Caged (Mastered, #4)(124)
Sweat poured from him, and he fought for breath—he exerted more energy f*cking her than he had during the fight. He rocked his hips up hard on every thrust, pushing her clit into the towel. Faster and faster until she started to thrash and whimper.
“Please, Deacon.”
He found the spot that sent her into orbit and scraped his teeth over it. When he felt her cunt muscles tightening, he sank his teeth in.
Molly bucked wildly, forcing him to dig his fingertips into her legs to keep her from dislodging his cock as she came violently.
He eased up when her climax abated, but he knew he’d left bruises.
Good. They’ll match the bite and suck marks on her back, the beast snarled.
A few more brutal thrusts and Deacon reached the end of the climb. Despite the frenzied need of the beast and the insatiable way they’d f*cked, Deacon came in utter stillness. His cock jerked against those hot * walls, while her contractions milked his orgasm, his mouth open, his breath stalled as he heard her whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” until he was completely spent.
It was the single most perfect moment of his life.
But when the harsh pants of pleasure faded, he pulled back in his mind, as guilt of his animalistic treatment of her began to assert itself. He pulled back in body, keeping his eyes closed against the evidence of his mindless passion and thoughtless treatment of the woman who meant everything to him.
“Don’t,” she said softy, bringing his attention back to her. “Don’t apologize. Don’t feel guilty. I love you. All of you. I wanted this, Deacon. I wanted you. Please don’t take anything away from this.”
He lowered her legs to the floor.
Molly spun around on her own as he unhooked her hands.
“Look at me.”
Their eyes met. What he saw there . . . love shining in her eyes . . . that was the perfect moment.
Molly stood on tiptoe to fasten her mouth to his. With every sweeping stroke of her tongue, every teasing glide of her lips, she gave him—and the beast—peace, approval, and acceptance.
That was worth more than any fight he’d ever win.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DEACON’S dad had called an hour after the intense locker-room rendezvous. Deacon had still been high on that, lazily sated, as they drove to his apartment. So he’d answered his cell phone without conscious thought. Then, after Deacon told his dad he’d won the fight—his father must’ve sensed his son’s distraction—he’d issued an invite to Texas to both of them to celebrate and Deacon had agreed to fly down. But Molly knew Deacon would’ve said anything to get his dad off the phone.
Once they were inside the apartment, they’d lost themselves in each other for the next twelve hours. The world outside Deacon’s bedroom ceased to exist.
So Deacon hadn’t realized the implications of what he’d agreed to until the next morning. His father had called again to confirm a family dinner on Thursday night. Then Tag had called an hour later. They’d had a cryptic conversation about contracts, buyouts, investment portfolios and mergers that she’d tried not to listen in on. Deacon ended the call, swearing he wasn’t backing out this time and he’d be there.
He’d booked the tickets, she’d overpacked, and now here they were.
In Texas.
After checking into the hotel, Molly started to get ready to meet Deacon’s family. She smoothed her hands over her hair and checked her appearance. The fawn-brown dress might be too fallish for the middle of summer, but she always felt confident in it. The fabric hung perfectly, not too clingy, not too loose. The wide tweed belt cinched at the waist created an hourglass shape.
As she applied the last coat of mascara, she saw Deacon leaning in the doorjamb, his face unreadable.
“You ready yet?”
“I’m sorry I’m taking so long. I’m nervous.”
“Darlin’, you got no reason for nerves.”
“But this is a big step for me to meet your family.” She reached for a tube of peach lipstick.
He sauntered forward. “You’re wearing your hair like that?”
Molly’s eyes met his in the bathroom mirror. Then she gave his usual—and far too casual for a formal family dinner—sleeveless T-shirt and jeans a pointed look. “Since when do you care about my clothing or how I wear my hair?”
Deacon grabbed the section of loose curls hanging to the top of her right breast and swept it back over her shoulder. “When it’s up, I can do this whenever I want.” He placed an openmouthed kiss behind her ear. “And you know how much I love pulling your hair, because, babe, it gets you so freakin’ hot.”
Gooseflesh had erupted at the first touch of his warm mouth to her skin. “Deacon, stop molesting me or we’ll be late.”
“Don’t care.” His soft exhale made the fine hair on the back of her neck stand up. “You smell so f*cking sweet, my Molly.”
She went gooey-kneed when he called her my Molly. It took a ton of willpower to shift away from him, but she did. “I need a few more minutes. Alone,” she stressed. “Then we can go.”
Deacon gifted her with one last love bite before he exited the bathroom.
She pressed her hands flat against the counter and leaned forward to level her breathing. The man could rile her up in no time. She didn’t need to look like she’d been well f*cked—or worse, horny as f*ck—when meeting his parents for the first time.