At His Mercy (3 page)

"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 of the
minutes they had.

But she was spreading her legs, making
room, tugging down on his cock and inviting him in. Then she
reached for the hem of her top and pulled it over her head and
off.

There was even less to her bra than her
panties, and the dark centers of her breasts, like cherries, left
him unable to think. He dipped his head, slid his tongue between
the fabric and her skin, and curled it around her nipple—all while
rolling the condom the length of his shaft.

A whimper escaped her lips, and she
reached back to unfasten her bra. Yes, he wanted her naked, but
more than that he wanted her bound.

When the straps were halfway down her
arms, he stopped her, twisting the garment like a rope around her
wrists and pulling her arms above her head.

She gasped, but she didn't struggle,
and he held her gaze as he sent the length of a finger to part her
lips slick with her pussy's moisture. "Damn but you're
wet."

Her chin came up. "You say that like
it's a bad thing."

"It is." He angled his hips and fisted
his shaft, drawing the head the length of her slit. "The very best
kind of bad."

"I hope so."

Her body relaxed, which surprised him.
He hadn't realized how rigid she'd gone. "Say the word, Lise, and
this stops. I'm not going to hurt you."

A long moment passed, then she caught
at her lip, her eyes going warm. "Not even if I want you
to?"

"As long as we're talking about the
same kind of hurt …"

She leaned in, bit his earlobe. "I
don't want to be able to walk."

"That I can manage," he said, his voice
like sandpaper in his throat as he thrust his hips forward, his
cock sinking deep.

Tight. Sweet Christ, she was tight.
Like a fist. Like a vise. Sweat broke out in the small of his back
as he fought the urge to rut. This was good. So good. She was so
good.

He held her wrists pinned with one
hand, gripped himself with the other and pressed his thumb against
the top of her clit. "You like?"

Her eyes were closed, her head back,
her breasts lifted high by the position of her arms. She made a
sound but said nothing.

He took it as a yes and pulled back on
her clit's hood, revealing the nerves for his touch.

He toyed with her there, his cock
filling her, motionless, and she tightened around him, a rhythmic,
milking pulse of her muscles that turned his balls hockey puck
hard.

He'd been celibate for months, and his
control was shot. He wasn't sure he had it in him to take this as
far as he wanted. But that didn’t matter as much as making sure he
took her where she needed to go.

"I want you to come." He teased her
clit with butterfly brushes of his thumb. Back and forth, hovering,
skating over the knot.

Her breathing grew labored, her skin
sweaty. He leaned in and tongued the hollow of her
throat.

"Come for me." He said it against her
skin, nipping her, marking her. Bruising. She tasted sweet and
salty, and was warm where he tasted. Her neck, her chin, her
collarbone.

He pushed with his thumb, pulling her
clit up, scraping with the edge of his nail. When she moaned, he
caught the sound with his mouth, the vibration rising to buzz
between their tongues.

And that's when he let her go, looping
her bound wrists around his neck and gripping her very fine ass. He
lifted her against him, the base of his cock spreading her wide as
he thrust.

He was aching, filled to bursting.
Having her had opened a vein and his control was bleeding away. He
dug his fingers into her cheeks and pumped, bouncing her off the
wall.

"Look at me," he demanded, and she
opened her eyes, held his gaze, parted her lips to
breathe.

"Now come," he ordered, and she raked
her nails over his shoulders and did, contracting around him,
crying out, her voice caught by the jazz riffs of the sax and
carried high.

He followed, his back arched, his seed
spilling out in a hot rush that left him limp, spent, sated. Left
him wondering how much of himself he'd just lost.

And if the price had been too
high.

Chapter Four

Lise pulled her SUV to a stop where
indicated by the sign in front of the converted farm house. The Bed
& Breakfast was charming and would no doubt be doubly so with
more than the parking area's floodlight and that on the front porch
by which to see.

She hated arriving in the wee hours,
but once she and Nova had gathered their clothes and dressed, he'd
made the call as promised, and she was expected and welcome. Not
that she'd be able to sleep after the events of the last few hours,
but she was still in need of a tire and a place to stay until
morning.

A chime tinkled above the door when she
pushed it open into a softly lit parlor that smelled of sugar
cookies and clean hardwood floors. Old-fashion postal boxes hung on
the wall behind the check-in desk.

On a stool at the counter sat not the
weathered farmer or plump farm wife she'd thought she'd find, but a
teenage boy banging to whatever music blasted through his ear buds.
He pulled them out when he saw her and gave a little
wave.

"Hey. Guess you're the one wanting a
room."

"Hi, yes. I'm Lise Kimball. I apologize
for waking you."

"You didn't." He opened a black ledger,
spun it around, and shoved it toward her. "I was up. Late shift at
Micky Ds in Purvis. I'm Wayne, by the way. Wayne
Barrett."

Smiling, she took the pen he handed her
and signed in. "That makes me feel better."

"It's all good. Folks'll be happy to
have the night's board. You paying with a card?"

"No, cash. If that's okay." She
returned the pen, reached for her wallet.

"Even better," he said, quoting her the
cost. "Breakfast's any time between seven and eight."

