Have Mercy: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance (11 page)

But now Tom was looking at her like she was some kind of miracle, and her hand had found its way between his legs, and somehow her face was pressed against the side of his neck and she was rubbing her cheek against his scratchy two-day beard.

Emme hadn’t intended to rest her head on Tom’s shoulder, or to snuggle up next to him in the booth. She’d planned to tease and tempt and torment him; she wasn’t sure when that impulse had given over to the need for full-body contact. When the country-pop song on the jukebox ended and Patsy Cline’s voice came over the speakers, she hummed along, feeling the vibration of her own voice shiver through Tom’s body and echo back into hers where they were pressed together.

Tom thumped his hip against hers. “Scootch.”

Emme climbed out of the booth and Tom followed, taking her hand. She wasn’t sure what he intended, at first, but when he pulled her close to him, she protested. “Bad dancer,” she reminded him.

One big, warm hand clasped her waist, pulling her body into his until they stood hip to hip. “I’m strong enough to lead,” he whispered. “Relax.”

She thought it would be hard to trust him but it wasn’t. She stopped thinking about her feet and instead leaned into him, face pressed into his neck, as he guided her. A change of pressure of his hand told her which direction to go; a slight pull and push had her turning under his arm. To her surprise, he caught her back against him without either of them missing a step.

“See?” he said smugly. “Told you you’d just been dancing with the wrong guys.”

“Shh,” she admonished. “Don’t talk. I’m trying to enjoy dancing with this really hot guy.”

Tom smiled but didn’t answer, pulling her close enough to feel the hot length of his erection pressing against her lower belly. She loved feeling his arousal, a counterpoint to the slow sweetness of their dance together. She wanted something hot and hard and fierce from him but tempered by his sweetness. She wanted to draw it out of him, keep him safe in her hands, then push him until he gave in to her.

As the last few notes of the song faded, she reached up, cupping the back of his neck with her hand. He bent down toward her with the slightest pressure of her hand against him, reading her cues perfectly. She skated her lips over his ear gently before whispering, “I am going to make you beg tonight.”

The heat in Tom’s eyes when she pulled away from him raised goose bumps all over her body. “Please,” he said, and then he smiled.

Somehow, Emme managed not to touch him on the walk back to their hotel from the restaurant, focusing instead on the islands of light in the parking lot, the empty darkness of the interstate connector road, the whoosh of air-conditioning as the sliding doors to the lobby opened. She kept herself on the opposite side of the elevator for the trip up to her room.

By the time her key card opened the lock, her mind had created and discarded a thousand fantasies, enough to fill all the nights of a lifetime, and she could barely decide how to start.

It was her own imaginings that undid her in the end. By the time that little green light flashed on the door handle, she could only think
yes
and
now
and
finally
. She had him backed against the door almost before it shut behind them.

Tom’s mouth was soft against hers, his lips opening for her when she traced them with her tongue. His head thudded back against the door and she slid her hands up his neck, behind his head, holding him in place and protecting him from the hard wood of the door. Tom’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer to his body as she slid the edge of her teeth along his bottom lip.

The scruff along Tom’s neck scratched at her tongue as Emme licked a path from his shoulder to a spot behind his ear that made him shudder. He gasped when she wound her fingers in his hair and tugged hard enough to pull his head back so she could kiss his Adam’s apple.

But when Tom cupped her ass in his broad hands, pulling her close enough to feel his erection grinding against her, she pulled back.

She’d said she was going to make him beg, and he seemed to like that idea almost as much as she did. She tugged at his hair one last time and stepped away from him.

He didn’t follow.
He’s showing me what he wants
. The realization hit her so hard she almost stumbled. He wouldn’t just tolerate her being in charge. He wanted it.

Tom’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes lust-glazed and heavy-lidded. His hair stood out in all directions from where she’d had her hands in it. He slumped against the door, his hands resting against it without her even having to tell him to keep them there.
Nice
. She hadn’t ever really thought about wanting that before, but now she did. Him obeying her. Him doing what she asked. And instead of being a bossy bitch because of it, him loving it as much as she did.

