Caged (Mastered, #4)(12)
“Killing me here, babe.”
That gruff, sexy tone sent a shiver up her spine.
Deacon continued to stroke her cheek. “One hour.”
“What?”
“One hour since I apologized. One hour since you agreed to give me a chance. One hour since I kissed you. I oughta be happy we’ve come this far in one hour.” His thumb returned to her mouth, and he outlined her top and bottom lips. “But it ain’t far enough. If I had my way? We’d spend the next hour, the hour after that, and the hour after that in my bed.”
Her sex pulsed. If he could rev her up this fast with words, what kind of heat and power could he generate with his mouth, his hands, and his body?
Atomic-level heat.
“You know . . .” she offered, “roller derby is overrated.”
“Don’t even f*cking kid about that,” he growled. Then he kissed her hard. “Get outta the car.”
“But—”
“Leave this for now. We’ll revisit it when we’ve both got clearer heads.”
Molly freed her inner temptress—who preferred instant gratification and thought revisiting this later was a bad idea—and unzipped her hoodie.
One tine at a time.
Deacon’s avid gaze followed that movement.
She stopped below her cleavage. Then she pulled the tank top aside. “Which mark screams clearer head to you? The one you gave me? Or the one I asked for?”
He bent his head over her chest.
She expected a quick nip, not a featherlight kiss.
Locking his gaze to hers, he righted her clothing. “Let’s go.”
Deacon draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked toward the school. “How long does this last?”
“It depends. I’d say . . . two hours. Why?”
“We’re eating after.”
They reached the ticket table by the door. She said, “Two, please.”
Deacon paid before Molly fished her wallet out. “When we’re together, I pay. Always.”
“That’s archaic.”
“Get used to it.”
With the large crowd in the gymnasium, Molly was relieved to see seating and not standing-room only. She pointed to the top of the bleachers. “That’s the best place to watch.”
After they settled in, Deacon threaded his fingers through hers. “Explain how this is played, because it doesn’t look like what I’ve seen in the movies or on TV.”
“This is a flat track. It’s used more commonly than the elevated track. Presley told me that when the team first started, they didn’t have a dedicated training place, so they had to practice in a parking lot.”
Deacon winced. “Sounds painful. I did my time training under less-than-ideal conditions.”
“I guess sweeping the area off with industrial brooms cut down on road rash. Everyone who started with the team has scars.”
“What’d they do in the winter?”
“They only played in a summer league.”
A commotion broke out on the floor, and Bloody Mary shoved an opposing team member.
Deacon stiffened beside her.
“She looks a lot different as Bloody Mary, doesn’t she?”
“Jesus. Marisol is a roller derby queen now?”
“I don’t know about being the queen. She’s the jammer. I’m surprised you recognized her with her clothes on.”
A heavy pause. Then, “Look at me.”
Dammit. She felt his pull and turned her head.
“I thought we were done with the strip-club fallout.”
“We are.”
“Then you don’t get to throw shit like that in my face.” Deacon lifted his hand and cupped her cheek. “One hour.”
“Deacon—”
“We became this one hour ago. I had a life before that. So did you. What—and who—came before doesn’t matter.”
“Ignoring things that happened in the past only means they’ll be harder to discuss down the road.”
“I’m not a big discusser, babe.”
“Well, I guess that’s about to change—isn’t it, babe?”
Deacon’s eyes narrowed.
Molly offered him a sunny smile. “We will have a detailed discussion about our expectations—both social and sexual.” She patted his thigh. “Chin up, buddy. It’ll give you something to look forward to during dinner.”
He stared at her.
She didn’t crack—but, lord, perky and determined was hard to maintain when faced with those calculating blue eyes.
Then Deacon smiled. A smile she hadn’t seen before. A smile that shot straight to the heart of her.
“Killing me, babe.” He kissed her decisively. “Now explain roller derby to me.”
The bout started, and the noise level in the gymnasium increased dramatically. Molly did her best to explain what a jam was, what rules a player violated to get a penalty, the difference between a jammer and a blocker. She admitted the scoring never made much sense to her.
When Presley went sailing across the floor and ended up dog piled by the opposing team, Molly stood and booed along with the rest of the Divas fans. Then she booed louder when Presley, who had a bloody nose and a gash on the outside of her calf, was penalized for tripping.