At His Mercy

by Shelly Bell

Before she thought she’d lose her mind for good, he dragged his mouth away from her pussy to stand between her legs. He bent over her, and his tongue, slick with her essence, made love to her mouth, taking her in a way that left her unable to think. Only sensation remained.

  The softness of his lips.

  The tang of her arousal on his mouth.

  The rough hairs tickling her legs.

  Her heart soared at the possession in his kiss.

  As soon as he removed the spreader bar, she wrapped her legs around his waist, planting her heels at the base and his spine. He shoved his hands under her butt, lifting off the table and carrying her to their bed.

  Their bed.

  When had she begun to think of it belonging to them both?

  Maybe it was because she spent every waking moment with him here on the weekends, the two of them shuttered up behind closed doors with the world outside almost forgotten.

  She had to admit, the risk of getting caught added to some of the excitement, but at the same time, it was like a noose around her neck, threating to tighten at any moment.

  Chloe was proof of that. When she’d interrupted them in the office, Isabella thought Chloe had figured it out. And as the weekends progressed and Isabella spent more and more time away, Chloe would demand to know where Isabella was sleeping.

  It was only a matter of time before she put it all together.

  One slipup and someone could find out about them. How long would their luck hold out?

  Tristan dropped her onto the mattress and took a step back, a pensive look on his face. He strode to his closet and returned holding two of his ties.

  He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to.

  She knew what he was asking.

  Her pulse kicked up a notch and a tremble broke out all over her body, but it wasn’t from fear.

  It was from excitement.

  Desire.

  Arousal.

  “Green,” she said, giving her consent.

  Tristan’s pupils dilated, swallowing his blue irises. “Get on your knees and hold on to the top of the headboard.”

  She flipped over and crawled up the bed until she reached the pillows. Once she got into position, she peered over her shoulder at Tristan and smiled seductively.

  He pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, then dropped his pants to the floor. As always, the sight of his naked body took her breath away. His impressive erection stood out from his nest of trimmed hair, aimed straight for her like an arrow. And while she loved that part of him—really, really loved that part of him—it was the sight of his arms that did it for her. They weren’t overly muscled like a gym rat’s, but they were firm and they were strong, and when they were wrapped around her body, she felt as if nothing could ever go wrong.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He rounded the bed to stand by her side. “And so fucking mine.”

  He wound the soft silk around her wrists, binding her to the slats of their bed. Every part of her pounded and pulsed, the eroticism of the moment sending her soaring to the edge of climax.

  She was at his mercy.

  And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

  The bed dipped as Tristan got on it and moved behind her, the heat of him radiating onto the skin of her back. His cock bumped up against her behind as he reached around her to cup her breasts in his hands. He teasingly ran his fingers back and forth over her nipples, making them tighten before he plucked and twisted and pulled and pinched. She gasped and moaned, growing restless as her pussy clenched hard. When his hands left her body, she whimpered in desperation.

  “You need something Angel?” he whispered in her ear. “Let me hear you beg for it.”

  She bit her lip and threw her head back. “Please, Tristan. I need you inside of me.”

  “Not good enough, Angel. What in particular do you want inside of you?”

  “Your cock, damn it.”

  “Where?” He teased the crack of her butt with the tip of his cock. “Here?”

  Without meaning to, she pushed back against it. “Um…”

  “You like that idea, huh? Not tonight, but soon I’m going to take you there. But right now, where do you want it, Angel? Tell me. Beg for it.”

  “Please, please, please, I need your cock in my pussy, Tristan. Make the ache go away. You’re the only one who can.”

  “You’re right. I am.” He grabbed her thighs, pushing them open a little wider, then tilted her body and, in one brutal thrust, buried himself inside her channel. “Because you belong to me.” He withdrew almost all the way out, dragging his cock along all the nerve endings inside of her, before slamming back in. “And I belong to you.”

  With a relentless pace, he drove himself in and out of her body.

  Possessing her.

  Owning her.

  Branding her as his.

  His sweat-slicked chest covered her back as his hand curled around and pressed her clitoris. It was just what she needed to push her over the edge, and she exploded, flashes of color bursting in front of her eyes and her body shuddering. He screamed her name as he found his own climax. Holding her chin, he turned her face toward him and kissed her, at first tentatively, but then passionately.

  He undid the knots of the ties and dragged her down to lie in his arms, resting her head on his chest. His heart pounded furiously underneath her as he caught his breath. Gazing into her eyes, he cupped her cheek. “I’m falling into you, Angel.”

  “I’m falling into you too,” she said, not ready to tell him what she’d recognized last weekend. That she’d already fallen and was in love with him. She covered his hand with hers. She hadn’t known it possible to feel such overwhelming happiness.

  How could she have fallen so hard, so fast?

  She’d been with Tony for four years and never felt one iota of what she felt for Tristan. This man had penetrated her deepest defenses and had embedded himself inside her heart. She hadn’t bargained for this when she’d made her decision to spend the night with Tristan at Ryder’s party. College was supposed to have been filled with days of studying and working, not falling in love. And here it was, not a year into her education at Edison, and she’d fallen so hard, she wasn’t sure she’d ever recover from it.

