Have Mercy: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance Read Free Page A

keep. She’d love that, too, his breath against her skin, his lips on her body, but maybe … maybe she’d tell him “no.”
    Not yet. Not until I say so.
    And maybe she’d like that even more, because her clit pulsed once, hard, at the thought.
    “Later, if you’re good enough,” she whispered into her empty dining room, and yes, that was it. He’d have to earn the taste of her skin. She’d make him work for it.
    Would he run away from that? Or would he push her over, take his kisses, pull her hair and put his teeth against the side of her neck? Other men had, and she’d liked it well enough. Or maybe not really well enough.
    Maybe he’d just swallow hard and obey her orders, fingers shaking now, because he’d be turned on, frustrated, but in control of himself because that was what she commanded.
    Maybe she’d have lost interest in the backrub by this point. Or maybe his hands would still feel good, letting her relax for once, letting her trust her own instincts, and so she’d make him keep going. She’d sigh to let him know how good it felt, and he’d react to that, gripping more tightly to keep from touching her anywhere other than her back and shoulders.
    Emme wasn’t sure how they’d both gotten naked in her imagination, but they were, and as much as she wanted to turn around and look at him, she’d let him reach over her shoulder instead, let him graze the back of his knuckles against her jaw. He wouldn’t be rough; he’d be tender, because he’d be so overwhelmed that she’d allowed him to touch her at all.
    And then she’d put her hand over his, and pull it down, over her clavicle and into the hollow of her throat, lower still over the top swell of her breast. He’d be breathing heavy now, panting even.
    Emme slid her own hand over her T-shirt, over her own breast, as she imagined. His hands would be bigger than hers, probably harder than hers. He wouldn’t already know her body the way she did. Would he be hesitant? Overeager? Or just overwhelmed and grateful?
    The fabric of her shirt muffled the sensation of her hand; frustrated, she whipped the T-shirt off and tossed it onto the dining room table. Papers scattered all over the floor when it landed, but she closed her eyes again, determined to recapture the daydream.
    Oh, right. She’d probably let him kiss her then, on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Maybe she’d ask him to lick her there, as she pulled his hand down over her breast. Emme felt goose bumps rise under her fingertips as she trailed her nails lower, her bra tightening as her breasts swelled. She shoved the cup down out of the way, impatient for her own touch against her nipple. By the time she touched herself there, she could barely stand the sensation, thrusting into it and pulling away at the same time.
    Her finger might be too much, but his tongue—his tongue would be perfect. So she’d tell him to lick her there, too, and she’d wind her fingers in his hair as he did, pulling until she got him to the exact right spot, the exact right pressure.
    And maybe he would look up at her as he licked, those blue eyes of his meeting hers as she watched his tongue on her body.
    Fuck
. She was too wound up, dying for release. She couldn’t tease herself any more or she’d break something. Emme unzipped her jeans and shoved them down just far enough to get her hand inside, beneath the elastic of her underpants.
    Oh, God, she was a mess, a hot, slippery, glorious mess, just from imagining a backrub. She’d gotten herself off plenty of times since the Indelible Lines disaster; she’d worn out the batteries on her vibrator twice and was beginning to wonder if the motor could last much longer, but it felt like years since she’d had an orgasm.
    And it had been, at least, since she’d had one involving another person.
    Never mind that the other person was currently only involved in her imagination; it was still better than she’d had in ages.
    Emme circled her clit