Have Mercy: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance

by Shelley Ann Clark

  “I have to ask.” Tom had finally managed to push the rest of them off the bed and tear one of the packets open. “How long have you had these? Did you plan this for tonight?”

  Emme shook her head. “I bought them in Tuscaloosa.”

  Tom groaned as he sheathed himself. “You mean we could have been doing this for a week now?”

  “I had to be certain you were ready,” Emme said. She bit her lip, leaned forward so that her hair fell around his face. “Are you ready?”

  Tom pushed his hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “You are the biggest tease on the planet.” He thrust up toward her, then stopped himself, hand tightening in her hair. “I love it.”

  That word did strange and shivery things to Emme’s insides.

  It scared her how much she liked hearing it in Tom’s mouth, how much the longing she felt for him hurt.

  She cupped his face in her hands as she sank down onto him. She went slowly because she was so swollen and aroused that it took her a moment to open, soften, unfold for his girth, but also because she had teased herself for so long that this moment had come to mean something, a bridge to cross that hid mysteries on the opposite bank.

  She rubbed her thumbs over his cheekbones as he shuddered under her, but his gaze never left hers. “You feel …” He breathed, brow furrowed, mouth open. “So. Good.”

  “So do you,” she said, and she meant it. He felt full inside her, full and thick and gorgeous, like every part of him was touching every part of her, including secret spaces she hadn’t even realized she had. She moved, testing his length, finding an angle that worked for her.

  Emme rose over him, sliding up his length, kissing his mouth as she did. He grabbed for her ass, hands landing on her and pulling, but she resisted this pressure and bit his bottom lip.

  “You don’t make the rules,” she whispered. “Put your hands under your head.”

  His cock lurched up toward her when she spoke, but he held himself back, catching himself when he realized he’d broken the rules. His biceps and shoulders bunched when he crossed his arms behind his head, looking like some arrogant musician being serviced by a groupie. Except that both of them knew the difference because they both knew who was in charge.

  “I want to make you feel good,” Tom breathed, his only protest.

  “You will. I’ll make sure of it,” Emme promised. Her heart broke that that was his concern, that the only complaint he’d made was about her pleasure. She leaned down to say, softly, against his ear, “I’m going to use you like my own personal fuck toy. I’ll get off again and again and again, and you won’t until I say you can.”

  She knew he’d react to that, and he did, groaning. “Yes, ma’am,” he told her, and she rewarded him by sliding back down, taking him fully into her body.

  The thick, hot glide of him threatened to overwhelm her. His eyes, glazed with emotion, watching her, were even worse—or better, she wasn’t sure which. His chest heaved below her, his breath coming in rapid pants, even as he held himself back, holding still while she moved on him.

  Words fell out of her mouth without waiting for her permission.

  “You look so beautiful underneath me,” she said. She ran her hands over his chest, stopping at his nipples to tweak and pull. He shuddered, turning his face to mouth at his bicep, muffling his grunt. “You want to move, don’t you?” She pulled herself up, then down his length, moving slowly, watching him disappear inside her body. “You want to fuck up into me hard, don’t you?” She trailed her fingers over the midline of her own body, between her breasts, over her belly, down to the place where she took him inside. Her fingers brushed against his cock as she rubbed her clit slowly at first, and then harder and faster as she moved over him. “Watch me use you,” she ordered, before she lost the ability to speak.

  The thick pulsing pressure of him inside her, the friction of her slippery fingers against her clit, his body immobile beneath her, all swamped her senses with hot, liquid pleasure. Too soon, her knees didn’t want to hold her up and she couldn’t get enough pressure, quite, and she was poised right on the very edge of something so immense that she was a little afraid of it.

  “I need …” She panted, words, like her orgasm, just out of her grasp.

  Before the words were completely out of her mouth, he’d tumbled her over onto her hands and knees, thrusting into her from behind. “Good?” he asked, one hand holding her hip, the other sliding around to her clit.

  She nodded. “Good,” she moaned, and circled her clit with her own fingers. He gripped her hips hard and slid deep inside her, fast and rough and thick as anything she could want. For a long moment she forgot how to breathe, forgot how to do anything at all but take his thrusts and rub at her clit and feel her own stretched tissues spread around his cock and then come, endlessly and painfully, her sex pulsing hard around him, face dropping to the sheet, words like “God” and “Tom” and “I love you” spilling out of her mouth.

  And the feeling of Tom behind her as his pace stuttered and he lost all control, fingers tightening on her hips, the throb of him as he came inside her, and the words he, too, couldn’t seem to stop: “Fuck, Emme, I love you, too.”

  It took Emme a few minutes before she grew vaguely aware of a feeling of discomfort. Her cheek was pressed into the mattress, her neck crooked. Tom lay draped across her back like the world’s heaviest blanket. He was still inside her, and although she wanted to keep him there, it wasn’t a good idea with the condom between them.

  She felt his chest heave against her back, felt his breath sigh out past her ear. He kissed her neck matter-of-factly, husband-on-the-way-to-the-office style, tucked her hair behind her ear, and pulled away from her.