Fuck. She felt like someone had just handed her a triple-chocolate brownie covered in ice cream, and she was going to eat every last bite.

Emme backed up into the room, watching Tom watch her as she stopped beside the chair.

“Do you want to see me naked?” she asked.

Tom’s throat worked as he swallowed. “God, yes,” he said.

Emme shrugged. “Too bad.”

A dark flush spread over Tom’s cheekbones in response. His hips thrust forward like they did when he played his bass, like she imagined they would if she were bent over in front of him, before he caught himself and stopped.

“I want to see
you
naked,” she said, dropping into the chair. “Start with your shirt, please.”

Emme’s pulse beat hotly in her throat as she watched Tom step forward, away from the door. He didn’t drop his gaze, instead staring back at her with those razor-sharp blue eyes cutting through all her defenses.
I can take what you give me
, that look said. And although she didn’t doubt it, she raised one eyebrow in challenge.

He started with the buttons closest to his neck, slowly pushing each one through the hole. He wore the sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms, hair-dusted and thick, the tattoo a constant reminder of his tenacity and his strength. Emme crossed her legs, tightening her thigh muscles against her own slippery emptiness as he pulled the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it onto the floor.

His faded band T-shirt underneath stretched across his chest. His body was thin, leanly muscled, and the shirt was old enough and thin enough that she could see the shadow of his chest hair through it. Tom smiled that little-boy-into-mischief smile at her as he paused with his hands on the hem of his T-shirt. “Should I keep going?”

Emme bit her lip to keep from smiling back at him. “Maybe. I’d like to get a little more comfortable first.” She pulled her own hoodie off over her head, letting it land somewhere in the vicinity of the bed. She should be wearing her dress, her stockings, her heels, for this. At the very least, she knew she could tease him in return, make him pant and sweat and lose his mind a little before she gave him any relief. The sight of her in a white T-shirt over her sheer, black lace bra should do the trick.

Emme was duly rewarded by the sight of Tom’s hands fluttering uselessly at his sides, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe. “Now,” she said, “you can keep going. T-shirt off, Tom.”

The feeling of his name in her mouth was almost as good as the sight of a sliver of his belly as
he lifted the hem of his shirt. He raised it slowly, revealing one intriguing inch at a time: the hair that ran from below his navel into his jeans; the contours of that gorgeous line of muscle that jutted sideways at his hip; the hint of his ribs beneath his skin. By the time she could see his other tattoo, a line of music above his heart, her heart was trying to escape from her chest and her underwear was completely soaked through.

When his T-shirt joined his button-up on the floor, Emme had to move from her chair. “Stay there,” she warned. “Don’t move.”

Tom nodded, but she could see—
see
—his erection jerk behind his jeans at the order. He even put his hands together behind his back and oh,
God
, that just sent her.

He was telling her that he was hers to command, that he wouldn’t move if she didn’t tell him to. God, he was placing a
lot
of trust in her hands, but he was teaching her at the same time. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed.

For half a second, she wondered what other woman had taught him to do this, and hated that woman fiercely. Then she got over it, sent her thanks to that former partner for the lessons, and opened her eyes to look at him.

His torso was a buffet of warm skin and silky fur and muscle stretched over bone, and Emme wanted to gorge herself on it. The scruff on his face and neck joined the hair on his chest, thicker at the top and narrowing down along his belly to a thin line. She knew he was strong, had seen him lift equipment before, but had no idea that his shoulders would be quite so rounded, his abs quite so defined.

“You work out?”

Tom blushed gratifyingly. “When I can’t sleep. When I want some really amazing woman who won’t let me have her.”

“Deprivation does a body good.”

Tom groaned at that, or maybe he groaned because she put her hands on him as she said it, running them over the divot of his collarbone, down the length of his arms, cupping and kneading as she went. She stepped forward and nuzzled her face into the hair on his chest, breathing in his sunny laundry soap smell where it was strongest.

