin. The agony of waiting to die as the blood drained from her wrists onto the white sheets.

  “It scares me,” she admitted.

  His large hands cradled her face, and compassion flared in his gaze. “I know it does. But that’s what we’re doing here today. Eliminating your fears, so that no matter what happens at Tony’s hearing next week, you’ll know that you’re strong enough to handle it.”

  Was it that simple?

  When she thought about Tony, it was her loss of power that she feared the most. Submission gave her the ultimate control because she always had the capability to stop the scene with the utterance of her safe word. She had other hard limits that would always remain that way, but those had nothing to do with fear. Before the incident, thoughts about bondage turned her on. She wasn’t ashamed to admit there were nights she masturbated to fantasies of a man tying her spread eagle to a four-post bed and having his wicked way with her. But in every variation of that fantasy, there was always underlying consent to it.

  Since the cabin, she’d banished any idea of bondage from her imagination, not because it didn’t arouse her, but because she was afraid. And she was so, so tired of Tony’s hold on her.

  “Okay,” she said, determination like a fire in her belly. “I’ll try.”

  Oh my. Tristan’s gaze turned molten as his eyes raked over her, from her eyes to her feet and back up again. “What’s your safe word, Angel?”

  She cleared the thickness in her throat. “Red.”

  “If you need it, use it,” he said firmly.

  “Yes, Tristan.”

  Leaving her a naked, aroused, and trembling mess, he strode to his bag underneath the tree. The material of his jeans stretched as he bent over and rifled through the duffel, showcasing his rounded ass and his powerful thighs. His shirt rode up, giving her a glimpse of the golden skin of his back. Aching need bloomed in her pussy.

  He beckoned her over with a curve of his finger.

  Her mouth dried and her clitoris throbbed as she heeded his call.

  Coiled white rope hung from his hand. He turned sideways and gestured for her to move beside him. “Stand here and lift your arms up over your head.”

  She took a deep breath and planted her feet, raising her arms straight above her. He looped the rope over a thick tree branch and, within minutes, had both her hands restrained and completely immobile. She’d expected the rope to be scratchy and uncomfortable, but it was surprisingly silky. Caressing.

  There was no mistaking that she was scared. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, and her entire body shook. But mixed in there was fervent desire. In this moment, she would do absolutely anything to feel his hands on her, even if that meant allowing him to bind her. Because the rope itself became an extension of him.

  As he crouched to secure her feet with rope and metal stakes that were usually intended for tents, she couldn’t stop herself from looking over her shoulder and scanning the woods around them for any sign of approaching people.

  He never stopped to look up, but somehow he saw her anyway. “Whose job is it to make sure we’re not discovered?” he asked, his voice stern and admonishing.

  Shame punched her chest. Her action had negated her promise to trust him. “Yours, Tristan.”

  “That’s right,” he said, tying the rope so it brought her to her tiptoes. His warm breath drifted over her backside. He kissed her tenderly on her right butt cheek before sinking his teeth into it.

  She whimpered, the pain a delicious aphrodisiac that only served to arouse her further. He rubbed his day-old stubble all over her behind, lighting up the nerves until her head rolled back from pleasure.

  “Let go,” he crooned. “You only need to do what I tell you.” He stood straight, his covered groin pressing against her spine. “I’m going to make it easier on you.”

  She groaned as he moved away from her. He pulled a piece of dark fabric from his bag.

  “A blindfold.” She swallowed. “That makes it easier?”

  He rubbed the satiny material on her chin. “Your only job is to take what I give you.”

  Not asking for permission, he covered her eyes, plunging her into darkness, and tied the blindfold behind her head. Opaque, the fabric completely blocked out everything.

  Without her sight, her other senses blossomed. She heard the leaves rustling in the breeze and birds chirping. The sun’s rays shone down on her, heating her right shoulder, while dirt cooled the bottoms of her feet. Tristan’s shoes crunched over the leaves, telling her he’d walked away from her to go to his bag again.

  She sensed Tristan’s eyes on her, as if he was greedily drinking in the image of her bound to a tree, exposed and vulnerable. The sound of his footsteps announced his return.

  He lifted her hair off her shoulder and pressed his lips there. He cupped a breast in his hand and rolled her nipple between his fingers. She sighed, relieved to finally have his hands on her skin.

  A sharp, piercing pain in that nipple stole her breath. “What did you do?”

  It felt as if he’d bitten down on her flesh with sharpened teeth.

  “Nipple clamps,” he said with a touch of sadistic glee. “How do they feel?”

  She was almost about to complain, when she realized the pain had disappeared, leaving a tension on the center of her nipple “When you put it on, it hurt, but now…” The tension morphed into a pleasurable throbbing that radiated outward. “Oh God, it feels so good.”