  By the time Tom returned from the bathroom, she lay sprawled and dazed, like a starfish at low tide, across the bed, staring vaguely at the ceiling. Tom smiled, those goddamn dimples appearing, and grabbed the blankets off the floor where he’d tossed them.

  “Aren’t you chilly?” he asked, arranging them over her before sliding in beside her. He pulled her close and she went limp as he arranged her spooning against his chest. He made a happy humming noise against the top of her head and slung a hairy leg over hers.

  Emme had to clear her throat twice before she found her voice. “I think we need to talk about what just happened.”

  Tom nuzzled the back of her neck. His lips were soft against her skin, and his breath brushed against her as he spoke. “I thought it was amazing. I’m honored, and humbled, and damn.” Then he froze, all his little comforting movements stopped. “Wait, was it okay for you? That bit at the end—I’m sorry.”

  “No! It was fine. Well, not fine. More than fine.” God. Her brain couldn’t seem to find a track and stick to it. Until then, she’d been able to see it as a game, one where it might be possible for the two of them not to hurt each other. But suddenly it was real, and she didn’t know what the rules were, she didn’t know who was in charge, and they’d both said words that they couldn’t take back.

  And she didn’t want to take them back, not when Tom was holding her, hand absently tracing a circle around her navel and she could hear the satisfaction humming under his skin. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him quite so comfortable.

  “So what’s the problem?” He sounded so calm and rational and reasonable, it made her itchy. “Dave and Guillermo are okay with us. I love you. I’ve loved you for a while now. You just said that you love me. What am I missing?”

  That this is a disaster waiting to happen. Aren’t you terrified? But of course he wasn’t. He wasn’t afraid of anything.

  She ought to ask him to leave again. If he were caught leaving her room, it would look equally incriminating if he did it right then or if he did it the next morning, but for her own sake, so she couldn’t get any more mixed-up, to let him know who was in charge, she ought to ask him to leave.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, she sank back into his warmth. “Are we going to fu
ck everything up?” The words were out of her mouth before she could censor them, and once she said them, they sounded surprisingly true.

  Tom’s arms tightened around her. “We might. I hope not, but it’s always possible. I can promise to act like a grownup if we do.”

  Emme wasn’t sure she could make that promise herself. Trust him. Like when she’d given him the safe word. She’d just have to hope he could manage for the both of them.

  Chapter Eleven

  The ringing of Tom’s cell phone always managed to send a slice of pure dread straight through his body. He’d developed that response over years of bad news and worse calls.

  Even waking up to a naked Emme snuggled tightly in his arms wasn’t enough to stop the sinking feeling when it rang.

  Tom disentangled himself, then held his breath when he saw that Marcos was calling.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Marcos said. “I’m so sorry, man.”

  Tom slid out of bed and pulled on his underwear. He didn’t want to have any conversation that started with an apology and an admission of a problem while naked. He already felt vulnerable enough. “What’s up?”

  Marcos sighed. “I should have listened to you.”

  “That’s generally a smart idea, yeah. What happened?”

  “Your sister.”

  “Fuck. Go on.” Tom pulled his jeans on, too, fight-or-flight response kicking into gear.

  “She offered to take the night’s receipts to the bank for me last night.”

  “And you let her?” The sinking feeling was quickly dissolving into self-righteous anger. He’d told Marcos not to let her work. He’d given his manager a direct order and it had been ignored.

  To his credit, Marcos didn’t offer excuses. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. So I take it we’re missing some cash?”

  “A night’s returns’ worth.”

  Shit. The bar operated on a fairly low profit margin. A weekend night’s returns was a big fucking deal. And even if it wasn’t, Katie couldn’t keep pulling stunts like this without consequences.

  “What do you want me to do?” Marcos asked. “Other than. You know. Find a new job.”

  Tom’s shoulders tightened. Yeah, he’d need to replace Marcos, too. There was no way he could let him keep his job after ignoring a direct order and the loss of that kind of revenue. It sucked because he liked Marcos; the guy had been a reliable employee for a few years now. And Katie certainly knew how to push people’s buttons to get what she wanted. He had no doubt she’d manipulated her way into the bar.

  How the hell was he supposed to interview new managers from nearly five hundred miles away? He glanced over at the bed, where Emme lay on her side. Her eyes were open, watching him.

  He closed his before he spoke. “Call the cops.”

  Marcos took a deep breath. “You sure, man? She’s your sister.”

  “I know she’s my sister. Call the cops. Insurance won’t cover theft if there’s no police report. And she can’t do this, Marcos. She can’t.”

  Tom could hear the desperation in his own voice, feel himself pulling in with anger and frustration.

  “Okay. When do you want me to have my last day?”

  “Fuck, Marcos, I don’t know. Not until I can get back there and figure some things out. You want to make this up to me? Call the cops, cooperate with them, and keep working until I tell you you’re not needed.”

  It wasn’t fucking fair. He’d told himself again and again that anger didn’t help, that wishing his life was different wouldn’t make it so, that being furious with Katie only ate at him from the inside out and acceptance of his lot in life was the best he could do. But was it too much to ask for him to have anything for himself before she took it away? And why did it all, always, have to fall on him to save her? But he’d thrown that tantrum as a little boy and it had never made one bit of difference, and there was no point in it now.

