Caged (Mastered, #4)(36)

Deacon held her hand and supplied her with fresh tissues during the service. The reverend’s words were fitting, but Molly doubted she’d remember specifics. Deacon stood beside her during the internment.


Afterward, during the repast in the church basement, he never ventured more than four feet from her side, supporting her as people she’d known her whole life offered condolences. Although her cousins were on their best behavior, Deacon kept an eye on them too.

Finally, the day had ended.

Molly barely remembered getting into Deacon’s rental car and driving to the motel. Inside the room, he slipped off her shoes, forced her to drink three shots of scotch, and tucked her into bed.

At first when she’d awoken, she’d hoped it’d all been a bad dream. But Deacon’s scent on the pillow next to her and the taste of booze on her tongue reminded her that the day’s events were all too real.

After using the bathroom and brushing her teeth, she sought him out.

He’d settled on the sofa. His eyes were closed. His head was back. Light and shadows from the television flickered over his angular face. He’d removed his suit coat and loosened his tie. His black dress shoes were off, and he’d propped his bare feet on the coffee table. His arm hung over the edge of the couch, a tumbler dangling from his fingers.

He sensed her and lifted his head. “You get some sleep?”

“Of course I did—after you dosed me with scotch.”

“You needed it.” Deacon shifted, setting his feet on the floor and moving the glass to the table.

“Did I catch the unflappable Deacon McConnell napping?”

His lips twitched. “Just resting my eyes.”

“You tired?”

“Not at all.”

Molly meandered toward him with deliberate intent.

He didn’t say anything as she stood in front of him; he just studied her with that calculating stare.

She hiked up her dress and straddled his lap. Then she put her hands on him. The knot in his tie gave way when she tugged. She tossed the silky material aside.

Deacon’s breaths became labored as she slowly undid the buttons on his shirt. When she reached the waistband of his pants, she stopped.

“Darlin’, you lookin’ for permission to keep goin’?”

She loved how his accent deepened when he got turned on. “Yesterday you said you wouldn’t tell me no today.”

“You think I’ve changed my mind?” he growled. “No f*cking way.”

“Good. I’ve been in a holding pattern with everything since I’ve been here. I don’t want to be in a holding pattern with you anymore.” She traced the portion of the scroll tattoo beneath his collarbone. “Take me to bed, Deacon. Keep your promise that you’ll f*ck me so many times I can’t walk.”

Deacon muttered, “Fucking hell, woman.”

The next thing she knew, he stood, keeping his hands clamped on her ass as he set her on her feet and towed her into the bedroom.

He crowded her against the edge of the mattress and loomed over her. “Be very, very sure this is what you want.”

“It is. Not because I need a distraction from family stuff. Or that I need to feel alive after dealing with death for days on end. But because I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time. You know that. You’ve wanted me equally long. I know that too.” She rubbed her fingers over the slight stubble on his jaw. “So I’m very, very sure.”

“Once we start this? Once I’ve been inside you? Things will change. I’ll want to be all up inside you every chance I can get, in every dirty way I’ve imagined.”

That was the hottest thing any man had ever said to her.

“Let’s get it started, then.” She pulled his mouth to hers. The kiss hit the ignition point from the first touch of his tongue to hers. Wet and hungry. But after a few glorious moments, he toned it down. Seducing her rather than ravaging her.

Impatient, she reached between them and cupped the bulge behind his zipper.

But Deacon’s hand circled her wrist, stopping her. “Finish the top half first, then work your way down.”

“Bossy.” Molly dragged her mouth across his pecs once she’d gotten him bare chested.

He bunched up the fabric of her dress until she felt her ass exposed. “Lift your arms.”

Her arms went up and her dress was gone.

Deacon affixed his gaze to her breasts and lowered his head. His soft lips started at the upper swell of her right breast and followed the edge of her bra down to her cleavage. “Fuck. I need my mouth on you. Bra. Off,” he growled against her skin.

“Nope.” She trailed her fingers over his erection. “Your pants off first.” As she slid the button on his dress slacks through the hole and slowly worked the zipper down, she fastened her mouth to the flat disk of his nipple.

His head fell back, and he groaned when she started to suck.


Feeling powerful, she switched sides and focused on the tiny tip pebbling beneath her flickering tongue. One quick yank and his pants hit the carpet. Molly followed the delineated line between his pecs with her mouth, kissing a straight line down his belly until she had to lower to her knees. She’d just mouthed the outline of his cock, when she was hauled to her feet again.

“My pants are off, babe. I want those tits.” His rough-skinned hands glided up her spine and she shivered from the sensation. Deft fingers pulled the hooks on her bra. Deacon paused. “Eyes on mine.”