  But she wouldn’t give up a moment of this time with him, regardless of the outcome.

  His phone rang, breaking the peacefulness of the moment. He rolled over and checked it, swearing as he read the display.

  “It’s Morgan.”

  Twenty-Three

  Less than thirty minutes after admitting to Isabella that he was falling in love with her, Tristan had been forced to leave her naked in his bed while he met with Morgan.

  The snow from yesterday had already mostly melted, but it wouldn’t be long before the campus was plunged in a winter wonderland. Right now, it was a balmy ten degrees Fahrenheit, beyond cold to most people, but when you lived in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, it was a way of life. Locals laughed at the droves of students and staff who moved up here and froze their asses off because they weren’t prepared.

  It was odd that he’d moved back to the city years ago, but a couple of months living here again, he felt like he’d never left. When he inhaled, it was as if he could breathe easily for the first time in years. Some of it could be attributable to Isabella. Hell, he could admit, most of it was attributable to her. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d smiled so much. But it was also the town and its people, the environment of academia. Sharing ideas and debating policies, the students at Edison University were optimistic about their future. Their excitement was infectious and Tristan loved being a part of it. For the first time that he could remember, he felt as if he was a part of something bigger than himself.

  He felt humbled.

  Did he still want to make Novateur a success? Abso-fucking-lutely.

  Not just to prove that he wasn’t a failure, but for his best friend.

  Ryder had stuck by his side since their fr
eshman year of college. Hell, he’d been his best man at his wedding to Morgan and a couple years later had taken him to get plastered when she served him the divorce papers. Ryder was the brother he’d never had, and aside from each other, neither one of them had any other family they could rely on. Tristan because he had none that he spoke to and Ryder because he couldn’t escape them. Didn’t mean he didn’t constantly try, and Novateur was a big component of that. At any time, Ryder could have used his family’s money to fund Novateur or at least use it to attain a loan, but he refused to use his family connections on his loan application.

  Tristan wouldn’t disappoint him.

  He approached the bridge, seeing that Morgan had already arrived. Dressed in a black full-length fur coat and fur boots up to her thighs, her makeup and hair perfect as if she was preparing for a night on the town rather than standing on a bridge in the middle of a college campus, Morgan managed to look even colder than the autumn night air felt. How had he ever found her beautiful?

  She turned his way as he stepped onto the bridge.

  “I thought I’d made it clear I didn’t want to see you again,” he said, doing away with pretenses. After all, she’d pulled him away from his night with Isabella and he was eager to get back to her.

  “Oh, you did. You made it perfectly clear,” she said with so much glee it immediately set him on edge. “That’s why I hired someone else to follow you.” She waved her finger at him. “You’ve been a very, very bad boy, Tristan. Fucking a student. Whatever will your friend Isaac say when I tell him how you seduced a child and introduced her to your depravity?”

  His chest tightened, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins. She’d hired a private detective. Fuck, he should’ve known she’d do something like that. “I don’t know—”

  “Isabella Lawson. God, I knew you were sick, but preying on an innocent freshman and introducing her to your abusive sex games is beyond demented.”

  Time and time again, he’d foolishly underestimated the lengths this vindictive woman would go to. A hundred different emotions hit him all at once, but he focused on his anger. Like any predator, if she smelled his fear—fear for Isabella and all she stood to lose because of him—she’d go in for the kill. “Despite what you accused of me in our divorce, you know I don’t abuse women.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s all about public perception.” She patted her large Louis Vuitton purse. “I have pictures of you and your precious Isabella that would make a porn star blush.”

  That wasn’t possible. She had to be bluffing. “I don’t believe you.”

  She shook her head as if she pitied him. “You should have a talk with your leasing manager. It didn’t take more than a hundred bucks to get him to unlock the door and let me inside your apartment.”

  Tristan pictured the potbellied, cigarette-smoke-scented man and knew immediately she wasn’t lying. He thought back to his lease agreement. If his memory was right, management had the right to enter his apartment only in certain circumstances. Allowing a stranger inside his apartment to set up a camera had to be against the law. “You took the photos illegally.”

  Apparently, Morgan had been prepared for that accusation. She shrugged and checked out her nails. “So? You think your friend the dean or the rest of the university staff will care how the photos were taken? No, they’ll be too busy figuring out how to cover their own asses so that they don’t get sued by the Lawsons.”

  He jolted, stunned by the lengths to which Morgan would go to get what she wanted.

  White-hot rage shot through his veins as he curled his hands into tight fists. Anger consumed him, anger directed not only at Morgan, but himself.

  He’d fucked up.

  He’d promised Isabella he’d keep her safe.

  And he’d failed.

  Morgan pursed her lips and shook her head. “And after everything that poor girl went through with her boyfriend, to have it happen again,” she said, her voice laced with mock sympathy. “Her parents will be devastated. At least this time, they’ll have someone to sue. Settling with the university should set them up quite nicely. But they’re not the only ones who will need money.”

