Have Mercy: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance (13 page)

Emme needed a minute after the intensity of her orgasm, but Tom simply stood in front of her and helped her out of the chair. He looked absolutely wrecked, eyes glassy and dark, and he swayed on his feet as he leaned down to kiss her slowly and thoroughly. His mouth tasted like her.

That gentle, sweet kiss combined with the filthiness of what they’d just done to shatter something inside her. The way he’d smiled and said, “yes ma’am” when she ordered him to crawl to her—God, it was like he could read her mind, and had found some slightly horrifying fantasy lurking in the dark of her brain that she’d never even known she had.

And now he lay back on her bed, arms crossed behind his head, biceps bunched and beautiful
thick cock waiting for her, his face glazed with her wetness.

She had no idea what she’d done to be handed this man, but she was willing to take what she could.

Already her brain was starting to switch back on, humming regret and shame in the background. She pulled off her T-shirt quickly, hoping to silence it. When she unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, Tom’s breathing hitched. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Emme couldn’t keep the skeptical expression off her face, even though she heard no false sincerity in his tone. It was a habit, that reaction, one that she’d cultivated to make herself seem less threatening. Not a pretty thing to admit, but it was true, and she was beginning to realize it.

“You don’t believe me?” Tom propped himself up on his elbow. “You get up on that stage every night, and everyone in the room worships you.”

Emme moved closer to the bed, closer to Tom, and he ran a hand down the side of her hip, warm and callused and perfect. “You open your mouth to sing, and everyone in the world wants to fuck you, or be fucked by you, or just … I don’t know, smell your hair and hope you’ll let them. You should own that like you do onstage. You’re a goddess.” His words slurred a little, and she would have thought he was drunk if she had ever seen him drink. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from confessing to her.

Something shattered inside her chest at that. No man had ever thought so highly of her, and hearing it said aloud was completely terrifying. And hearing it said aloud from a talented sweetheart who also happened to kiss like sin and have a body she wanted to grab with both hands and her nails was more than she could bear.

Emme pushed Tom over onto his back and crawled over his body. There was no way she deserved him, but hell yes, she was going to take him.

She opened her mouth over his and kissed him lightly, rubbing their lips together. He tasted like coffee and cigarettes and she knew she shouldn’t like that combination but she did. Tom turned his head away from her and gathered her hair in his hand, smoothing it over her shoulder.
He’s smelling my hair
, she realized. And she was definitely letting him.

“You’re so sweet,” she said, right before she bit his bottom lip.

Tom groaned and his whole body jerked underneath her. “Emme,” he breathed. Just that, just her name, twice, three times, like a plea or a prayer.

Emme pulled away, backing away from the melting feeling inside her.
Too much. Too soon
.
She had to put some distance between their bodies. “Show me,” she whispered.

Tom looked at her, eyebrow raised in question, confusion written on his face.

“Show me how you touch yourself. I want to watch.”

She tried to turn him into a beautiful object, a gorgeous man with an equally lovely body, a hard cock, a pair of strong hands with long fingers and densely muscled forearms. But that tattoo kept getting in the way, reminding her of the look in his eyes when he talked about making music, and she kept picturing him, hands working over the neck of his bass as he played, thrusting in time to the music, and all the pieces of him kept coalescing back into a whole that she wanted. She wanted to do things like kiss the tender skin on the underside of his chin, the little spot where no stubble grew. She wanted to melt on top of him and pull him inside her and never let him go. She wanted to say stupid, stupid words that she shut her mouth against.

Tom closed his eyes as if the request might send him over the edge. He took a deep breath, then trailed his hand down his chest, over his belly. He detoured down the indentation that led from his hip to the top of his thigh, and without thinking, Emme bent over him and chased his fingers with her tongue.

Tom groaned, and Emme pulled back to watch. He reached for her, though, and she gasped when he slid his fingers between her legs, rubbing and dipping inside, gathering her moisture to spread on his cock. Tom closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of his hand around his cock, wet from her arousal. She watched him tighten his grip, much tighter than she would have held him, stroking up and down slowly but forcefully. “Good,” she said, unable to stop the praise. “Do it like I’m not watching.”