She ran her finger along the tattoo over his heart, tracing the notes, unable to stop herself from humming the tune—the opening to “It Hurts Me Too.” Oh, she wanted to know what that was all about, but that was a question for later. Instead, her thumbs found the ridge of muscle along his sides as
she licked his nipple, and she smiled against his skin at his sharp intake of breath and the hard shudder that ran through him.

“You like that?” she asked, her breath feathering through his chest hair.

She felt his murmured “Mmm” vibrate against her face, so she did it again.

He felt so good against her, so real and warm and solid and willing, and she’d told him her truth and he hadn’t backed away. She took a deep breath before she spoke again, feeling her breath on his skin, the warmth of his body radiating into hers. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Tom’s voice came out sounding broken.

“I mean …” Emme tipped her head back to look at him, really look. “If I tell you what to do. Is it okay?” She couldn’t help herself, then; she rested her hand against his cheek, rubbing her thumb over his jaw. He felt so big and masculine compared to her, but she was so afraid of hurting him, scaring him. Scaring herself.

Tom slipped his hands up, tangling them in her hair, his calluses scratchy against her cheeks. His gaze was serious. “Don’t be polite,” he said. “Don’t be nice. I don’t want polite or nice.” He bent down to her, nuzzling under her hair, brushing his lips softly against the skin behind her ear. “I want you. How you are.”

The words and the tiny shooting sparks sent up by his mouth on her neck, his breath in her ear, gave her the courage she needed and an unexpected rush of tenderness. “Good,” she said, right before she tightened her grip in his hair, pulling his head back.

“Now,” she said, surprised at how breathless her own voice sounded, “I’m going to sit back down and watch you take off your belt. But first …”

Emme turned around, tossing a glance at Tom over her shoulder. His eyes snapped straight to her ass in her yoga pants, and she grinned. She hooked her fingers in the waistband and pushed, bending over at the waist as she did. She heard his tortured groan as she gave a little wiggle, working the stretchy material down over her hips, leaving her lace boy shorts on.

He could probably see how wet her underwear was. He could probably smell her. She could drive him completely insane, but she knew he’d stay right where he stood until she told him to move.

She kicked the pants away and stood, then seated herself on the chair again, legs slightly parted. She leaned back when she saw Tom’s eyes slip between her thighs. “Belt, sugar.”

Tom shook his head as if to clear it, and Emme had to stifle a laugh. She was tempted to tell him,
My eyes are up here
, but that would ruin the fun of feeling his gaze like its own touch against her
where she was soaked and needy.

And anyway, her words were all stolen when he reached for the leather of his belt. His hands enclosed the end, pulling at the buckle, and it looked like it did when he played his bass, plucking at the strings. The clink of the metal against metal and the shush as the leather slithered free of his belt loops set something inside Emme on fire.

And then, once his belt was free, he brought it to her and handed it to her. And said, “Yes, ma’am.”

Jesus. She hadn’t anticipated that, hadn’t asked for that, but when he gave her the leather, warm from his skin, she gasped aloud. She held it up to her face, rubbed her cheek against it. Oh, what she could do with that strap. Her imagination dove right in, even as some sensible part of her brain said
No. Not yet. Too much
.

She hesitated, and in the end, laid the belt down at her feet. She could use it. If she decided to.

While Emme spontaneously combusted, Tom had moved back to his spot on the floor and stood with his hands behind his back again. His jeans, without the belt to hold them up, slid down his hips, giving Emme an even better view of that ridge of muscle that she so, so badly wanted to run her mouth along. She had to take a deep breath before she could resume anything close to command.

“Now your jeans, please.”

If Tom looked disappointed, it was only for the barest second before he flicked the button open.

He lowered his zipper slowly, the sound of the teeth echoing in the quiet room. Emme felt light-headed, and it wasn’t just because she was holding her breath. By the time his fly gaped open, jeans sliding even lower, waistband of his boxer briefs visible, her hand had somehow found its way inside her own underwear, rubbing light circles around her clit.