Page 105 of The Secrets That Kill

I think they’re for his sexual proclivities.

Mercer is terrifyingly here in the moment and apart at the same time. I’m captivated, trapped under his spell, he might as well have a magic wand in his hand.

He slowly walks toward me until he stands directly in my path. With one quick tug, he pulls on the tie at the side of my dress. It falls open, a whisper of his breath hitting my bare skin. His hands are warm as they slide over my fevered flesh.

My pussy throbs.

I’m wet, wet enough that heat gathers on my inner thighs.

He circles me like I’m his prey, so deep in my personal space that every breath I manage to choke down is full of him.

Mercer brushes back the tendrils of hair on my nape.

“There are times I wish you were wearing layers so I could take my time peeling them off you. Exposing you with exquisite slowness, making you dizzy with anticipation.”

“I’m sorry?—”

“Did I say you could talk, Pollyanna?” His eyes narrow. “It’s only an observation. You chose to go naked under the dress because I gave you the freedom to do what you wanted. The fact you did it for me isn’t lost.” His lips skim above the curve of my throat. “I like it.”

I nod.

He touches my cheek. “Good girl.”

This is the kind master, I think. And it should shock me, the realization there are different versions of him when he plays, but it doesn’t.

He moves across the room and opens the drawer of a cabinet. He rifles through it for a long,agonizing minute.

He’s taking his time, like he has entire walls of clocks of time to play with.

There’s the punishing, cruel master, the rough and elemental one. There’s the one who rides the line of control and impulse.

And there’s this one.

Maybe there are more.

I hope he keeps me around long enough that I can find out.

It doesn’t matter what this is based on, where it started. There’s just the deep resounding pleasure he can bring, and I might be a little bit?—

I stop that thought dead and shift back to where he wants me. Here. Now. In this moment.

Mercer comes back with a pile of things. Ropes, metal hooks. He passes me and heads for the wall behind. I don’t turn around but damn, I’m curious. And hot.

“I was going to tie you to the pillar, which I still might, but first I want you here. Turn around and come to me.”

I do exactly as he asks, my pulse jumping in my throat.

He takes my hands and ties them together, then lifts them above me to hang on a hook. Then he slowly unravels a long piece of the rope. He has a few neat bundles, and he lines them up, inspecting and feeling one, putting it down and doing the same to another. Mercer goes back and forth, doing this, until I’m nearly crazy with desire.

“You, Pollyanna, seem to like everything I do to you. Tell me, if I whipped you until you bled, used tiny little spikes on a paddle to draw blood, would you let me?”

His tone is contemplative.

He flickers a caramel-eyed glance at me. Then he pours a drink and takes a sip. “I’m more of a scotch man, whiskey and bourbon in a pinch. But rum is you in drink form. So…”

Mercer takes another small swallow before setting it down.

“Back to my question. Which I’m going to retract. Because I think you’d let me. Wouldn’t you?”

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