  He played with her other nipple, getting it good and erect before attaching a clamp. This time, she didn’t care about the pain, knowing that in seconds, she’d be rewarded with overwhelming pleasure. He tugged on them, eliciting a spark that shot straight to her pussy. Arching her back, she fruitlessly struggled against the rope. The need to rub her clit consumed her.

  “Wait until they come off.” He chuckled darkly, as if he couldn’t wait for it.

  How did she not know he was a sadist? Sure, he’d enjoyed spanking and flogging her, but this…this was…amazing.

  Crack!

  Her head snapped up in alertness. That noise sounded familiar. Did he have a whip? “Is that a—”

  “Shh. I’m warming up.”

  It was one thing to wear nipple clamps, but whipping was a different story. Her BDSM trainer had explained the amount of pain depended on the kind of whip used and, without her sight, she had no idea what instrument Tristan wielde
d. “Warming up? I don’t—”

  Crack!

  “Oh!” The searing bite of the whip sank its teeth into the back of her right thigh, making her instinctively hop up on her toes. Blistering heat wrapped around her leg and arrowed up straight to her pussy.

  “Don’t worry about what I’m doing…,” he demanded as he struck her again, this time on her left thigh.

  Crack!

  “…or what I’m doing it with. Just feel it.” His voice was hypnotic, leading her away from the forest and the whip to the sea, where she floated weightless on the tall waves.

  Crack!

  The pain was there just under her right butt cheek, but just as it had with the clamps, it changed. Now she welcomed it. Craved it. Because the brief sting was worth the tremendous pleasure that followed. Her whole body pulsed in time with her heart.

  She felt alive.

  Intoxicated.

  Free.

  “Accept it and make me proud,” he said, striking her thigh again.

  She could do that. She wanted to do that. For him. And more importantly, for herself.

  Again and again, the whip left its brutal kiss on her skin. Her body jerking, she vibrated with an overload of sensations and groaned from the inability to squeeze her thighs together. She didn’t need her sight to know that her labia and inner thighs were slick with her arousal. She could smell it. Feel it cool on her skin as the breeze swept over her. Her heart hammered in time with the pulsation deep inside her pussy. She was one giant exposed nerve, every cell awake and wired directly to Tristan.

  Panting, she hung her head, sweat dripping down her cheeks. “Help me, Tristan,” she begged. “Please.”

  As the whipping ceased, she wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. There was a long silence before she heard his heavy breathing right behind her.

  His hands gripped her shoulders. “What do you need, Angel? I’ll give you anything.” He nipped her earlobe, and as sensitive as she was, she felt it all the way to her clit. “Everything.”

  “I need you. Just you.”

  She nearly wept at the rustle of clothes being removed. Liquid need pooled in her belly. He ran his hands down her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her hips. His hands rotated until he was in front of her. Hot breath fanned her pussy. She could see him in her mind’s eye, on his knees, staring at her puffy labia.

  Without warning, his mouth was on her. Until now, she’d never understood the expression “eating out.” But that’s exactly what he was doing. His chin was inside of her, his stubble rubbing against the wet flesh as his tongue, teeth, and lips feasted on her clitoris. Rough and urgent fingers dug into her sore butt cheeks, pressing her against his hungry mouth.

  Feet spread, she was swinging in the breeze, her arms overhead and straining against the ropes, the sun hitting her face with the man she desired on his knees in worship of her pussy.

  She didn’t have a second to process it all before the tension in her core unwound like the world’s largest spool of thread. Her channel convulsed around his chin, but he didn’t pause, continuing to lash at her with his tongue. When the contractions stopped, he dipped his fingers in her pussy and wet them before dragging them between the cheeks of her butt. She stilled, alert and just a little bit scared.

  He pressed a finger against her rosette and slowly pushed it inside of her. “Relax.”

  Relax? Easy for him to say.

  It fucking burns.

  But it also feels fucking fantastic.

  He swiped his tongue along her slit, ending at the bundle of nerves at the top. His lips covered it, sucking her clitoris into his mouth as he inserted his thick fingers inside her pussy and curved them. And then he rubbed and tapped a spot that electrified her. On a moan, she jerked her body, not quite sure whether she was trying to move closer to Tristan or move away.

  He bit down on her clit. “You will take it, Angel.”

  As if she had a choice.

  She was so open. Exposed. Vulnerable.

  At his mercy.

  With the skill of a master, he gently moved the finger in her ass, manipulated her G-spot, and sucked on her clit all at once, depriving her of the capability of thought. Of breath. Of everything.

  He owned her body, playing it as if he’d done it for years.

  She was a lit firecracker, sizzling and burning. Her limbs shook. She exploded into millions of shards of light, heat bursting out from her pussy to every part of her. Over and over, again and again, pleasurable contractions wracked her. Never ending. One climax spilling into another.

