Page 31 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

The Keeper

H er brow pinches, my hands grazing higher, pushing up on the edge of her dress. She could brush them away, she could snap out of this fog and stop me at any moment.

My blood is absolutely on fire for her. Her soft skin invites a brutal grip like mine, though I’ll wait on that until she lets me in all the way.

Don’t want to scare her.

“I think you really, really liked it, Emma. Watching Bo like that. Watching him submit. It was hot, wasn’t it? Jesse telling him what to do?”

I crawl forward, invading her space until her head hits the pillow and I’ve got full access to her body beneath me.

“Use your words,” I demand, stopping my hands.

She nods, panting lightly while her thighs tighten under my hands. “I liked it.”

“Good girl.” She whimpers at the praise, and I strangle the instinct to choke another one from her lips.

“I thought you might like that, you little voyeur. You know who else liked it? Jesse. He loved having you watch. He loves the idea of ordering the pair of you around, and having you on your knees for him whenever he wants.”

She bites her lip and my hands disappear under her dress, reaching the top of her thighs. Warmth radiates from her center, and I just know how wet she’ll be when I touch her.

“I liked it, too. I want to learn all the little ways you get aroused. To watch you squirm your ass in your chair when Bo gets fucked by Jesse at the dinner table.” The way she fixates on my every word has me going insane.

“I want to watch you crawl to me, look up at me, earn your rewards and punishments from me .”

My thumb brushes lower, barely grazing her center. The moan that falls from her is almost like a cry.

She’s shaking her head, questions forming in her eyes, but she grinds lower on my hand, inviting more.

More is what I’ll give this girl.

I run my thumb along her, pressing harder until it reaches her clit and her whole body jumps under me.

“You’re so sensitive, " I whisper, watching her. I’ve never seen someone react so strongly—to such a small touch. Like she’s starved for this kind of contact. “And so wet, angel. I knew I’d find you soaking for us.”

Her hands move to my forearms, grabbing hold, and I’m immediately obsessed with the feeling of her gripping me for support. I want to hold her together until the moment she shatters beneath me.

My free hand grips her hair, pulling back on her head so that she’s forced to stare at the ceiling, though she still tries to peek down at me.

“I’ll give you what you need, baby. Just let yourself fall apart on my hand, okay? I know it’s been a long day.”

Babying her just feels right. For now. Get her comfortable, then slowly introduce her to how perfectly she’ll be degraded by me.

Her eyes fall shut, and I let her. It’s easier for me to watch her every reaction without her noticing that I look obsessed. The last thing I need is her becoming aware that my fixation is sharpening.

She grinds on my hand, self-consciously at first like she’s not sure if she should do this. That falls away though, and my circling of her clit speeds up.

“Noah,” she moans and I’ve never been so hard. Hearing my name fall from her lush lips is nirvana. It’s perfection. I want her to moan my name every day until I fucking die.

“Feel it. Let it take you under,” I say, continuing the slow circles with my thumb and sliding a finger inside her .

Fuck. She’s hot, and so, so wet.

She moans again, sliding her hands up from my forearms to my shoulders, gripping them tightly as I start to fuck her with my finger.

Her mouth falls open, a silent plea on her face as she looks up at me with a worry on her brow. I slip in another finger, curling it slowly and pump.

“What’s wrong, angel?” I say quietly, flicking her clit with my thumb and a yelp rolls from her tongue. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.

“I’ve never felt this,” she trips over her words, brows turned up in the middle, eyes locked on mine. She’s so fucking pretty that I can’t look away.

“Grab the bottom of your dress,” I demand. She watches me, eyes fluttering as I massage the inside of her, her hands shyly reaching down to the hem of her dress bunched up around her thighs. “Good girl, Em. Pull it up further so we can see how wet you are.”

Her lip trembles, and I worry for a moment that she’ll deny me.

Her thighs tighten while she wars with herself, and then they fall slightly to the side and her hands clench around the bottom of her dress.

She pulls it up slowly, and I watch with wolfish eyes as she reveals her pussy to me, glistening with her arousal.

