Page 38 of At Your Mercy
“Good.” I leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, letting the words pour warm and slow into him. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you?”
He shuddered, and the sound he made—half scoff, half involuntary whimper—was addictive. I kept my touch light, yet grounding, as if I weren’t unraveling him piece by piece with every second of silence that followed.
“Pick a word, doll,” I said calmly, like I was asking him to choose between wine or whiskey. “Any word. Something you’ll remember. Something you’ll actually use if you need it. And if at any time you need to stop, you’ll say that word, because that’s what good boys do.”
I waited, patient and unrelenting, until he swallowed hard and whispered, “Betta.”
A smile curved at my lips as I brushed my fingers down his jaw. “Betta. Okay. I don’t think I’ve heard that one before, but that just makes it easier to remember.”
“I used to have a betta fish.”
“Oh? Did you like it?” I asked fondly.
Ro nodded, then turned to look back out the window. He murmured, “Yeah.”
The car rolled to a smooth stop outside the hotel.
“Stay close when we walk in,” I told him. “You look like prey right now, and I don’t intend to let anyone else catch sight of you like that.”
The driver stepped out first, circling around to open my door. I slid out smoothly, adjusting my jacket to hide my blood-stained side, before holding the door wide for Ro.
He hesitated a fraction too long before stepping out, eyes darting to the grand entrance of the hotel. My hand settled at the small of his back, firm but not shoving, a silent reminder that I expected him to move with me. He stiffened under the touch yet obeyed, falling into step just behind my shoulder.
The lobby was all marble and chandeliers, polished to a shine that screamed money. A pair of businessmen lounged in armchairs near the fireplace, a couple drifted past with luxury-branded suitcases in tow, and the receptionist straightened with a smile as I approached the desk.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Cohen.” Her tone carried the deference of someone who had checked me in before. “We’ve reserved the suite you prefer.”
“Thank you,” I replied, handing over my card with the ease of habit. Beside me, Ro shifted his weight, restless, eyes scanning every corner of the lobby. Anyone watching him would see tension, wariness—maybe even fear. But I could see beneath it. I saw the way he stayed tethered close, instead of bolting, as if instinct had already decided that he was safest by my side.
The keycards slid across the counter. I picked them up and turned, brushing my hand along Ro’s lower back again. His body reacted before his mind did, leaning slightly into the touch.
We crossed to the elevators, and I pressed the call button before angling my head toward him.
“You’re doing very well,” I murmured, low enough that it was just for him.
His jaw clenched. “You don’t need to praise me for every little thing.”
The elevator dinged, doors sliding open. I guided him inside with a light touch, and when the doors closed us into silence, I stepped just close enough that his breath stuttered.
“No,” I agreed softly. “I don’t need to. But that won’t change the fact that I want to.” I smiled, calm and assured, as the elevator carried us upward.
When the doors opened again, I led us out into the quiet hallway, swiping my keycard at one of the two doors on this level.
Inside, the suite was everything I’d expected—polished opulence designed to impress without feeling gaudy. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline in sprawling light, pale curtains pulled back just enough to let dusk spill in like liquid gold. A marble fireplace sat dormant on one wall, and the centerpiece of the room was the bed—enormous, dressed in silk and crisp linen, its headboard upholstered in dark leather that caught the glow from the chandelier above.
I let the door click shut behind us, snuffing out the low hum of the city outside. Ro stood a few feet from me, rigid as a coiled wire. His eyes darted everywhere—the chandelier, the seating area, the double doors that led to the bathroom.
“There’s just the one exit, no cameras,” I murmured, shrugging off my jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.
His gaze flicked briefly to my wound before darting away again, distrust etched into every sharp line of his posture. But beneath that was the way his throat bobbed, the way his chest rose just a little quicker, the way his hands twitched against his thighs. He wanted this, but was nervous. That was fine. He’d learn eventually that he could trust me.
I stepped forward slowly, unhurried, until I was in his space again. My fingers brushed his wrist—just a ghost of a touch—and he flinched, but he didn’t step away.
“You’re beautiful, babydoll.” My voice was velvet as I lifted his wrist and turned it, studying the thin veins beneath his pale skin.
He shivered. “If you try anything, I’ll kill you,” he shakily threatened.
I smiled, bending just enough to let my breath skate across his jaw. “I don’t doubt that. If I harm you, you have every right to protect yourself.”
