Have Mercy: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance by Shelley Ann Clark Page A

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 ashe 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