Page 97 of At Your Mercy

Beads of sweat dripped down his flushed face as he bent down to capture my lips. His tongue fucked into my mouth, leaving no question as to who was in charge.

With a full-body shiver, Wes moaned loudly into my mouth as his cock twitched and erupted within my channel.

Wes collapsed on top of me, breathing heavily. I was too fucked-out to say anything.

After about a minute of us both trying to catch our breath, he slid down my body. I assumed he was going to start to clean us up, but no. His thumbs pulled at the sides of my hole, spreading it wide open as his hands squeezed my ass cheeks. My eyes had fluttered shut, but sprang open when a thick, wet tongue lapped at my crease.

“W-what—”

He murmured, his voice tickling my sensitive rim, “Shh, babydoll. Gonna get you all clean.”

I whimpered as he latched onto my hole and began to suck his cum out. His tongue stiffened to enter me, licking his way up and down my inner walls.

My hands shot down to his head, just scratching and kneading his scalp as he passionately ate me out. To my shock, my core heated and my dick began to fill. I rocked my ass against his face, drawing a throaty moan out of him.

“So close,” I gasped, feeling the heat of another orgasm rising. “Oh fuck, fuck,Wes.”

He growled, thrusting his tongue in and out of me. My thighs trembled and closed around his head. My eyes clamped shut, and then I was coming.

Thin white stripes spurted from my cock, splattering onto my belly. My thighs tightened around him as I shook through several aftershocks. When it was finally over, my legs fell to the mattress, and I lazily gazed down.

Wes looked pleased, licking his lips. “So fucking sweet. I’m gonna need to taste that hole at least once a day from now.”

I giggled sleepily, exhausted from two consecutive orgasms. “Anything you want.”

“You shouldn’t give me that much power,” he chuckled, his voice rough.

I smiled as I closed my eyes, ready for a nap. “I trust you.”

* * *

By the tenth day, I could move without feeling like my ribcage was splitting open. The wound still burned if I twisted wrong, but it was a manageable pain. I wasn’t helpless anymore, and the longer Wes treated me like I was, the more restless I got.

One afternoon, after he’d finished another round of checking my stitches and muttering about infection risk, I caught his wrist before he could pull away.

“Wes,” I said quietly, meeting his good eye. “I need to see him.”

He froze, the pulse in his wrist jumping under my fingers. “Ro…”

“I’m not asking,” I said. “I’m telling you that I’m going. Today.”

He exhaled through his nose. “You’re not ready.”

“I am.”

“What if you get hurt?”

“I won’t,” I shot back, forcing a faint grin that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

His jaw tightened. I let go of his wrist, but didn’t look away.

Wes rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, silent for a long moment. “You shouldn’t even be thinking about this yet. You should wait until you’ve healed.”

“I’m healed enough,” I said. “And I’ll let you continue your mother hen act when we’re back from dealing with him. You can dote on me to your heart’s content.”

“You’re sure this is what you want? You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to.”

I nodded once. “I’m more than sure, Wes. I get that you’re worried about me, and that’s sweet—it really is. But this is something I need to do.”