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

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 asshe 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