  Tom didn’t want to open his eyes and see Emme watching him. He’d felt so awash in love and acceptance just a few short hours before, but now humiliation dug its nails into his ribcage. He busied himself pulling his shirt over his head as slowly as he could manage before he finally had to face her.

  “What’s going on?” Her eyes were dark with concern, and she sat up, the sheet falling down around her waist.

  Holy hell, the sight of her, bare to the waist, tangled hair around her shoulders, big liquid eyes full of care for him … he wanted to shuck his clothes and climb back into the bed and forget about everything for another eight hours. Or maybe eight days.

  “My sister just stole a couple thousand dollars from me, with the help of my employee,” he answered tightly.

  “Oh, fuck, Tom.” She tossed the sheet off and scooted out of the bed, came to him and hugged him around the middle, her bare skin against his clothes, her hair tickling his nostrils. “What do you need? What can I do?”

  Those two questions gutted him. He tried to swallow around the stone that had grown in the back of his throat suddenly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been asked what he needed by anyone else. And when he told her what he needed, he’d likely lose that care.

  “I may need to leave the tour.”

  He waited for her to push him away, turn angry, shout. Tell him he was worthless if he couldn’t commit. Tell him that he’d screwed up something bigger than him, that he was a bad brother, a worse business owner, an irresponsible musician who shouldn’t have taken on the job if he knew he might not be able to see it through.

  Instead, she sighed. Her hand found its way under his T-shirt, palm pressed flat to the skin of his back. “Is that what you want?”

  “What I want doesn’t matter.” Story of his life. What he wanted took a backseat to his duties; and sometimes he failed at those, too. He didn’t want to sink into self-pity. “I don’t want to screw you and the band over. I don’t want to call the cops on my baby sister. I don’t want to fire a guy who is usually a good manager because he trusted my sister.” Her hand stroked circles around a spot on his lower back. It felt good, and he didn’t deserve it because he was telling her that he was going to throw a giant wrench into all of her carefully laid tour plans. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

  Tom rested his chin on the top of her head and felt her voice vibrate through his body when she spoke. “How long will you need?” she asked. She still didn’t sound angry, but she had to be.

  He’d ruined everything.

  “I don’t know. Two weeks? Three?”

  He heard her intake of breath then. “And when would you need to leave?”

  “As soon as possible. Tomorrow. Two days from now. I don’t know.” He felt like the worst kind of imposter, taking comfort from her while he let her down.

  “If Andy can get out here, can you hold off until he takes over for you?”

  “Yeah.” He thought about facing Marcos, looking him in the eye and firing him. About facing Katie, looking her in the eye and asking her why, even though he knew there was no answer. There never was. “Yeah, I can wait. But I need to call my sister.”

  Emme nodded against his chest. “It’s four in the morning, Tom. Come back to bed. Get some sleep. Decide what to do in the morning.” She pulled back and frowned at him. “Why are you wearing all your clothes? Were you going to run out on me in the middle of the night?”

  He hadn’t exactly thought it through that far, but she wasn’t too far off, and he could tell that she knew it. She looked sad, disappointed, maybe, and he’d put that look on her face. All he wanted to do was make her happy, and he’d done the exact damn opposite.

  She shook her head and climbed back into the bed. “Take your clothes off and get back in here,” she ordered, and some of the horrible void in his gut eased with the bossy order. “I’m not letting you leave yet.”

  Letting her tell him what to do was such a sweet relief. He knew he could take it too far, easily, but she was right. Running out of her room half-dressed i
n the middle of the night was ridiculous. He doffed his jeans and climbed back in bed with her.

  “Does it hurt your ass if you roll onto your back?”

  “A little, but I don’t mind.”

  Emme pushed at his shoulder until he lay down, then curled up beside him with her head in the crook between his shoulder and his arm. “Do you like owning a bar?”

  Like had never entered the picture. Tom had inherited the bar and made the best of it. He’d turned it around and made enough of a profit from it to function, no mean feat after years in the red under his father’s management. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You realize you could sell it.”

  For just a moment, he let himself imagine it. On tour, playing bass, making very little money, but with no responsibility beyond what was in front of him—to Emme, to the band, to music, and to their audience. No weight dragging him away from her, no constant gnawing dread, no checking his phone for the next disaster. It was a seductive and dangerous image.

  “I can’t.” The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about them.

  “Why not?” Emme traced a finger around the tattoo on his chest over and over again.

  “It was my dad’s. I grew up there.” He left it to me and that’s my legacy—an albatross around my neck. “I can’t explain it. I know it doesn’t make sense; it’s not like we had the greatest relationship, but he was my dad. This is all I’ve got left of him.” Stupid, maybe, how love made him hold on to something he wasn’t sure he wanted. Doubly stupid when he considered that loving Emme made him want to let go of it and grab onto her instead.

  “Yeah, but do you like it? Is it what you want to do?”

  Tom shrugged, the question making his skin feel too tight. “I don’t know. That’s like asking me if I wanted to raise my sister. Not really, I guess, but you do what you have to do. And sometimes, you do a shitty job of it and your sister steals from your business.”