Page 95 of The Secrets That Kill

That how I feel when he gets in so close, under the layers, to the very heart of me.

I look at Mercer, his sculpted face, one that could have anyone, and likely has. He’s unobjectively beautiful. And he’s hard, uncompromising. I want all of him. All these years, he’s who I’ve wanted. Him. Even despite everything I knew and thought I knew.

I struggle to breathe. “What kind of club?”

“You look like a scared little rabbit, Pollyanna. And yes, there are wolves there. But I’ll always protect you.”

“And who’d protect me from you?”

He just smiles.

“Mercer?”

“It’s sir or master, pretty Pollyanna.” He comes close, and with the softest, most devastating touch, smooths my hair back from my face. I tremble. “It was just a club, where we could play without agenda because I thought that’s what I wanted. But I don’t—” He stops. “We’ll stay here, but that doesn’t mean we’re not playing.”

His eyes harden and glitter with filthy intent, like whiskey in a smoke-filled room.

I almost moan.

“Yes, Master.”

His hand slides down to my cheek, thumb on the corner of my mouth. “Such soft, full lips. They’re perfect, you know. That innocent curve of them hides all the dirty, nasty things they’re capable of. Those things you do to me when you wrap them around my cock, when you kiss and moan. Fucking beyond perfect.”

Mercer feathers his mouth over mine and this time a moan slides free.

“Fucking perfect.”

Then he takes a small step back, reaches behind me for thezipper and pulls it down. The dress slides off of me, pooling at my feet. Then my panties fall to the floor. Next he flicks the front clasp of the lace bra I’m wearing. He looks at me like I’m a work of art.

“Wait here.”

He leaves and there’s a buzz in the air that warms me. I continue to float around even though my feet are firmly on the ground, bare toes curling on the rug.

I know in the exact moment he’s back that he must have gone up to his room.

“If we’re staying in, Pollyanna, then we’ll do this tonight.”

I turn and his gaze goes to my bare breasts. There’s a part of me aware I should feel strange or self-conscious at being naked, but I’m not. I like that he looks at me like I’m his and he can enjoy the view. That debasement is hot, insidious, and something I didn’t know I wanted. Until grown-up me and older Mercer crossed paths.

Then I see he has things in his hands. Two boxes and a bottle.

“What’s that?” His eyebrow raises. “Sir.”

“Something I figured we’d do another time.”

The bottom of my stomach drops out at that.

“But,” he says, “if we’re staying in, then we might as well. Here.Now.”

Mercer hands me the box and my heart thumps hard as I take it. A shoe box, and inside, nestled in the tissue paper are the prettiest, sexiest high heels I’ve ever seen. Black patent leather, with an open toe, and while the heel isn’t stripper high, it’s got height.

They’re sophisticated and classy.

“Put them on.”

I do and he smiles, stepping back to take me in. He goes tothe wet bar and grabs a glass. I watch him, hesitant, turned on, not sure what’s happening.

He’s dressed and I’m in nothing but heels.

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