Page 9 of At Your Mercy

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased.

Up close, his face was just as beautiful as I remembered from our first meeting, the high cheekbones and white lashes framing a mouth that could be cruel and soft with the slide of a tongue.

“Considering that I have what’s supposed to be a top-of-the-line security system, yeah. I would.”

“Maybe invest in some guard dogs.” His knife moved, a whisper of motion, the tip digging into my skin just enough to draw a droplet of blood.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet? The opportunity was there.”

“You called me an amateur. Thought I’d prove you wrong.”

“Ah, so your ego is more important to you than completing the job,” I said, trying for irritation and ending up with something flatter, rawer.

His laugh was a soft exhale, without malice. “It wouldn’t feel right if you died without knowing how great I am.” He rolled the knife so it lay warm against my skin. “Plus… maybe I just wanted to see if you sleep naked. Shame that you don’t.”

What the fuck was this brat on?

I tightened my grip on the revolver. The click was loud in the room—a small, mechanical punctuation that had always calmed me.

“I believe I already warned you that I’m not a man you should play with, babydoll.”

“But your angry face is so hot,” he purred, his head dipping closer, warm breath ghosting along the underside of my jaw.

I rolled my eyes because it was the only thing I could think of that wasn’t answering with something uselessly violent. “What’s your goal here, Ro?”

“That’s a great question… Whatismy goal?” he asked, mischief in his voice.

“This gun is loaded, you know,” I answered.

His pupils blew out, a disconcerting desire darkening his pale eyes. I almost flinched back as he lowered himself on top of me, eye contact unwavering as his pink, plush lips parted.

His tongue rolled out to taste the barrel of my gun.

Every nerve in my body jolted. The hard click of metal against his teeth should’ve broken the moment, but it didn’t. He took the muzzle deeper, sucking it like a cock. When he finally pulled back, a thin string of spit clung from the barrel to his lips before snapping.

I stared at him, stunned and more than a little confused. The revolver in my hand felt heavier, wrong somehow. My instincts told me to shove him off, disarm him, and end it. Another, quieter part of me—the part that hated how still I’d stayed—was strangely, traitorously aroused by the display. More aroused than I’d been in a long fucking while—maybe ever.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered. My voice didn’t sound like mine.

Ro tilted his head, eyes locked on mine, mouth shining with saliva. “You’re not used to anyone calling your bluff, are you?” he said softly, the knife still poised at my throat but loose now, like an afterthought.

“Calling my bluff?” I tightened my grip, if only to anchor myself. “This isn’t a bluff. I could’ve blown your brains out.”

He smiled again, but there was something sharper under it now—less smug, more intent. “I know. That’s why it’s interesting.”

The room felt too small for the both of us. I could feel my own pulse hammering against the knife edge. “You’re dangerously close to getting yourself killed,” I warned.

He leaned in until his nose brushed mine. “Am I?”

I exhaled through my teeth, trying to ground myself. He wasn’t just playing—he was testing me. Testing whether I’d pull the trigger, testing whether I’d lose my composure.

“I should shoot you right now,” I said. My hand didn’t move.

“You won’t,” he whispered, almost kindly. “But there’s always tomorrow.”

It was insane—this entire situation was insane—but damn if he didn’t have me harder than I thought possible at my age.

“Get off me, doll,” I said finally, my voice steady again. “Before I lose my patience.”