I can feel my brain rewiring at the sight. It’s my hand inside her. My fingers working her like an instrument, playing a beautiful fucking song with her body and she’s fucking singing for me . Mine. Fucking mine .

My possession locks in and I know I’m fucked. I never want anyone to touch this woman again.

“Look how wet you are for me,” I croon, quickening my pace as I fuck into her with my fingers. “Would you just listen to the sounds you’re making? Your body is crying for more of me.”

She whimpers at the nickname. “I feel—it’s so good,” she whines. Her strawberry blonde bangs are damp on her forehead and I lean forward to press mine to hers. She peers into my eyes like the answers of the universe reside there .

I pick up my pace again. “I want you to come on my hand, just like this. Give that to me, angel.”

A tear rolls down her face, and I lick its trail up the side of her face. I wonder if Eric is the only person she’s been with? It would fit with her upbringing, her arranged marriage. I just know her parents would have needed to hand her over without being touched by anyone else.

It would explain the way she’s looking at me. Surely Eric’s bitch ass didn’t wrench her orgasms from her like I’m doing. She’s probably been fucked missionary style like a princess for the entire marriage.

“I can’t,” she says, her head shaking back and forth, hands back on my forearms.

“Shh, yes you can. That feeling inside you is pulling tighter, yeah? It feels so fucking good doesn’t it?

” She nods. “I know. Let it take you, Emma. Let it fucking drag you under,” I say in a low voice, hitting the spot inside her that has her eyes rolling and a wracking cry sounding from her mouth.

I drink in the image like my life depends on it. I memorize each note of her orgasm as it wracks through her body. I’ve got a taste of it now, and I want a million more.

Maybe not tonight.

She shivers against me, and I pull my fingers from her pussy, watching as her arousal drips from her. I look up at her and she’s watching me with anxiety written across her every feature.

For a moment, I consider dipping my fingers back inside of her, and then forcing them down her throat, watching as she chokes on them.

Patience.

Instead I sit back on my heels, looking down at her with hair mussed and dress bunched. I pull it down so that she’s covered.

She says nothing, watching me. I understand. There’s a power imbalance, I get it. I have all of it and she has none.

Well, she has some . She just hasn’t learned to use it yet. I’m sure she will.

“I’ll get you some shirts to sleep in,” I say.

She smiles and it’s intoxicating. Brushing her damp hair out of her face, she bites her lip around it. “Thank you.”

Her gratefulness means I’ve done my job well. Instead of fearing me, she’s focusing on the small, nice things I do for her.

Pulling a few shirts from my closet, I carry them back to her room. She’s in the bathroom when I arrive, cleaning herself up. I set them on the dresser and watch her.

She flinches when she pops back in and sees me standing there.

“I didn’t hear you come back.” Her eyes drift to the dresser and she sees the offering of my shirts.

“Thank you, these will be really comfortable to sleep in.” She grabs one and ducks behind the bathroom door to change as if I didn’t just see her falling apart on my hand.

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” I hear her start to say from behind the door.

The knob turns, and there she is, wearing one of my black concert tee’s.

She must not understand the effect this instantly has on me, as she climbs into her bed, but I’ve never seen anything so perfect as my claiming her with my clothes.

I’m tempted to rip her sundresses to shreds and replace them all with my shirts and hoodies.

“How long am I staying here,” she finishes, once she’s tucked herself in. My eyes divert from her body back to her face. She doesn’t look upset, or emotional about the question. She doesn’t even look accusing, considering I fucking kidnapped her.

“It’s just, I’ll need to come up with a plan for when I leave.

Knowing what I know, I can’t go home. But I have nothing without Eric.

All of our assets are his. I just…if you could just give me a heads up before you let me go so I can figure that out I would really appreciate it,” she finishes quietly.

It gives me pause. The thought of her leaving. When would I be done with her? What a loaded and impossible question. Because what I want to say is never .

She’s not going home to Eric, though. We’re already making progress on gutting his life completely. Exhibit A—his angel, getting finger-fucked to orgasm on their anniversary.

