Page 10

Chapter 10

No Mercy

Thick black leather cuffs. Soft inside, sleek and firm on the outside, with polished metal buckles and a locking clasp. His fingers stroke one as he lifts it, like he’s handling something precious. His voice is quiet but rough with intent.

“I had these made for you.” He shows me the lining—buttery-soft against skin. Then rotates them slowly, letting me see the contrast—the soft restraint inside, the undeniable authority on the outside. “They’ll hold you without bruising.” His gaze lifts. “But make no mistake. Once they’re on, you won’t be moving.”

My pulse jumps.

He takes my wrist gently, reverently, fitting the first cuff and buckling it tight. Not harsh—but final. The quiet click of the lock sounds louder than thunder in the space between us.

The second cuff follows, and he guides my arms slowly, deliberately, up over my head.

“Do you trust me?”

The question is soft, but it lands like a command.

“Yes,” I whisper, breath shaking.

He stills. Just for a moment. Then his gaze lifts to mine—calm, unflinching.

“I told you what I expect when we’re like this.” His voice doesn’t rise. It doesn’t need to. It wraps around me like silk drawn tight.

I swallow, pulse hammering.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” A flicker of satisfaction passes through his expression.

He threads the attached straps around the bedposts—anchoring me. Spreading me.

Open. Exposed. Offered.

Before he steps back, he leans in, mouth close to my ear. “One more thing,” he murmurs, tone quieter now—reverent. “You can stop this at any time. If anything feels wrong, too much, not right, you say the word.” He brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “Your safe word is Mercy.”

The word lands like a tether.

Security.

Control without cruelty. Power, but never without care.

“Say it once for me.”

“Mercy.” I meet his eyes.

He nods, brushing his thumb over my lip with a look that says he heard me and he’ll never forget it. Then he stands and begins to undress—his eyes never leaving mine. When the last piece falls, he stands before me, naked, hard, and devastating. I feel it in every part of me.

Not just arousal.

Devotion.

His mouth hovers just above me, breath warm against slick, sensitive skin.

“You were so good for me back at the lodge,” he murmurs, his voice thick, ragged. “So responsive. So fucking sweet when you came all over my mouth.”

I gasp, hips jerking.

“But tonight?” His gaze lifts—dark, ravenous. “Tonight’s different.” His hand slides up my thigh, slow, purposeful. A tease and a threat all at once. “Tonight’s not about what you want, sweetheart.” He kisses the inside of my knee, then another higher. “Tonight… is about me.”

My breath catches.

“What I want.” Another kiss, dangerously close. “What I take.” His fingers curl around my thighs, spreading me wider, locking me open to him. “And right now, I want to taste you until you can’t fucking breathe.”

Then—he does.

No preamble. No hesitation.

Just his mouth. Hot. Greedy. Unrelenting.

I cry out, the sound ragged and raw. My hips buck, but his hands clamp down, holding me in place, giving me no escape.

“You’re mine like this,” he growls between strokes, tongue fucking me with ruthless precision. “Tied down, spread open, dripping for me.”

His fingers dig into my thighs, controlling every twitch, every attempt to move.

“You can’t stop me,” he says, lips dragging over my clit, tongue circling mercilessly. “You’re not allowed to stop me. You gave me control, remember?”

My fingers fist the sheets. I can’t speak, can barely breathe.

“That means I get to make you come as many times as I want.” A lick, slow and devastating. “Keep you on the edge for hours if I feel like it.”

"Cole…" I sob his name.

“Beg me for it. Let me hear how much you need my mouth. My fingers. My cock.” His voice is filth and command wrapped in velvet. “Beg me like the good girl you are.”

I’m too far gone for shame.

“Please—please let me come. I’m so close, I need it—need you.”

His groan is savage, primal.

“You fucking will, sweetheart. Again and again.”

And then—two fingers slide inside me, curling just right, stroking that place that makes my vision blur. His tongue flicks faster, relentless against my clit. The sounds echoing in the room—wet, obscene, desperate—are mine.

I shatter.

Screaming. Thrashing. Held down and claimed.

But he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t even slow.

“That’s one,” he growls. “Now, let’s see how many more I can wring out of you before you pass out.”

He slides two fingers inside me while his mouth returns to its exquisite torture. The combination of internal and external stimulation quickly builds toward an orgasm that promises to be even more intense than before.

"Let me hear you," he commands against my sensitive flesh. "Don't hold back. Let go for me."