“But I want you to watch. Please, Emme. Please touch me, suck me. Watch me. Please.” His voice was strained and as ragged as she felt inside, and she almost stopped him, but instinct held her back.
He likes it. He wouldn’t be this worked up if he didn’t like it
.

“I’m right here,” she said instead, and then succumbed to the urge to soothe him. She ran a hand through the fur on his belly, feeling his muscles twitch and flinch against her touch. “Shhh.”

And oddly enough, it did seem to soothe him. He caught his breath, found his rhythm again, until she slid her hand down and he moved his aside.

She couldn’t close her hand all the way around his cock, but she tried anyway, testing the weight and feel of him against her palm. But when Tom reached for her hand, she pulled away. “No, sugar.” She said it softly, sweetly, but there was no doubt that the words were denial. “Give me a
show.”

Tom nodded tightly, mouth open, panting. He took himself in his hand again, moving tentatively under her gaze. The sight made every nerve in her body fire, especially when he looked up at her with pleading in his gaze. “Tell me how,” he begged.

“You like it tight,” Emme said. “Tighter.”

She was gratified when he obeyed, knuckles clenching. The head of his cock disappeared into his fist, reappeared again as he moved up and down his length.

“You like that?” she asked, her voice a purr.

Tom nodded. “I love it.”

“Good,” Emme said. She could feel her own arousal building again. She slid her fingers over her breasts, flattening her palms over her nipples. They were tight, hard, and the pass of her hands over them made her want to moan. Tom jerked himself harder at the sight, so she leaned forward.

“Here,” she said, offering her breast to him. “Suck.”

Tom groaned at the offer, reaching for her with a trembling hand. He took the tip of one breast in his mouth. His tongue was strong and wet and hot, and as he sucked, she felt all her muscles tightening again. She looked down at his face, his eyes closed with pleasure, dark lashes resting against his cheeks. She watched the tendons of his wrists flex and release, the muscles in his forearm bunch as he stroked himself harder.

God, she
wanted
, and all the images running through her mind scared her almost as much as they turned her on. He would let her do anything, she realized. Anything.

Emme pulled away from him, and he made a whimpering protest until she leaned down, hair falling around her face, and bit the edge of his wrist, the one that was so busy working his cock.

His hips lurched up from the bed in response, and he opened his mouth and started talking. “Oh Jesus, you’re so amazing, please …”

Emme shushed him, pulling away from his body and his words. He was so far gone, feet flexing, eyes closed, hips pushing up into his hand, and she wasn’t ready for it all to end yet, not on his terms, anyway. She felt completely out of control at the sight of him so abandoned, a little afraid of what he might say if she let him keep talking. So she did the only thing that felt right.

“Stop.”

Her tone was harsher than she’d intended it to be, but the command worked. Tom’s hand stopped moving, his eyes snapped open, and he immediately apologized, though she could tell he
wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was apologizing for.

Emme wasn’t sure either, except that she felt like she should be the one apologizing.

“Do you want me to tell you ‘no’?” she finally asked, smoothing her hand down over his hair. “Or do you want me to let you come?”

Tom turned his face into her hand. “I don’t know. Both. Yes. No.” He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, and Emme leaned forward and brushed a kiss on the tattoo over his heart.

“If you tell me to stop, I’m going to stop,” she said, tracing her hair over his chest again and again. She couldn’t bear to look at him; those eyes so lost and far away, and she wanted to hurt him and hold him at the same time.

“Please don’t stop.” He looked at her when he said it, forcefully, and a great wave of relief washed through her. She took her own deep breath, smiled at him, and then made her face serious again. She could do this. She wouldn’t hurt him—more than he wanted.

Tom nodded, and Emme scooted back on the bed. She leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows, feet planted and knees apart. She slid a hand down her body, over the hill of her belly, down into the dip between her legs. “See how wet I am? It’s from watching you.” She parted her sex, showing him.

“Oh God, Emme.
God
.” Tom turned his head, screwed his eyes shut. “If you do that, I’m really going to come. You’re so pretty.”