“I haven’t given you much information on what we are doing here, I realize that. You’ve been kept in the dark, purposefully, because I don’t think you want the dirty details of what we have in store for Eric and his associates.”

I don’t outright say that I’ll snap her husband’s neck once the time is right. I’m not sure if she can guess that from everything she knows, from what she can tell about me. That I daydream about the feeling of his spine cracking, or a slower, more drawn out method when the mood takes me.

She’s watching me with those doe eyes again, even when I’ve absolutely upended everything she knows.

“Is this what your…group? Is this what you normally do?”

Her name for my father’s organization makes me smile.

“ Mercy contracts out revenge for people who can’t get it on their own.

Our business has grown exponentially in the last five years as this particular ring has grown.

Women and girls going missing really pisses people off, but often they don’t have the means to make them pay.

But we do,” I assure her. “We make sure they do.”

She bites her lip. “I truly can’t believe this has been happening right under my nose. I feel so stupid.”

My hands itch to go to her. For what? Maybe to make her feel good, now that I’m realizing I hate the sight of her face looking upset. I resist, leaning back on her dresser. keeping the distance. It’s necessary for now.

“He’s fooled a lot of people. I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself.”

“So, what happens next?”

Her face doesn’t accuse me, doesn’t convict me of anything. She’s honestly just curious.

“We ruin Eric, we ruin John. We take down anyone who knew about Jesse’s sister or any of the other victims. We kill everyone and then it’s back to business. There are groups like this everywhere, so it’s a job that will never be done.”

She nods pensively. “Are you telling me this because you don’t plan on letting me go?”

Perceptive. I knew she was smart. I consider lying for a moment, but the sadistic part of me wins out .

“Yeah. You won’t be going back.”

She blinks a few times, clearing what might be tears before they can start to form. Her nose twitches. “Do I stay with you though? Here with you and Jesse, and Bo? You’re not going to send me to someone else, right?”

Her eyes are starting to panic, and I finally push off the dresser. Unable to resist the pull to make her smile at me again.

“No, look at me, Emma.” She does, and I lean down toward her, brushing my hand along her cheek, into her hair. “You’re mine. You stay with me. Nobody else gets to have you.”

I’d almost said nobody else is going to have you.

Then the intrusive thought of John Bundy getting his claim on her forced its way into my head.

Eric is a fucking idiot for bringing him into their home.

He had to have known Bundy would have coveted Emma.

He had to have known he would have seen her wholesomeness as something to ruin.

We have that in common. I want to degrade her in the worst way, to have her crawling for me, letting me treat her body like a toy to do whatever I want with. The difference is, she won’t be fucking ruined at the end of dealing with me.

Bundy uses a person until all that remains is a shell, a traumatized mess of a person that gets tossed aside. Or until they’re dead.

I, on the other hand, would have her begging for more of what I have to give her.

A crawling, pleading mess needing more of my direction.

More of my attention. More of my touch. She’ll do anything for it, and I would reward her like such a good girl for giving that to me.

There’s nothing more vital, more invigorating than the power imbalance.

She gives me the dominance of her body, and I give her everything else in return.

What I had actually said, is nobody gets to have you. She catches the nuance, looking up at me. Wondering if I’ve given a clue that her being here is something I like.

I understand the hesitance, considering the way I’d hatefully spit in her face just a week ago. Someday, I might apologize for that .

“Okay,” she says, and I like that she accepts it. I like everything, the way she looks at me, the way she looks in my shirt, the way her eyes had seared into me when I’d had my fingers inside her.

“Get some sleep. I know today was long.” I pull the blanket higher on her, and feel her watching me again. That same expression on her face. Like she’s trying to understand what I’m doing.

I lean down and kiss her, a more gentle version than before.

It’s possessive. A reminder that when I leave her and lock her inside the room tonight, it’s me she should think about instead of the ruined anniversary I’m sure she’d been looking forward to just a few weeks ago.

I’ll be thinking of how good she tastes and replaying the sounds she makes when she comes.

I tear myself away from her bed and walk out the door, locking it behind me.