"Perfect." Breakfast, then a tire, then
lunch with the man she still smelled on her skin. A blush heated
her neck and spread to her cheeks. And when the door opened as she
was counting the bills to pay, she was surprised but even more so
relieved by the distraction.

Looking beyond her, Wayne raised a
hand. "Hey, Nova. Long time no see."

Lise turned slowly, the flush she'd
been fighting flooding through her. What was he doing here?
Obviously not stalking or following her. Wayne knew him, which
meant … The sneaky, scheming bastard.

As if reading her thoughts, Nova gave
her a quick wink then said to Wayne, "That's because you're usually
holed up with your music when I get in."

"I've got a new mix if you want to take
a listen."

"Sure. How 'bout tomorrow? You can drop
by the Pit after school?"

"Will do," Wayne said, turning back to
Lise as Nova headed down the hall and out of her sight. "You know
who he is, right? I mean, if he called for your room, I guess you
know him."

Lise tucked her wallet into her purse,
her thoughts racing, her traitorous pulse, too. "I only met him
earlier. I had a flat tire and he helped change it. He said his
name is Donovan True."

Wayne waited as if she'd forgotten the
punch line to a joke. "Donovan True? From True Believers? The
suspense novels where the TB team works to free people who've been
wrongly convicted."

"Oh, right. Donovan True. I hadn't put
two and two together." But now that she had … Scheming aside, why
was an internationally bestselling novelist running a pit of a bar
in Mississippi?

"He likes it when folks don't know."
Wayne gave her a sheepish shrug, his stringy hair falling into his
face. "I just figured you did or I wouldn't have said
anything."

"My lips are sealed." She took the room
key the teen offered. "Thanks again for accommodating me on such
short notice."

"Don't thank me. Thank Nova," he
replied, tucking his ear buds in place as he went about locking
down the front desk.

Yeah. About that. Lise picked up her
tote and overnighter and headed for the same hallway down which
Donovan had disappeared. Behind her, Wayne pounded up the staircase
to the second floor, and seconds later a door slammed.

She passed the entrance to the darkened
dining room, then turned to the right. Her room was at the end. So
was Donovan's.

His door was open, and he stood just
over the threshold, waiting, one forearm on the jamb above his
head, the other hand a fist in his pocket.

Enough time had yet to pass for her to
put their encounter in perspective. She hadn't recovered, or
forgotten, and still ached, still tingled, still wondered how mad
she must be to have stripped in a bar for a stranger.

She looked from the number on the key
in her hand, to the number above her door. Then she looked over at
him. The novelist. The liar.

"You could've told me you were staying
here."

"I like surprises."

The room behind him was lit with a soft
glow, a single lamp or a candle, and she could see the polished
footboard of his four poster bed as well as the edge of a quilt.
Donovan True. In bed. Soft sheets. Naked.

"I understand you're a
celebrity."

"That Wayne," he said, shaking his
head. "Some people think so."

"Another surprise."

"You're not a fan of
surprises?"

She thought of the divorce papers
landing on Mark's desk. Thought of his arriving home to find her
gone. Then she thought of the flat tire and the surprise of Donovan
True. "Of some. Others, not so much."

"Good enough," he said, taking a step
into the hallway and holding out a hand. "Give me your
key."

She did, conflicted, then moved away to
give him space to open her door.

He took hold of her wrist and pulled
her into his room instead. She wasn't but two steps inside before
he spun her and pinned her to the door.

His eyes glittered as he looked her
over. Her face. Her arms and her waist. Her hips and the skirt that
was all she wore over her panties. He lingered there, the tic in
his jaw signaling the effort his control cost him.

Breathing hard, he brought his gaze
back to hers. "What are you doing here?"

His hands on her shoulders were heavy,
his strength undeniable, but there was nothing in his intent that
frightened her. And she knew his question wasn't as simple as the
words made it sound.

"I'm in your room because you pulled me
in here. I'm in Danport because I had a flat tire."

Still holding her, he dropped his gaze
again, taking in her neck, her chest, her breasts that he'd paid
too little attention to when he'd bound her to him in the
bar.

Then, she'd had no thought for
anything. She'd been a body, rising and dipping as pleasure
swelled. Too focused on the play of his hands and his mouth, she'd
been unaware of what their intimacy had done to him.

Now she knew. What had seemed so simple
was anything but. "I'm here because I am. A long road brought me.
Tomorrow it will take me away."

At that, his head came up, his grip on
her shoulders loosened. He slid his hands down her arms, over her
elbows to her wrists.

And when he brought her palms to the
center of his chest where his heart raced like a wild thing
captured, she knew whatever passed between them would cling to both
of them long beyond tonight.

Chapter Five

"Why were you on the road alone so
late?" Donovan asked, shifting his hips to angle his cock deeper
and causing the woman beneath him to squirm.

"I was on my way to New Orleans. I
didn't plan the flat. Now move. Up a bit. There." She ended her
breathless instructions with a groan, then added a gruff, "Push
harder."

Keeping her pinned, he used his knees
to widen the spread of her legs, nuzzled his face to her neck,
ground against her until the friction steamed. Goddamn she was hot,
her body, her response. Made him want to crawl inside her. Work her
over until she couldn't move.