Caged (Mastered, #4)(72)
“You trust me? Just like that?”
“Yeah, I do.” Deacon knew she understood what that meant. He kissed her. “So we can be spontaneous now, huh?”
“Like we haven’t been before? I think the only place we haven’t f*cked in my apartment is the hall closet.” She smirked. “But then again, you did f*ck me against that door.”
“So it counts.”
Molly laughed.
Deacon brushed her hair out of her face. “Looks like we’ll have to f*ck in every room here today to even things up.”
“You’ve got a much bigger place than mine. It’ll take more than just one day, Mr. Insatiable.” Her eyes searched his. “Don’t you have to train today?”
“I deserve a day off from the dojo.” At least here he wouldn’t have to face off against Courey. And Maddox could suck it. Sundays were light training days anyway. “I’ll run on the treadmill in the fitness room downstairs.”
“Deacon, you’re not blowing off training because of me—”
He stopped her from talking with a kiss. The last thing he needed was her nagging him about training like everyone else.
Then Deacon reached down and swirled his finger through the come spots that were cooling on her back. He held it up to her beautifully, sexily kiss-swollen lips. “Open.”
Keeping her heavy-lidded gaze connected to his, she sucked the digit into her mouth, then swirled her tongue around and around.
After she released his finger, he kissed her, his tongue darting in for a taste of himself in her mouth. Then he murmured, “I like waking up with you in my bed. Go back to sleep, but stay like this for me—warm, wet, wearing only my marks. After cardio, I’ll clean you up as we get dirty in the shower.” He tucked the sheet around her.
Deacon watched as she closed her eyes, a self-satisfied smile on her lips.
This would be his fastest cardio workout all year.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MONDAY morning Presley asked, “Why are you dragging ass so bad today?” after the tenth time Molly yawned.
Molly shifted in her office chair, and her sore spots protested. “Because I am a hopeless slut when it comes to Deacon McConnell.”
Presley’s eyes widened. “Come again?”
“Yes, I come again, and again, and again,” she muttered. “That’s the problem. And yet . . . it’s not a problem. Deacon is—”
“Horny?” Presley supplied.
“You have no idea. And he’s insatiable and relentless. I’m not complaining, because it’s amazing every freakin’ time.”
“But?”
“But I’m also wondering if this excessive sex is normal.” Her gaze searched Presley’s. “Is it?”
“Give me a second to bask in the fact you think I’ve had a normal life of any kind, let alone a normal sex life.”
“Pres, I’m serious.”
“I know.” She tucked a hank of orange hair behind her ear. “If he rocks your bed frame so often, then why are you questioning it?”
“What if that’s all there is between us?”
“You told me you didn’t care if this was a temporary fling with Deacon. Have you changed your mind?”
I don’t know. Okay, yes, I do. I think it’s been more than sex all along.
“This sex-a-thon will run its course,” Presley continued, oblivious to Molly’s inner turmoil, “and you’ll have great sex stories to tell—after you marry a boring guy who isn’t hot enough to toast your marshmallows in that way.”
When Presley’s gaze sharpened, Molly knew her face betrayed how awful that life sounded.
“That’s not how you see your life playing out?”
“Maybe at one time I did, but not now.”
“Since you started things with Deacon or before?”
“What do you think?”
Presley threw her arms up. “I think you are confusing the f*ck outta me. You cannot look at that tough, brooding, snarling man and not see passion, Mol. Passion drives him. You should’ve expected he’d focus that passion on you.”
“You think I don’t know that? But I’ve never been with a man who is as physically demonstrative as he is sexual. It’s usually either/or.”
“We’re still talking about Deacon, right? The man who’d grunt his instructions in class if he could? He’s touchy-feely in private?”
“Unbelievably.” Wait. Did sharing that break a relationship rule?
“Like how?”
“He always has to be touching me. Even when we’re just sitting on the couch watching TV, one or both of his hands are on me somewhere.”
“What about during meals?”
“I sit on his left side so he can keep his hand on my leg while we’re eating. But even that’s become an issue since a simple touch leads to wanting more hands on skin, mouth on skin, skin on skin. Then my clothes are flying off, and his clothes are flying off, and I don’t give a damn that my bra is in the butter and my panties have become a toaster cozy. We’re body to body, it’s fantastic and everything else in the world just disappears.”
Stunned silence.