Page 66 of At Your Mercy
I felt hopeful.
I shifted so that my head rested against his shoulder, letting his heavy arm settle around me more fully. He murmured something in his sleep and tightened his hold, as if he were comforting me in his dreams. I let myself breathe into the rhythm of him.
It was a strange thing to be cared for by a man who could have been my enemy. Ever since that first meeting, I had been waiting for a catch—a shift of posture, a look that would tell me I was mistaken, that he was only pretending to care.
After last night, I was done waiting. I was done waiting, because I’d found nothing but the plainness of someone who had seen the worst and decided it shouldn’t stay that way.
I pressed my lips to the soft spot just below his collarbone, an impulse more of gratitude than love, more of a promise than anything eloquent. “Thank you,” I whispered, not sure for whom I said it. For him. For myself. For the part of me that wanted to be smaller and safer and known.
He shifted in his sleep again, a smile ghosting at the corner of his mouth. The movement had pressed us even closer together.
My lips parted, a tiny gasp escaping, as the realization that he was hard struck.
My body moved before my mind could catch up, a slow roll of my hips against his erection. My heart thundered, louder than the soft drag of fabric as I shifted again, testing the friction. Fuck, it felt good.
I bit down on my lip, holding a needy whimper in.
The feel of it made me shiver, and I pressed in closer, my breath catching as I rubbed against him again. I could almostpretend he wanted this as much as I did, that he wasn’t lost in sleep while I stole the warmth of him.
The harder I tried to stay quiet, the more impossible it became. My breath came too sharp, too shaky. His chest rose and fell under my palm, steady where mine felt frantic.
“Ro?”
I froze, every muscle locking up, my face burning as though I’d been caught doing something shameful. I mean…technically, I had.
But his hand didn’t move away. If anything, it curved against my side more deliberately, his thumb brushing the hem of my shirt, as he pulled me into him.
A gentle thrust of his hips left me whining as he chuckled lowly. “Was someone trying to hump against me in his sleep?” He playfully tsked. “What a bad boy.”
My face went hot, and I buried it in his shoulder, wishing I could disappear straight into the mattress. His laugh rumbled through me, making it worse, because it wasn’t mean—he wasn’t angry. No. He was enjoying this.
“Don’t get shy on me now,” Wes murmured, his lips brushing the top of my head. “I wake up to you grinding on me, and then you want to hide? That’s not fair, babydoll.”
I shook my head against him, mortified, but his hand tilted my chin until I was forced to look up. His eyes were heavy-lidded from sleep but bright with mischief, his smile tugging like he had me cornered in the best possible way.
“To think that you told me you weren’t going to beg me for this anymore,” he teased, voice low and rough. “But here you are… rubbing all over me like you couldn’t help yourself. Your brain was too focused on my cock to wake me up, huh? Did I not fuck you hard enough last night?”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to apologize or plead with him not to stop.
His thumb stroked along my jaw affectionately, almost contradicting the taunt in his words. “Do you need me, doll?”
I swallowed, my pulse wild, and managed a shaky nod.
That earned me another chuckle, but gentler this time, fonder. “God, Ro… you’re gonna be the death of me.” He lowered his hand from my back to grab a handful of my ass. I moaned and tried to shift my hips forward again, but Wes scooted back, leaving me grinding against air.
“Nope, I need to punish you for using my body to get off. Come on, up.” I groaned but slid off the bed onto my feet. Wes moved to the foot of the bed and sat down, spreading his knees apart. My eyes locked onto the bulge in his pants as I padded over to him.
His hand curled into the back of my shirt, hauling me forward until my stomach lay across his thigh. My face was buried in the jeans he’d slept in; I could feel the curve of his leg beneath me. Blood rushed to my head.
“Lay still,” he murmured, tone deceptively casual.
I did. It felt dangerously simple.
His palm came down firm and stinging against my ass. I jerked, a small animalistic noise slipping out of me in shock.
“What the fuck, Wes—”
The second smack was harder, and heat flared across my backside, bright and immediate. I kicked my feet and growled, “Spanking me during sex is one thing, but to actually put me over your knee like a kid?”
