At His Mercy Read Free Page A

longing.
    Lise closed her eyes, let her head fall
back on her shoulders and invited the sweeping escape of arousal.
It coursed through her to pool in her core, stirring long buried
dreams of the life she’d wanted, a husband, a lover. A
love.
    Too late she realized the mistake of
dredging up that loss.
    Nova had stopped. "You’re
crying."
    "I’m not. Not really."
    He nudged a knuckled beneath her
lashes. "You saying these are tears of joy? Because I don’t think
my dancing skills are worthy."
    She laughed because it felt so good to
do so, to know she’d done the right thing in moving on. She trailed
the backs of her nails along his abs just above his belt buckle,
asking, "What about your other skills?"
    "Outstanding, though a bit rusty. I’m
eighteen months into that two year thing."
    "I wouldn’t want to be the cause of a
broken vow."
    "It was a business decision. No oaths
taken. No graves sworn on."
    "And you weren’t out to prove
anything?"
    "If that had been the case, I’ve blown
it by taking matters into my own hands."
    His hands on his cock. Gripping his
shaft. Cupping his head. Stroking. Pumping. His face a tight mask
as tension built. There was something so incredibly erotic about
watching a man giving himself pleasure ...
    She ran the flat of her hand along his
hard length and squeezed. "If you’re sure …"
    He thrust into her hold. "I should ask
you the same. You stopped to change your tire. Not for
this."
    That had been hours ago. Before she’d
closed the door on the past that had brought her to this place. To
him.
    What if her tire had hit a nail miles
down the road? The thought that she might have missed out on this
night … "How close are we to a wall?"
    He took three steps, pressed her
against the smoothly varnished pine, brought his mouth down on hers
and possessed her. He tasted of scotch, earthy and warm and
intoxicating.
    His tongue was bold as it moved against
hers without permission or manners. He took, and he gave, stroking,
biting, his hands behind her gathering up the fabric of her skirt
and exposing the backs of her thighs.
    Sensation bubbled through her and burst
in a giddy laugh. This. Exactly this. The urgency. The potent
pressing physical need. How had she existed so long without
it?
    Her hands found their way to his
waistband, and she tugged his shirt free. His belt buckle was next,
then the buttons straining at his fly, then the elastic of his
briefs, and he was in her hands, hot, full, slick on his tip.
Hers.
    His own hands stopped, and he growled.
"I can’t think with you doing that."
    "You need to think?"
    "It’s been awhile. Thinking’s the only
thing keeping me on my feet."
    "Oh," she began, his words striking a
thought. "Not having planned for this …"
    "I’ve got a condom."
    "Close?" she asked because the idea of
waiting for him to fetch it …
    He breathed heavily against her neck.
"I’ll have to let go of your skirt and I’m not sure I want to do
that."
    "Let it go," she told him.
    He did, reaching into his pocket for
the condom as she tugged the waistband over her hips and thighs,
and shimmied. The garment fell to the floor.
    Nova looked down as he tugged his jeans
to his knees, his fiery eyes taking in the strip of champagne lace
that covered little. Then he blew out a breath, one heavy with
appreciation and strained patience. "You're killing me here, Lise.
Killing me."
    Again she reached for his shaft, her
fingers sliding deeper to fondle his weighty balls, still deeper to
the swollen ridge of flesh behind. Her gaze on his tortured face,
she rubbed his cock's engorged head across her belly, tracing the
line of her very damp panties. "Return the favor.
Please."
    #
    Goddamn, but she was gorgeous, her hips
and tits full, her legs long enough to wrap around him, her waist
barely a match for the span of his hands.
    He wanted to take his time, to taste
her, to pierce her with his tongue, to drive his cock into her
mouth and watch her suck him dry. He wanted hours instead