Caged (Mastered, #4)(40)
As soon as Deacon anchored his hands to her hips, she braced herself.
Two smooth glides in and out and then he hammered into her.
The powerful thrusts shook her entire body, making her thighs and her breasts bounce. For a brief moment she was thankful Deacon’s eyes were on her bouncing boobs and not her jiggling thighs. But being on the receiving end of Deacon’s passion sent all thoughts like that into the background as she lost herself in the heart-pounding, sweat-dripping, body-clenching rush of his sexual magnetism.
There was something so primitive and male about the way he f*cked her. His fascination with how her body moved as his body powered into hers. She’d never felt so . . . taken. She closed her eyes and let his need drive hers.
Then his mouth was on her throat. Teeth scraping, followed by tiny bites. Soft flicks of his tongue. Heated breath. “Arch into me,” he rasped in her ear. “I want this hot * milking me as we both come.”
Deacon changed the angle of his hips, pressing into the low rise of her mound on every upthrust.
“Oh. I like that.” She put her heels on the edge of the table and rocked into him. “Harder.”
A soft snarl burned across her skin as he bottomed out inside her faster and faster.
Molly didn’t chase her orgasm. She just let the sensations build, one grinding hard thrust at a time until she couldn’t stop herself from sliding side to side and then gasping, “Shallow thrusts. I’m right there.”
“I f*cking love when you tell me what you need.”
When she started to come, Deacon latched on to her nipple and sucked with the pulsing rhythm of her blood. She felt the orgasm in every muscle and pulse point in her body. All she could do was let the storm crash over her again and again, spinning her around and around until she didn’t know which end was up and the waves of pleasure receded.
After she’d reached her peak, Deacon didn’t return to the skin-slapping thrusts, but he continued the slow, steady movements. When he buried his face in her neck, his harsh breathing and the stiffening of his body above her were the only indications that he’d found his own release.
They remained like that, their chests plastered together by sweat, trying to catch their collective breaths. With his hands still squeezing her hips, Deacon planted kisses down her neck, across her collarbones, dragging his mouth down to her left nipple. He teased that hardened tip until she started to squirm beneath him.
“Deacon.”
“What?” he said in an annoyed whisper, as if he didn’t want her to interrupt his worship of her breast.
“You wrecked me.”
He lifted his head. His lips were full and wet from suckling her. Something dark skittered through his eyes.
Molly nuzzled his cheek. “In a good way. In the best way ever.”
Deacon’s hands glided up to cup her face. He smoothed her hair away from her damp forehead. The tenderness in him delighted her, how effortlessly he soul kissed her. Intently, not just intensely.
He tugged her upright so she could wreathe her arms around his waist.
After the kiss shifted into soft smooches, he rested his forehead to hers. “You wrecked me too. I didn’t know . . .”
His body language—the way he clung to her—said everything his mouth didn’t.
They’d been intimate on a level before they’d had sex. They’d both felt the urgency about taking that next step to become lovers. But being this . . . Neither one of them had been prepared for it.
She twisted out of his hold and flattened her palms on his forearms, taking in every inch of muscle, every ripple of sinew. “As much as I’d love to continue to worship at the altar of Deacon the sex god, we could both use a break.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Deacon the sex god? Seriously, babe?”
“Mmm-hmm. New nickname for you. In fact, Deacon ‘Sex God’ McConnell has a much nicer ring than Deacon ‘Con Man’ McConnell, don’t you think?”
“I think you’re delirious from lack of food.” He kissed her decisively. “Off the table before I’m tempted to eat you for supper.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY’D both overslept the next morning, allowing no time for Deacon to f*ck Molly in the shower like he’d planned.
There wasn’t any time to stop at the C-Mart for a quick cup of joe, either. But on the way to the lawyer’s office, Deacon did bring up one thing that’d been weighing on him. “Torch Robbins is your family lawyer?”
“If by ‘family’ you mean Grams’s and Uncle Bob’s lawyer . . . then yes.”
He picked up her hand to stop her from fiddling with the crease in her pants. “You’re nervous.”
“I’ve never been to the reading of a will before.”
“It’s pretty boring. It’s the shit that happens afterward you oughta be worried about.” He parked in front of the lawyer’s office and faced her. “Babe, I gotta be honest. I’m not sure this guy”—he pointed to the fancy lettering on the glass window—“has your best interests in mind.”
“I’ve thought about that. But what are my options? I’m leaving tomorrow. Torch Robbins is the only game in town.”
He curled his hand around her neck and turned her face toward him. “My cousin Tag is a lawyer. Lemme ask him if he’s got colleagues in Omaha or Lincoln. We’ll go from there.”