She giggles against me, her hands gripping my skin. She pulls her face away and looks up at me.
“But you didn’t know that when you saved me. You couldn’t have known that day.”
I look at her. “Initially, I did it to clear my conscience. That part is true. I grew up with a bastard of a father, but I never really felt like he got what he deserved. Especially with regard to my mother, but then you and the other girls… When my friend offered to help me trip the fire alarm in that house, I knew it would cripple my father. It made me feel better about being his son—being connected to such a horrid person.” I pause, looking out the window as that day runs through my mind. “But it became about something else when I saw you.” When I look at her, I wipe the tear falling down her cheek.
“And the bar? You saved me—again.”
I pull away. “You were in danger, Evelyn. I would’ve killed them then and there if they’d laid another finger on you, after everything you went through…” I trail off, baring my teeth. “My father took everything from you. I want to be the one who can give it back.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I place a finger against her lips. “I don’t feel obligated to. Iwantto. I hope I can show you the difference. I hope…” I swallow, lowering my hand. “I hope you’ll let me show you.”
She nods, her eyes brimming with tears. “Yes. You can show me.”
I pull her close again, my erection hardening against her. She moves her hand under the cover, gripping my shaft firmly. I hiss in response, and when she looks at me, my heart skips a beat. Because when Evelyn Snow loves—when she gives you her all… it’s overwhelming. Like you can’t fathom what you did to deserve a look like that.
A woman with the highest of standards.
A queen in her own right.
My God, Have Mercy
Evelyn Snow
Edinburgh,Present
We arrive in Edinburgh around noon, driving up to the ornate, grandiose building smack dab in the center of the busy city. The behemoth hotel stretches nearly the entire block, the grey stone of the exterior slightly water-stained from the incessant rain. The gold accents and flags flying near the entrance tell me that this istheplace to stay here, and my cheeks flush. Of course, we’d stay at a place like this—Benedict isn’t showy, but he understands value, and being right in the middle of the city has its perks.
Edinburgh is nothing like I imagined. It’s old, medieval, and yet… so alive. The people crowd Princes Street, laughing with shopping bags and coffee. Men wearing kilts and playing bagpipes are clustered on every corner, begging for a pound or two. The air is cooler than in Oxford; probably because we are further north. However, it’s clearer here, like perhaps the wild, public land north of us—the places like the green highlands—infuse the rest of the country with extra oxygen. London is so crammed with people. Up here, it’s like we’re on a mountain in the sky.
Benedict pays the valet and then carries both of our bags to the curb, fidgeting with his wallet and grinning at me.
“Let’s go.”
We stroll through the revolving doors together, and he reaches out for my hand when we get to the lobby. Not only is this place fancy as hell with the marble floors and sky-high, carved ceiling, but there’s also someone walking around with champagne. I resist the urge to reach out to take one, and I see Benedict smirk as we wander up to the dark, paneled reception desk.
“Hello,” Benedict says politely. The man behind the desk beams, and I have to wonder if Benedict has the same effect on everyone he meets.
“Good afternoon, sir. Checking in?”
Benedict nods. “Yes, we are. Benedict Martin.”
“Ah, I see right here. Two rooms remaining, sir, correct? Mr. Sullivan has checked in already.”
I take a step forward. “We won’t be needing the second room, thank you,” I interject.
Benedict doesn’t look at me, but I see him resign himself somewhat, the corners of his lips tilting upwards. “Just the one room, then,” he says.
When he looks at me, his eyes are dark, foreboding. A clashing juxtaposition of our sweet, emotional morning. Don’t get me wrong—we both needed it. Both needed to say our part, to release the past, in order to move forward. But now? He’s looking at me like he’s going to devour me in one bite.
“All right, Mr. and Mrs. Martin. Here are your room keys.”
I open my mouth to correct him, but Benedict tugs on my hand and pulls me closer.
“Thank you so much,” he says, taking the keys and leading us to the elevator.
“You should correct him,” I chide, barely keeping up with him as we enter one of the open shafts.
The door closes immediately after I step in, and I’m about to ask him what number our room is when he shoves me against the wood railing, his lips on mine before I realize what’s happening.
“I didn’t want to waste any more time,” he growls into my lips. He looks to the side for a second, pressing the number three, and then continues to kiss me urgently as we move upwards. Our limbs get entangled, my hair flying, hips grinding. It’s the kind of blazing kiss that sears you with every swirl of the tongue, every trace of a finger. By the time the doors snap open and we spring apart, I’m panting, wet, and vibrating with frenetic energy.
