Caged (Mastered, #4)(65)
By the end of the hour, newb looked ready to puke, Presley was red-faced and breathing hard, Liv was actually lying on the mat groaning, and Molly . . . Well, good thing he was wearing a cup.
Hell yeah, he’d missed teaching.
* * *
FRIDAY afternoon Molly cut out of work early to make Presley’s roller derby match in Colorado Springs. Since they had a photo shoot scheduled for Saturday, she and Presley planned to stay over.
Deacon insisted on attending the match, but he had five-a.m. training Saturday, so he’d drive back to Denver afterward. Which was why they were in separate cars.
Molly hadn’t seen the need to caravan to Colorado Springs, but Deacon insisted. Of course, he insisted on being the lead car in his fancy-ass, fast Mercedes. He’d started off nine miles an hour above the speed limit. She’d followed him at that pace for ten minutes, until paranoia about higher insurance rates forced her to return to the speed limit. Within five minutes she’d lost sight of his car completely.
Her phone rang. Hmm. Wonder who that was. She answered, “Yes, Deacon?”
“Where are you?”
“Behind you. Driving slower than you because I can’t afford a ticket.”
“They’re not gonna ticket you for nine over, babe.”
“I’m a rule follower, babe, which means I obey traffic laws. I don’t care if that makes me lame.”
His sigh indicated he thought it was lame. “I’ll slow down. Speed up until you catch me.” He hung up.
Tempting to ignore his order. Instead she cranked on the radio and sped up, passing cars until she reached his. She pulled in behind him and waved like an idiot.
Mr. Badass NASCAR didn’t wave back—big surprise.
That night the Denver Divas kicked serious ass. The bout was a rout and the ladies were ready to celebrate, so it sort of sucked that all the Divas except for Presley hopped in their team van and returned to Denver.
Molly checked in at the front desk, while Presley and Deacon waited in the lobby. When she returned with the room keys, she winced at seeing her friend’s injuries.
The right side of Presley’s mouth was swollen. Two spots of blood remained crusted beneath her nose. A bruise had started to form on her cheekbone. Presley managed a wan smile. “Looks worse than it hurts—doesn’t it, Con Man?”
“Yep.”
Presley snatched a room key. “I need a shower. See you up there.”
Deacon threaded his fingers through Molly’s and led her out of the hotel.
The summer night air held a sultry hint—an oddity since Colorado had low humidity. Once they reached the parking lot, Deacon directed her to his car with his hand in the small of her back.
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I hate saying goodbye.”
“Me too.” Deacon’s hands slid up to cradle her head, holding her in place for his kiss.
The kiss didn’t veer into blinding passion, but it bubbled below the surface, waiting to erupt. It took more control from him to show her it was there than to just give in to it.
And then he gave in to it completely. “Need you,” he rasped against her throat. “In my bed. All weekend.”
Molly angled away from his wicked mouth to look into his eyes. “You’re inviting me to your place?”
“You’re surprised.”
“You’ve been secretive about where you live.”
“Not intentionally.” He pushed a hank of hair over her shoulder. “It’s just a habit.”
“Why?” Did he live in a scary neighborhood and worry that’d freak her out?
“I don’t take chicks to my place. Ever.”
Chicks. Sometimes she wanted to smack him. “Because you’re a slob?”
His lips twitched. “No. Just private.”
“Wow. I must be special,” she joked.
Deacon’s eyes softened. “You are.” Then he proved it by gifting her with a sweet kiss.
Molly’s belly performed a slow roll. Her head told her this was all going way too fast. Her heart agreed. Her body . . . well, it had a mind of its own when it came to Deacon McConnell. As it’d proved every night this week, basking in the worship Deacon focused on every inch of her flesh.
“You make that noise again and I’m f*cking you right here against the car,” he grumbled against her lips.
“Sorry.” She forced herself to release him. “I know you have to go. Drive safe.”
“I will. Call me when you get into town tomorrow. Pack a bag and plan on staying until Monday morning, okay?”
“Okay.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DEACON lived in a condo complex in the part of Denver known as the golden triangle, closer to Black Arts than Molly’s apartment in the university section.
After meeting her out front, he climbed in and directed her to one of his parking spots in the underground garage. “Must be nice not to have to scrape your windows in the morning.”
He shrugged.
They took the elevator to the sixth floor.
Deacon hadn’t said much—nothing new for him. But he seemed tense.
As soon as he unlocked the door and shunted her inside, he had her pressed against the wall. He didn’t kiss her. He just studied her.