  If she could sag, she would have. She was exhausted, overloaded by the myriad of sensations hitting her body all at once. Sweat trickled down her spine, and the blindfold was soaked. But they weren’t done. She knew that as easily as she knew her own name. When he withdrew his fingers and removed his face from her pussy, she held her breath, waiting for it. Waiting for him.

  He didn’t make her wait long.

  Her pussy stretched around the thicker intrusion, making room for his cock. From this angle, he felt huge.

  One hand curled around her throat, collaring her as the other banded around her middle.

  He slid his cock almost all the way out before slamming back inside of her, forcing her to take him. Take all of him. He held her prisoner in his arms, but there was no place she’d rather be. Furiously, he pistoned his cock, his balls slapping against her ass, and his pubic hairs tickling her skin. She was incredibly full.

  Full of cock.

  Full of Tristan.

  Full of peace.

  He fucked her relentlessly, using her pussy with a single intent—to get himself off.

  The fact that she loved it was just an afterthought.

  He swept one hand down her belly to her nub and pressed on it, the edge of his fingernail scraping her sensitive skin. His other hand left her throat, trailing a path down between her aching breasts. Without warning, he quickly removed both clamps, one after the other.

  Pain stole her breath and, at the same time, pushed her into the strongest orgasm of her life. She screamed as she splintered into a thousand jagged pieces, stars exploding in her eyes.

  Tristan cried out on his own completion, fucking her with shallow strokes as she actually felt the hot streams of come bursting from his cock into the condom.

  From self-defense to overcoming her fear of bondage, she’d learned a lot about herself today.

  But by far, the most significant thing she’d learned was that she was unequivocally, undeniably, in love with Tristan Kelley.

  Nineteen

  She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten there, but the next thing she knew, she was in the car, and felt as though she’d just woken up from a long nap. There was a bottled water in her hands and a half-eaten chocolate bar on her lap.

  Had she gone into subspace or passed out from exhaustion?

  Her skin was sore, especially on her butt. Like a mild sunburn. She couldn’t wait to look in the mirror and see if he’d left any bruises.

  Did it make her a freak if she was aroused by that thought?

  The idea that she’d be sitting in his class this week, wearing his mark like a badge on her skin, with everyone around her unaware of it, made her pussy throb. It would be their dirty little secret.

  When he called on her, would he be thinking of how she tasted? Would he get aroused at the sight of her pencil in her mouth, imagining her lips around his cock?

  Breathing heavily at the idea, she squeezed her thighs together to quell the ache.

  Maybe she should be worried about Tony’s hearing, but at that moment, she was only concerned with how and when she’d see Tristan outside of school again. “What happens when we get back to Edison?” she asked, taking a bite of the candy.

  Reaching over the center console, he took her hand. “This afternoon was a beginning, not an ending. I want more, Angel. More of you. More of us. I want to make love to you over and over, until I know your body better than my own. I want
to fall asleep with you in my arms and wake up to your beautiful face. I want it all.”

  She smiled. “I want all that too.”

  “I’m sure this goes without saying, but we have to keep our relationship a secret. If anyone finds out about us—”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” she said quickly.

  “That includes your roommate, Chloe. You might have to lie to her.”

  Other than Dreama, Chloe was her closest friend. She didn’t want to lie to her, but she knew that in order to have a relationship with Tristan, she’d be forced to hide a huge part of her life from those she cared about, Chloe included. She also knew it would be worth it. “I know, and while I prefer not to lie, I understand what’s at stake.”

  “Do you? There are real repercussions if we get caught. I’ll not only lose my job, but any chance of getting the business loan—”

  “I get it.” She shrugged, playing it casual even though she felt anything but. “If it’s not worth it to you, I’ll under—”

  “It is worth it.” He pulled off to the side of the road and put the car in park. He turned to face her, his eyes blazing. “You’re worth it. But if our relationship is discovered, you not only risk your chance of getting into the business administration program, but you could get thrown out of Edison University. People could find out about your participation in the BDSM lifestyle. Are you sure you’re willing to take that risk?”

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t considered that, but hearing him say it made it that more real. Admittance into the prestigious program at Edison was her dream. Her stomach clenched. What would happen if she lost it?

  She shook her head. That wasn’t going to happen. No one would find out about them. They’d be careful. Take precautions.

  Even if Chloe did somehow find out, she would never tell the university administration about it. But it was the second part of his question she preferred to answer.

  “There’s no shame in participating in BDSM. What happens between two consenting adults is no one else’s business. Would I be embarrassed if my parents found out I take the submissive role during sex?” She shuddered. “Yeah, they shouldn’t know anything about my sex life just like I pretend I was the product of an immaculate conception.”