The permission—or perhaps the command—breaks the last of my control. I come with his name on my lips, body arching off the bed as pleasure crashes through me in waves. He works me through it, gentling his touch but not stopping until the last tremor subsides and I collapse boneless against the sheets.

I’m still shaking.

Every nerve lit up, every muscle twitching with aftershocks.

But he doesn’t give me time to recover. Doesn’t even pause to let me catch my breath.

Instead, the mattress shifts. The heat of his body rising, climbing over me.

Claiming me.

His hands brace beside my head, arms caging me in, and when I force my eyes open, he’s there—hovering above me, jaw tight, eyes black with hunger. Still fully in control. Still hard.

And fuck—he’s gorgeous like this.

Hair messy, mouth wet with me, body radiating heat and power and intent. His cock presses against my thigh, hot and heavy and insistent.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and reverent. “Fucking destroyed. And I haven’t even been inside you yet.”

A whimper escapes me.

“I’m not done with you.” He leans in, nose brushing mine, his breath a warning. “I’m not even close.” His tone turns darker—rough silk wrapped around steel.

His mouth finds my throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin.

“You think two orgasms are enough for me?” His voice is a low, dangerous promise. “I want to feel you come again. And again. Until you can’t think. Until you forget your name, your title, every fucking thing except how good I make you feel.” He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “I’m going to fuck you so deep, you’ll feel me in the morning.”

A broken sound leaves my lips—half breath, half need.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” he whispers, mouth brushing mine, teasing. “You want me to use you? To keep you tied down?”

I nod frantically. “Yes—please. God, yes, sir, please .”

His smile is slow. Dangerous. Triumphant.

“That’s my girl.”

Then he reaches between us, guiding his cock to my entrance—teasing, just barely there.

“You’re going to take every inch,” he murmurs, dragging it through my slick folds. “Because that’s what you do for me, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He doesn’t ease in.

He thrusts deep on the first stroke—all of him—stretching me wide, filling me to the hilt in a single, devastating push.

I cry out, the sound raw and feral, echoing off the walls.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give me time to adjust. Because this isn’t about tenderness. It’s for him, and it’s about claiming .

His hips slam into mine, fast and punishing, the slap of skin on skin obscene and perfect. My wrists strain against the cuffs with every thrust, body arching to meet him, to take more.

“Fuck—yes,” he grits, voice jagged. “You feel that?”

“Oh my god?—”

“You were made for this. For me.” He drives in harder. Deeper. The headboard creaks in rhythm with his pace. “This tight little pussy was built to take my cock.”

My breath shatters. My body burns.

He leans down, grabbing my throat—not squeezing, just holding. Owning.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I gasp. “Yours.”

“Fucking right you are.” He releases my neck only to slam into me harder, the bed jolting beneath us. His other hand grips my thigh, hiking it higher, giving him even deeper access.

I feel every inch of him. Every brutal, perfect thrust. Every filthy word that falls from his mouth is a brand on my skin.

“You love this,” he snarls, watching my face as he pounds into me. “Being used. Being wrecked. Being mine.”

“Oh my god—yes?—”

“You’re going to come for me again.” His thumb slides down to circle my clit. Fast. Relentless. No mercy. “And you’re going to scream when you do.”

I’m already there.

The orgasm rips through me without warning—violent, consuming, obliterating.

I scream, back bowing off the bed, body shaking against the restraints.

And still, he doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, that’s it—look at you.” His voice is wrecked. Reverent. Ruthless. “Falling apart like you were fucking built for me.” He fucks me through it, chasing his release.

With a guttural sound, he slams deep and stays there, hips grinding against mine as he pulses inside me, thick and hot, groaning my name like a curse and a prayer. He stays braced above me, arms trembling, jaw clenched.

And for a moment, the only sound is our breathing—harsh, ragged, sated.

He withdraws slowly, deliberately, letting the stretch and loss burn. I whimper, still shaking, wrecked in the best way. But even before I can fully collapse into the mattress, he’s moving.

Not away.

Not to clean up.

But to continue.

He stands beside the bed, breathing heavy, chest slick with sweat. His cock—still wet from me—rests thick and half-hard against his thigh, but I can already see the stir of life returning to it. He’s far from finished.

And then I see what he’s holding.

More black leather.

A slim crop. Elegant. Dangerous. The tip just slightly curved. A weapon crafted for precision.