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

with two fingers. Tom’s would be rougher from playing bass and washing glassware in the bar; they’d feel so much better than her own. And his face would be lust-glazed and desperate as he watched her.
    Maybe he’d kneel in front of her and lick her there, too. She could order him to. Or maybe shecould just demand that he take out his cock and let her use it, slide down onto it, fill herself up with him.
    She worked two fingers deep inside herself, but it wasn’t enough. She added a third, until she felt her body open, rubbing her clit with her other hand as her hips moved.
    She’d ride him, and take her pleasure from him, and tell him to hold off until she’d come and come and come all over him. And he’d do it. He would take it and hold out and not give in, leaving her empty and disappointed and a little regretful after it was over; no, he’d wait until she told him she was done before letting himself come, and she wouldn’t stop until she was sated and exhausted and finally, finally relaxed.
    And she wouldn’t make it easy for him, either. She’d use him hard and selfishly, and he’d watch her body moving on his and feel her all around him, the way she could feel her own pussy tighten around her fingers as the tension built in her body, built until it had nowhere to go, no higher to climb, and then snapped.
    Emme couldn’t help her strangled cry as the pleasure, sharp and jagged, cut through her. Her body pulsed twice, three times, nearly painful. The scent of her arousal filled the room, her jeans tangled around her thighs, her hands sticky.
    She winced as she pulled her fingers from her body, pulled her bra cup back up over her exposed breast.
    Well.
    What a stupid fantasy. He seemed different from all the other guys she’d known, sure, but she had no doubt that he’d be like them in bed—pulling her hair, trying to impress her with moves like tossing her around on the bed or putting their hands around her neck. Okay with the right person, maybe, but not what she’d ever really wanted for herself. Things that had always left her feeling a little dissatisfied. Lacking.
    Where had her T-shirt landed, again?
    Emme was in the process of yanking her jeans back up over her ass when her phone rang.
    Oh God, she was a complete shameless mess. She grabbed her shirt off the table and wiped her hands before answering the phone.
    “I put you on the prayer list this morning,” her mother said, without even a hello.
    Emme felt her cheeks flush. Jesus Christ, did her mother know what she’d just been doing? Did the woman have a telescope aimed at her dining room window? “Why?”
    “Since you’ll be traveling soon, I thought it would be good for you to have prayers to keep you safe.” Emme could hear her mother exhale her cigarette smoke as she spoke, could picture her, sitting on the back porch, still in her flowered Sunday dress, blonde hair perfectly styled, sneaking a cigarette that she thought her husband wouldn’t know about before going inside to make dinner.
    “And, of course, to keep you away from temptation, since you’ll be on the road.” Her mother’s voice developed a bite.
    “Thanks, Mom,” Emme said.
    She’d tried to be understanding when her mother had married Donald and gone from single-parent agnostic nurse to doctor’s wife church-potluck-host. But then her mother had made her embarrassment with Emme perfectly clear, both with her image and her actions, and Emme found herself reacting like a teenager with a curfew instead of a twenty-nine-year-old woman with her own life.
    “Have you found a housesitter yet?”
    It didn’t help that her mother seemed to have some kind of radar for her hot-button issues and the inability to keep from putting her thumbs right on them.
    “No. I thought I’d see if the Mastersons’ kids wanted to mow the lawn and get the mail. I figure fifty bucks a week, for two teenagers, easy work?” Emme thought about trying to shrug her shirt back on. Something