Page 66 of Built for Mercy

I took a deep breath and tried to relax, but my body was buzzing like a live wire. The nipple clamps were making it hardto focus, and the inability to rub my thighs together was making me tremble.

After a moment, I could hear Maverick moving about. Turning the TV off. The clink of glass. His bare feet shuffled on the hard floors. I couldn’t tell if it was the living room or the kitchen, but he was taking his sweet time.

What is he doing?

Impatient now, I groaned in frustration, tugging at the restraints I knew wouldn’t loosen. Maverick was an expert at everything he did, and knot-tying was no exception. Honestly, how the fuck had I not noticed the metal rings on his bedposts before?

Finally, I heard his quiet footsteps coming down the hallway, and just to be defiant, I didn’t look at him when his frame filled the doorway. I stared at the ceiling, focusing on the remnants of a small cobweb just above the bed. So at odds with the cleanliness of the rest of the penthouse.

“Sophie, darling.” His voice carried an underlying note of danger.

“Yes?” I breathed, my voice barely audible.

He moved to the end of the bed so he was in my line of sight, and try as I might, I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him now. He’d shed the T-shirt he put on after dinner, so he was only in a pair of black joggers that looked so fucking sexy on him I felt myself grow wetter. With his abs and that ridiculously attractive V on full display, I was a goddamn goner.

My eyes drifted to his hands, one holding a glass of amber liquid with ice cubes floating in it, the other grasping the can of whipped cream I’d bought earlier.

I was practically salivating.

“You’re so beautiful. You take my fucking breath away.”

My throat bobbed as I gaped at him, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

Slowly he set his glass down on the dresser, then he crawled onto the bed, kneeling between my spread legs.

Oh my fuck.

My thighs were quite literally quivering. I was so turned on it hurt.

He set the can of whipped cream on the bed, his hands falling to my hips. “What’s your safe word?”

“Mercy,” I whispered.

“Good girl. That’s your hard stop. Pick another word that tells me you’re approaching your limit.”

Brain muddled with desire, I simply stared at him.

“Sophie,” he growled. “Pick a fucking word.” His eyes were practically glowing with anticipation.

“Blue.” He paused, looking at me curiously for just a moment before nodding in approval.

“Okay. Blue. And how many punishments do you owe me?”

“Fourteen.”

He grinned, the look so wicked that I knew he wasn’t going easy on me.Oh God.“You’ll count for me, do you understand?”

Confused at what he planned on doing, I frowned. “How will I—”

But then he was pointing the can of whipped cream at my pussy and squirting it out. I startled at the cold sensation, a yelp tearing from my throat.

His mouth descended on me, warm against the cool whipped cream, and my back bowed. He licked and sucked, nipped and swirled and lapped until my eyes were rolling back and I couldn’t hold on any longer, waves of ecstasy rolling through me.

Except he didn’t let up. He rode my orgasm out, and I attempted to writhe under him but failed because of my restraints.

It was—too much. Sensitive, so sensitive.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “One. Say it.”