"You're not complaining," he said, lightly sinking his teeth into her chin.
"No, I'm not. But can you let me go so I can clean myself up?" Almost on cue, her stomach growled. "We forgot to eat today."
Deacon's lips followed the arc of her throat up to her chin. "I forgot to work out today too."
"You carted stuff and moved stuff around for hours!"
"Fetching and carrying doesn't count as cardio." He swept his lips across hers, unwilling to break their connection. "I can't go without it. Not this close to a fight."
Guilt darkened her eyes, and she looked away.
"Molly. Don't. There are enough hours left in the day to get my workout in. I didn't tell you that to make you feel guilty, dammit."
"But I do feel guilty. You'd be sparring and doing all the training stuff if you weren't here."
"There's no place I'd rather be. I'm in the best shape of my life. That will sustain my body when I have a light training day."
Her fingertips drifted up and down his arms. "Speaking of . . . are there no-sex-before-a-fight rules too?"
"Not at Black Arts."
"I'm serious."
"If I was in a title fight? Maybe. But for a regional fight?" He kissed her again. "Don't worry about goin' without, babe."
Molly put her hands on his chest and nudged him back. "Gotta dismount, cowboy."
He grinned against her throat as he withdrew from her body. "I sure like plowing into you, farm girl."
She slapped his ass. "I'll hit the shower. Then I'll cook."
• • •
ACCORDING to his distance calculator, he'd run seven miles. In an hour.
He stayed outside until his breathing returned to normal. He'd forgotten how much farther he could run when the elevation was three thousand feet lower than the Mile High City.
Deacon sat on the low rock wall separating the children's play area from the parking lot. Cornfields stretched as far as he could see. Everything was so damn green. He'd grown up in west Texas, where the dirt, the trees, and even the sky were a dull brown.
His stomach gurgled. He'd waited an hour after eating before hitting the pavement. An hour where he'd stretched out on the puffy bed and watched Molly sleep.
After she'd showered, she'd strolled into the kitchen in her bathrobe. Being the horny bastard he was, he slid the robe off her shoulders to play with the amazing tits he couldn't get enough of. Under the fluorescent lights, Deacon got a full look of the marks he'd left on her chest.
And on her neck.
And on her belly.
And on her hips.
And on the insides of her thighs.
And on the outsides of her knees.
He must've looked appalled, because she twined her body around him.
"Know the places I don't have marks?" She nuzzled his pecs. "Along the backs of my shoulders, the nape of my neck, and on my ass. Seems you've been lax in your promise to mark me everywhere, Deacon. So you'd better remedy that by bending me over and putting that mouth of yours to good use."
"Now?"
"Right now."
"I thought you were chafed?"
"And I thought you didn't care."
Deacon was done for. He herded her into the bedroom and fell to his knees behind her to gift her with suck marks on each of her ass cheeks. Before she'd stopped wiggling that ass for more, he'd slapped it hard-and again she'd made those sexy fucking needy moans. He positioned her on all fours on the bed, caging her body beneath his, biting on the back of her neck until her pussy was thoroughly soaked. Then he'd impaled her. Fucking her nice and slow, bringing her to the edge three times before sending her soaring. Twice.
The crunch of tires on the gravel yanked him out of the memory. He glanced over to see a car pulling in and parking.
Tim exited from the driver's side. "I tried to call, but no one answered."
"We were . . . busy."
"Before I come closer I should ask if you still plan on beating the fuck out of me."
"Not unless you plan on putting your hands on her."
"Nope." Tim held out a beer. "Peace offering?"
"Sure."
Tim plopped down beside him with a beer of his own, acting like he wanted to talk.
What the fuck? Deacon wasn't a talking kind of guy. Maybe he should've just beaten on him.
"So you threaten every guy who looks at Molly?"
"Pretty much."
"Women eat that stuff up, don't they?"
Deacon looked at him with complete confusion. "Not Molly. She said it'd serve me right to choke on my own machismo."
Tim laughed. "Sounds like her. Look, Molly and I go way back. It's obvious that you care about her. I care about her too."