Those words made Emme’s breath turn jagged and hard. “Here,” she said, and she slid her fingers inside herself, wetting them, and smeared her wetness on his cock. “You like this. You like it wet. Lick your hands now.” Some heady sense of power rushed through her, bigger than she’d ever felt, even onstage, even when she had an audience eating out of the palm of her hand. Her head was full with it, this sense of invincibility.

Tom shuddered when she touched him, but he did as she asked, even meeting her eyes as he licked one palm, then the other, tongue dragging up and over his fingertips. She was suddenly awash in sense-memory, hot with the awareness of what that tongue had felt like against her. “Good,” she murmured. Oh, she could take care of him, too, make him feel as good as he’d made her feel. That felt as good, if scarier, than the buzz of adrenaline behind her eyes.

“Now,” Emme said, “wrap your hand around your cock.” The command, and his unquestioning obedience, tore something loose inside her. God, she hadn’t known how much she wanted this until it was handed to her, and now she had no idea how she had ever lived without it. She needed to be filled,
needed to be touched, needed to watch as his shoulders lifted up off the pillow and he tightened his hand around himself.

“Imagine,” she continued, sliding the fingers of one hand down into her entrance, reaching for a nipple with her other hand, “that you’re pushing into me, into all my heat.”

“God, Emme.” His voice sounded like it had been pulled from him, but she thought it was in the best way, the most lovely, pleasurable way. “I want that. I want you. I want it so bad.”

Tom thrust his hips, his hand moving down harder. His cock was slick, dark with arousal, and swollen, and Emme felt that thrust as if he really had shoved into her. She pushed two fingers deep inside herself and pinched her nipple hard.

“I know you want it,” she said, voice as thick as syrup and twice as sweet. “But you’re going to have to imagine. Imagine me saying, ‘You feel so good inside me. You’re so big I can barely take it.’ ”

Tom reached for her, one hand landing awkwardly on her calf. “Yes. Say that.”

“You’re close, aren’t you?” That flash of power again, of control. Of caring. She could make this
so good
for him, and she wanted to.

Tom nodded, jaw clenched, features twisted in agony. “God, I’m so close. I’m imagining …”

“What? Tell me.” Emme was rapidly losing control of her body, her own hips pumping up to meet her fingers, her thumb strumming her clit.

“You. Onstage.” She could hear the slippery sounds of his hand on himself now, could hear her own sounds as she added a third finger, needing to be filled. “Only you lift your skirt and make me.”

“Make you what?”

“Make me fuck you. Up there. In front of everyone. While they all watch.”

Emme pictured it, the lights of the stage, the audience in front of her, Tom behind her, thrusting into her, his hand playing her clit like he played his bass, and suddenly everything in her world narrowed down to her body, her sex, her own frantic rubbing until it all ballooned outward and she came, and she heard herself saying, “Yes, Tom. I love it.”

By the time she came back to herself, she saw Tom, unmoving, hand on his cock still, holding his breath. “Please, may I? Please, let me … God, Emme.” Every muscle in his body looked so tense that she actually worried for his well-being.

And he was asking her permission to come. That thought alone nearly sent her over the edge again.

“Yes,” she said. “Do it. Come all over yourself. I want to see it.”

Tom nodded shortly, then fucked himself up into his hand hard. For one moment, he seemed suspended in anguish, and then his whole body shook as his orgasm overtook him, coating his belly.

He relaxed in stages; first his feet, then his legs. The muscles in his abdomen twitched and released, and then his hands, arms, shoulders fell away and he lay next to her, limp.

Adrenaline still soared through Emme’s body; her blood felt like it pumped through her at twice its usual speed. God, she had never felt so powerful or so terrified in her whole life. She glanced over at Tom, who barely looked conscious. What had she done to him? She’d made him crawl on the
floor
. She’d demanded that he masturbate in front of her. Jesus, she really must be some kind of horrible man-eating whore.

And despite it all, a sense of tenderness overwhelmed her. She wanted to run her hand through his sweaty hair, smooth it back from his face, whisper praise into his ear for hours, curl her body around his and hold him tight.