Caged(73)

"Fuck." His legs started to tremble.

Imagine that. She could make him weak-kneed. But she wanted more than that. She wanted to hear her name exploding from his mouth as his seed exploded on her tongue.

"Babe," he panted, "stop."

Molly ignored him and just kept on taking what she wanted.

When he realized she wasn't stopping until he came, he became more aggressive. Pulling her hair. Rocking his hips into her face. Muttering dirty things.

She loved it.

"Sweet Christ. Fuck yeah. Feel that. Feel what you're doin' to me." 

She felt it; his cock had suddenly gotten harder.

"Gonna come."

The first splash of heat surprised her, as did Deacon's hoarse, "Suck hard."

She swallowed. Again and again, until the jerking pulses stopped. Only after his semihard cock slipped out of her mouth did she feel shy. She rubbed her cheek on the tops of his thighs, loving the rasp of his hair on her skin.

Deacon's hand fell away.

When Molly finally glanced up at him and saw the fire burning in his eyes, her heart slammed into her throat.

His rough-skinned fingers stroked her face-her cheekbone, her jawline. "You have any idea how fucking hot it was watching my dick disappearing between these pretty lips?"

"No, I don't. Tell me."

"Fuck, woman." He laughed. A bit shakily. "I don't know whether to turn you over my knee or get on my knees."

A chime sounded.

Deacon allowed one last caress before he stepped back and yanked up his shorts. "That's the food. Don't move until I get back."

Screw that. She was not eating chicken salad on her knees.

Molly stood and walked into the master bathroom. It wasn't overly done, just basic cream tiles with navy blue accents. A white counter with two inset glass sinks topped the oak vanity. She peeked in the shower. Yeah. It rocked. The space had to be big to fit Deacon's large body. She could see multiple showerheads on three walls, and along the back was a bench seat.

The mirror above the vanity stretched almost wall-to-wall. The mirror in her bathroom was pocket-sized compared to this one.

A tremor rolled through her, remembering when Deacon had bent her over the counter in her bathroom. He'd fucked her slowly, making her watch them fuck, forcing her eyes to stay on his as she came. It'd been hotter than she'd ever imagined.

She knew the man would have her in here at every angle and position imaginable so he could watch.

When Molly glanced up, she jumped at seeing Deacon in the doorway, watching her. "Oh, hey."

"Food's here."

"Great. I'm starving."

He stared at her, his eyes dark with an unmistakable gleam.

"What?"

"I'm gonna fuck you in the shower."

"Now?"

He shook his head. "Soon."

"Okay. Good to know."

"At least twice."

Her stomach pitched at the thought of their wet, slippery bodies sliding together, creating their own steam. "That means we're gonna get really dirty more than once?"

"Count on it."

• • •

DEACON wanted to watch a couple of fights after they ate, so Molly curled up next to him on the couch. He trailed his fingers up and down her arm, the touch both soothing and erotic in its repetitiveness.

After dating a couple of sports guys, she expected he'd yell at the TV, trash-talk the guys fighting, but he didn't. He grunted a couple of times when the welterweight challenger landed hard kicks. Besides that, he watched in near silence.

"How many fight tapes do you study before a bout?"

"Every one I can get my hands on. But at my level it's slim pickin's."

"Why?"

"Because of my professional amateur status," he said dryly.

"But you are a professional."

"My win-loss record will back that up. The number of fights I've been in over the years will also back that up. But the officially sanctioned fights by the big fight organizations? I'm still an infant. I've had to beat any guy in my weight division that's up-and-coming or even washed-up. That's why the Needham fight is important."



       
         
       
        

"Does he watch fight tapes of you?"

"He should. But rumor is he thinks I'm a joke. He's called me 'a street thug with a questionable fight record.'"

Molly turned her head to look at him. "Who'd you hear that from?"

"Needham trains in a public gym. Shit gets said and passed around. And that's a perfect example of why Maddox insists on a closed practice. No one can video our training drills with their phones." His lips curled into a nasty grin. "That fucker Needham has no idea how helpful the bootleg videos of his practices have been to me."