  His tightly reined control was slipping with every word Morgan uttered. Red clouded his vision, and the urge to squeeze the life out of her overwhelmed him.

  “Once word gets out that she slept with her professor,” Morgan continued, “she’ll never find a decent job after graduation. Poof! All her dreams gone over a man who would’ve grown bored with her before the end of the year and moved onto his next victim.” Venom dripped from her voice. “I should know.”

  He hadn’t thought he could hate the woman any more than he already did, but he was wrong. How could she threaten to ruin an innocent girl she didn’t even know? He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t play the victim card. You were the one who cheated. Not me.”

  She lifted a shoulder, completely blasé. “So you say. But a wife knows when her husband no longer desires her. I couldn’t give you what you needed. How long before you went out and found a woman who would?”

  He’d never cheated on a woman in his life. Even after he’d grown disenchanted with Morgan, he’d remained faithful, hopeful they could make their marriage work. “Hell, Morgan, when I married you, I loved you. I’d planned to spend the rest of my life by your side. My desire for you only disappeared when I discovered I had married a woman who didn’t exist. But you knew exactly who you were marrying before we even met, didn’t you?”

  She had the audacity to bristle, looking over his shoulder to avoid his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “My reputation for kink wasn’t a secret. Nor was the fact that I’d inherited all my parents’ money. You targeted me right from the start.” The guilt in her eyes was all the proof he needed to confirm his suspicions were true. “Were you ever faithful to me?”

  She slowly slid her gaze to his. “For a few months when we first married, I thought I might love you. I’d even considered staying in our marriage. But once you began talking about investing everything we had into a new business venture, despite my vocalized concerns, I knew it was time to get out before you lost all of the money.”

  He took a deep breath through his nose to restrain himself from wringing her neck. In losing control, he was giving her what she wanted and playing into her hands. It was time to wage an offensive and remind her who really held the power.

  Folding his arms over his chest, he smiled. “And yet here you are, blackmailing me for a piece of Novateur. Guess you underestimated me.”

  Probably thrown by the change in his demeanor, she bit down on her lip, silent. A notch appeared between her brows, and her gaze darted left and right.

  “I made a mistake walking out on our marriage.” She moved closer and softened her voice. “It was real. At least for a little while. We could have it again, you know. The marriage. The house in the suburbs. The babies. Everything you wanted. You’ll never get those things with Isabella. She’s a child. You need a woman.” She laid her hand on his chest and looked up at him. “You need me.”

  She was right.

  He did need a woman.

  Covering her hand with his, he lowered his head, bringing his mouth within inches of hers. With a victorious grin, she tilted her head to the side and curled her hand around his neck in preparation for his kiss.

  And that woman was Isabella.

  He made sure to enunciate so she didn’t misunderstand him. “You’re really delusional, you know that?” Gripping her wrist tightly, he ripped her hand off his body and lifted her arm in the air. “You divorcing me was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  She sneered and broke his hold on her, clawing her sharp fingernails into his cheek. “Because of your precious little Isabella.”

  He felt the telltale warmth of blood dripping down his face. “I’m warning you,” he growled. “Stay away from her.”

  “You honestly think you’re in love with h
er,” she said incredulously.

  “What I am is none of your business.”

  “You’re going to ruin that girl, Tristan. We both know it. If you really love her, take my deal. Give me half of your Novateur shares.”

  Fury burned in his gut. “Over my dead body. Better yet, over yours.”

  “Then I guess you don’t really love her, because I will expose your affair.”

  “If you do, I’ll lose the funding for Novateur. You’ll get nothing,” he spit out.

  “I’ll get the satisfaction of destroying you and saving that poor child from a lifetime of abuse at your hands. Someday she’ll thank me. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to make the right decision and sign the paperwork.”

  “You’re heartless.”

  “Better heartless than poor.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently on his bloody cheek. “See you soon, partner.”

  She turned to go, but he grabbed her by the arm and spun her around.

  Her pupils dilated in fear.

  Good. She should be scared.

  Did she really think he’d allow her to do this to him? To Ryder? To Isabella?

  If so, she had another think coming.

  Twenty-Four

  Isabella was worried. And when she was worried, she baked. The minute Tristan had walked out the door to meet his ex-wife, Isabella had raided the pantry for her choice of drug.

  Sugar.

  An hour later, she’d baked two dozen double-fudge-mocha brownies and one Kahlúa cheesecake.

  But he still hadn’t come home.

  So now, at nearly midnight, she was onto her next creation—a pecan-walnut pie with a brownie crust. Needing to chop the nuts to the right size, she grabbed a cutting board from under the sink and a sharp knife from the block Tristan kept on the counter. After sprinkling the variety of nuts on the board, she began chopping them, thrilled to have an outlet right now for her aggression. Quickly and efficiently, she moved from one end of the board to the other, pretending each of them represented Tristan’s ex-wife. How long would Tristan allow that witch to play her little games? It scared her that one of these days, the woman would push him too far. What if he did something he later regretted?